Purpose

“What a day”, I thought as I was remembering an inspiring event I just attended. Passion and purpose was the theme. The energy in the room was palpable. Hours seemed like seconds as I was absorbing the wisdom from the incredible women in the room. Nearly no stone was left unturned in discussing vital, yet often overlooked topics. I was holding on to the railing of the subway car, happily thinking of the fun fact that this wonderful event happened on my “college day”. A day of the week when I can truly exercise the God-given right of being happy and pursuing my passion. I was anxious because I was running slightly late for class. Being the sign of Virgo requires me to be prompt and gives me a major heartburn when circumstances interfere. Yet, I was also excited to once again rejoin my fellow art history classmates and immerse myself in my passion.
But what about my purpose? Is it connected somehow to my passion? Does anyone care? Should I? My train of thought was interrupted by a guy with a bold shiny head who made loud sighing sounds every time the train slowed down. It was nearly my stop and I had to pay close attention. I've been known to miss it a few times and had to come back, which made me even more late and agitated. Mainly because time “wasted” on the commute was eating into my time of educational art history bliss.
Unable to ignore my buzzing impatient blackberry, I took it out of my pocket. I could actually feel my blood pressure rising with every "reply to all" email I read! Who invented these things again and why isn't he (or she) getting two consecutive life sentences for it? I know it’s not good to respond to emails while standing, walking, and chewing or doing any other activity that requires your brain, eyes and mouth coordination. One day I actually swallowed a chewing gum, hit "send" on the message I didn’t mean to send out yet, missed my stop and got a bruise from the subway car doors hitting me painfully in the arms. And it all happened at the same time! This is the mode I was in as I was racing downstairs, multi-tasking on my blackberry, making hissing sounds and not paying any attention to my surroundings.

As I got to the bottom of the stairs I almost tripped over someone (or someones) crouching on the ground. Two men were trying to help an elderly woman get up and I immediately "sprang into action". Pulling out my phone I asked the woman if she was OK. “I am dialing 911 right now" I said. With her blue piercing eyes she looked up at me and in a barely audible shaky voice said "please don't". I immediately felt something detach from me, lifted gently in the air and began to float towards her. It was something you could call empathy or compassion. I often feel it as something tangible. Like a light cashmere blanket that you take off your shoulders and put on someone else, who needs it more.
The bravado, the fearlessness, the "I am the queen of the world moment" feeling totally dissipated. I was completely consumed by this tiny, slightly hunched over, lady with a cane and a red coat. In just seconds, I felt totally responsible for her well-being. She represented my ill mom, my recently deceased grandmother and every little old lady I’ve ever encountered and yet to encounter.

It was dark. The two men were still at her side, but no longer supporting her. She seemed so scared and alone, so I said "Please take my hand. May I help you walk home?" At first she was momentarily cautious, kind of assessing my danger level, but then she kind of lit up, nodded, and still hesitating said "I don't want to impose on you". “It’ll be my honor. What’s your name? I am Rina. I am a student in Brooklyn College” I said.

And so we walked. It was just a few blocks, but we were taking small careful steps. She kept repeating her thanks. I kept asking her ridiculous questions and intermittently making empty statements, which at the moment seemed encouraging and even necessary. Something to the tune of “does your face hurt? It doesn’t look bad at all. What about your wrist? Aha, great, you can move your fingers. It means they are not broken.” We’d take a few steps and then stop for a moment. Finally, after struggling with the stairs in the foyer of her building, we entered her apartment. It was large and had a peculiar smell. It smelled of loneliness and dust.
Her name was Cynthia, I finally learned.
“And who is this?” I said as a beautiful black cat jumped on my lap.
“This is my cat.” said Cynthia smiling.
“What’s her name?”
“Angel”.
I brought Cynthia a glass of water and put her cane near an armoire. Wow, I thought to myself, if you live with a black cat named Angel, NOTHING bad should ever happen to you.
“Is there anyone I can call to let them know what happened?”
“No. There is no one”. It sounded like she’s answered this question many times before.

After a few minutes of examining her seemingly minor injuries, Cynthia agreed that it might be a good idea to call 911 just in case, which is what we did. Then we waited for them to arrive. She apologized for the mess and we laughed about how if she hadn’t fallen we wouldn’t have met.

When the AMT arrived, I opened the door for them, explained who I was (and wasn’t). “Cynthia, I’ll be calling you tomorrow to check on you. Ok? And you call me too. Here is my cell phone. I always pick it up! Don’t hesitate for a moment. Who knows, you might just have gotten yourself a regular (usually hungry) visitor on her way to school!”

As I started walking towards the college campus again, I thought what a day, but now for a completely different reason… What if my purpose is not some idealized vision and what if it’s not static? I read somewhere recently "If you are breathing, you have a purpose.” What if my purpose changes moment to moment as life teaches me another important lesson? What if my purpose that day was to be on a slow moving train, to be late for school, to be yanked out of my cloud of self importance, so that I could help Cynthia walk home and hold her hand? Time suspended, I entered her reality as she entered mine, and we wrapped each other up in a warm cashmere blanket called compassion. That’s one great purpose for the day, if you ask me…

Green hat

Almost every morning, near my subway station I see the same homeless woman (or, I just assume she is homeless). We always say hello to each other. She never asks for anything and I never offer anything aside from a friendly nod in her direction. She wears an oversize green hat with feathers. Her face is dirty, but pleasant. She reminds me of a painting called "Peasant woman against a background of wheat" by Van Gogh. Sitting right at the entrance of the subway station (her office), she is usually holding a small calculator, engrossed in what seems to be a long mathematical calculation. Her fingers moving really fast all over the number keys, she pauses for a second (waiting for the results?) Sometimes she seems visibly distressed by what she sees on the display and sometimes she laughs out loud.
I used to catch myself feeling sorry for her. I’d get a little pang in my chest, "Poor thing, she must be thinking it’s a Smartphone". Until one day, recently, I had an "aha" moment. It went something like this: How different am I really from this woman who is starring at an inanimate object and seems to be having a conversation with it, expecting it to respond in some way? Not by a wide margin, I am guessing. When our gazes meet, I am usually holding THREE inanimate objects - a blackberry, a phone and a radio (or an iPod). How crazy must I look to someone who prefers to have enough hands to hold, say, a cup of coffee, or someone else’s hand? Do people feel sorry for me in passing? Yes, I realize that a calculator isn't the same as a blackberry in terms of a two-way communication, but how different is it really? It’s made of plastic, mostly, from what I can tell. Ok, it displays letters AND numbers. Big whoop. But I'll be damned, if any one of us at one point or another (or every day!!) didn't look at our Smartphone in bewilderment, feeling lonely, isolated, misunderstood, outsmarted by the darn thing. How different am I from this woman, because I’ve been known to slam the phone down, as if it’s going to care, mumble something under my breath while shooting off an angry response to an "idiot" on the other end of the cyberspace, not realizing that the joke is on me because my inbox is too full and no emails can be sent out, or to be woken out of my trance of singing along with Madonna by the hissing “shhhhh” from my neighbors on the subway. Basically, I started looking at this woman and myself in a new way, wondering all along, if a blackberry isn't buzzing, does the silence mean we no longer belong, disconnected in a bigger sense of the word or are we just plain crazy? And if we’ve truly lost touch with our true selves, with our identities, and handed our souls, lives even, over to the inanimate objects, can we ever find a way back, find a way home and are we just as poor and homeless as my friend in front of the subway entrance? Or maybe it’s just me...Now when I approach the urban “peasant” woman, we nod in each others direction in total comradery, as if to say, "Yep, I hear you. The fuking numbers just don't add up". All I am missing, really, is an oversize green hat.

Life Lessons after 25 (ish) – Part 2

Turning yet another page in the calendar of my life, I can’t help but create another set of “lessons learned” (granted, I would  NOT say that I am done learning these lessons and truly live by them. But I really want to):


1. Don’t reserve saying I love you for special occasions. Just do it. Your tongue isn’t going to fall off. I promise.

2. Try not to try too hard. Shit is going to hit the fan anyway. You might as well not rush the process.

3. People don't change; they become more and more themselves. Mary Karr, the author of many cool books, wrote: "Every woman signs up thinking that her husband will change...every husband signs up believing his wife won't: both dead wrong."

4. The more you worry about the others, the more the Universe is going to extend its helping hand to you. Try it! It really works.

5. It’s not going to seem like the right choice every day, but still do try to marry someone you can’t live without (as oppose to someone you can live with).

6. It’s tough enough that children don’t come with an instructions manual or returns and exchanges policies; on top of that they’ve got you in the palm of their tiny little hands waaaaaay before they are even born. Basically, you are screwed before you know it, and you LOVE it anyway.

7. Time doesn’t really heal. Just covers up the symptoms. Like Tylenol. Hey, better than nothing.

8. Gandhi said “Be the change you want to see in the world” (and I would add “stop whining that nothing good ever happens. Make it happen.”)

9. A recipe for a tasty therapy: 2 cups of flour (give or take), 1 egg, milk (enough to make a gooey mixture). Mix it all up, add some oil on the pan and start making blintzes. Listen to your heart through out the process.

10. Martha Beck taught me this one: The best way to be endlessly fascinating and attractive to others, is by creating an amazing, fascinating life for yourself, focusing on all the things you love do and be. So, get busy!

I am Sam

This morning started not unlike any other: shut off the alarm at 4:45 am, got out of bed, turned TV on. The news channel reported ugly news and pretty weather. I never stray from the news, almost religiously absorbing the onslaught of information, yet this morning something was pushing me to change up my normal routine. I started flipping the channels. I stumbled on the movie called "I am Sam", which is about a mentally retarded father (Sam) who fights for custody of his daughter. I've never seen the movie in its entirety (and it’s been out for almost 10 years!) Probably for the same reason I've never watched the “Schindler's List” in its entirety. Reason: I am a chicken. I am afraid that I might see that something which will tip the scale of my sanity and I won't be able to go on...But this morning, I couldn't help it. Through the thick blanket of tears I watched the tender and heart-wrenching moments including the scene when, after a court hearing, Sam’s daughter is being ripped out of his arms to be sent to a foster home.
I cried like a baby. Or should say like a grown woman. I have found that if we are truly honest with ourselves, most of the time we cry NOT just purely because we feel someone else's pain. No. We cry because this pain, or at least its seeds, resides within us, repressed or expressed. Listen, I am no dummy. I know I am impressionable and I know that it’s a romanticized version, "based on a true story”. A Hollywood fiction of sorts. I get it. But the movie tells an important story and illustrates a universal truth (at least it seems to me as such). This movie is about how to be a good human being. It’s about unconditional love, which is THE most important ingredient in the often messy, sometimes inedible, sometimes earth-shuttering soup called parenthood. I cried because I didn't recognize myself in Sam as much as I wanted to. I want to be THAT kind of a parent. Always. Every day. No breaks and no exceptions! A saying goes: "be the person your dog thinks you are". Kids are closer to the natural world because they can intuitively spot a fake. I want to be the person my son thinks I am.
There is an old story about three men, who are allowed to ask for one wish to be fulfilled by the Almighty. The first man asks for more wisdom, the second one asks for more patience and the third asks for a cup of coffee. The first two men look at him, puzzled. The third man just shrugs his shoulders and says, "everyone asks for what they don't have enough of”. I wouldn’t mind more patience and wisdom, but if I could ask the Almighty for one thing it would be to help me be a better parent, with an unshakable ability to love unconditionally, no expectations, no judgment, no baggage, in a pure uncomplicated way, every day. It’s the hardest and the most important quality to attain. But I guess everyone does ask for what they don’t have enough of. Perhaps it’s pedestrian and not unique, but I don’t care. You could say that from now on, I am a Sam wannabe.
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"Will you not be mad at me for one second? Because I want to tell you one thing, OK? Because last night, I was writing you a letter...and then the words, they got too big. Gesundheit, Floppy. Floppy has a cold.

And then I said...

Dear Lucy, I'm sorry I maybe hurt your feelings…and I was thinking about you all the time.


Lucy on a hammock…


and Lucy at school...


and Lucy in the sky and kisses and hugs, Daddy.


And P.S. I love you, like the song."

I am Sam, 2001

Independent back float

Since I came to the US, what seems like a lifetime ago, I’ve had a recurring dream or, rather, a nightmare. I am hearing that it’s a phenomenon, afflicting many of us, immigrant folks. It’s the nightmare of being “sent back” against your will. In this awful vision, I am being forced on an Airflot plane. Walking backwards through the dark tunnel, I am watching John’s tearful, terrified face. He is being held by the armed policeman. It sounds like he is trying to say something, but I am too far. I can’t hear what he is saying. Helpless to do anything else, in my tired mind, I am sorting all the documents that have been lost, disappeared, got mixed up in some crazy bureaucratic process. As I get closer to the airplane, I strain to create an image of what my life is going to be like back in Ukraine. I wonder how I’ll manage to speak Ukrainian since it’s been so long since I’ve spoken in this language. Where am I going to live? What am I going to do? How will I ever be able to come back? Granted, since I’ve become an American citizen, back in the 1990’s, the nightmare isn’t as frequent, but in the past five years, the component of leaving my only child behind makes me wake up in sweat, tears, and totally breathless.


I remember all this now because it seems to be happening in reality with my dear friend, her husband and their little baby (who is an American citizen!).  After losing their jobs, they are unable to renew their work visas and, therefore, can not legally stay in the US. So, next Tuesday, early morning, they are going to be on the plane en route to Shanghai…For months and months, they’ve struggle to do everything in theire power to stay – looked for jobs, engaged countless people to help them, applied and reapplied, petitioned…My friends and I tried in earnest to find ways to help them stay in the US. Nothing worked. Every glimmer of hope turned to nothing. Every lead, led to another disappointment. And now, on this beautiful Sunday afternoon, I am watching this awful nightmare unfold in reality, helpless to do a thing to stop it.
And then I hear a voice. It’s coming from somewhere deep inside of my soul. It’s the eternal wisdom that resides within all of us. I feel its gentle nudge: “Hey, what happened to your motto?”

“What are you talking about?” I say, almost angrily.

The voice: “Don’t you always say that things happen for a reason?”

Me: “I guess I do. There must be some darn good reason for all this”.

The voice: “Concepts such as good and bad are manmade and therefore aren’t real. But there is always a bigger picture that you are unable to see”.

Me: “But how will they manage?”

The voice: “They will manage.”

Me: “How can you be so certain?”

The voice: “Somebody has to be”.

And then I realize, it’s like learning how to do an independent back float. My son takes swimming lessons and he recently got a sticker for learning to stay afloat in the water, on his back. It took many, many tries and I heard his instructor repeat to him over and over again: “Don’t fight the water. Relax. Just let go and count to 10”. Maybe this is the same thing? When everything is going seemingly wrong and you find yourself totally out of breathe, swimming against the current, struggling, maybe the only prudent thing you can do is an independent back float? Maybe when nothing works, as Martha Beck teaches, you’ve got to just do “nothing"? Put your head in the water. Let go. Trust that it will hold you up. Don’t try to find the reason things are the way they are, don’t decide if something is good or bad, and just let the water of life take you to your next stop in your journey. And maybe then, you’ll hear an approving voice of the Instructor: “You’ve done well kiddo. Here is a sticker. You are an accomplished independent back floater. Now, let’s move onto something more challenging”.

Good luck my dear friends! You’ll manage! I am certain of it, because somebody has to be.

About Marriage

"It is the prerogative of all humans to make ludicrous choices, to fall in love with the most unlikely of partners, and to set themselves up for the most predictable of calamities." - Liz Gilbert, Committed

Just the other day I was having lunch with someone who is getting married on Friday. She asked if I have any marriage advice and I told her I didn't. I know, what was I thinking! For me not to have advice?? And ever since, naturally, I can't stop thinking about all the advice "I don't have".

Elizabeth Gilbert, in her wonderful sequel to “Eat, Pray, Love”, called "Committed" (which is her book about marriage), reveals concepts which are both profound and poignant. One of her main conclusions that a successful and happy marriage has as many meanings and interpretations as there are married people in the world. I agree.

Over the years I have accumulated a mental and emotional collections of conclusions about marriage. Most of these conclusions I kind of believe in now, sort of, depending on the day. A kind of “non-advice” on marriage. 

Warning: these are guaranteed to only make sense to me and me alone (and even this claim is a bit shaky). So, read at your own risk of disillusionment, disagreement and general indigestion. But since this a blog about life as I know, what the heck, I’ll indulge in sharing them.

My top 10 “non-advice” / thoughts about marriage:

1. It’s a crapshoot. Sometimes you get lucky and you end up having a fantastic marriage (according to your own definition of what it means). And don't kid yourself, it ain't gonna feel that way every day. But in my book of marriage, good enough is the new perfect.
2. Love shouldn't hurt. Trying to sit with one bottom on too many chairs (if you catch my drift) will. So, don't.
3. I've read this one somewhere and I've grown to agree: don't marry someone you can live with; marry someone you can't live without. And this one is not about neediness. More about passion and intimacy.
4. Butterflies in your stomach (the good kind, those with blue fluffy wings) are very, VERY important to be present. Being deeply, passionately, head-over-heels in love is a good baseline for a marriage. It’s a not a guarantee for having a good marriage, and, in fact, it will make you more vulnerable and prone to getting your heart broken, but who cares cause it feels so good!
5. People don't change; they become more and more themselves. Mary Karr, the author of many cool books, wrote: "Every woman signs up thinking that her husband will change...every husband signs up believing his wife won't: both dead wrong."
6. There are no rules when it comes to intimate relationships (including marriage). You make the shit up as you go.
7. When it comes to marriage, never say never. Seriously!
8. It’s OK to elope. In fact, it could be really liberating. People will be pissed off. But if it floats your boat...
9. Speaking of people, nothing will ever be enough for them. When you get engaged, they'll hound you to death for a wedding date. As soon as you are done with that (or not!), they'll want to know when you are planning to "start your family" (some may politely inquire right at the wedding) and they'll keep asking about "having another one" until you have at least nine kids (after that – this is not from a personal experience, but I’ve seen this happen – they’ll kind of smirk that you have a “few too many”). So, if you are new to this marriage thing, brace yourselves! And, most importantly, kids or not, don’t try to please anyone but each other!
10. And speaking of pleasing each other: really loving someone is just amazing luck. Having a life partner who loves you back, the best way they know how, is like winning the lottery…every day! Gilbert, towards the end of her book on marriage, says: "There is hardly a more gracious gift that we can offer somebody than to accept them fully, to love them almost despite themselves."

I have a feeling I will keep tweaking these on ongoing basis. In fact, I think I want to change a couple of them already! What was I saying about it being a crapshoot?

"Thoughts while on a walk" by Alexander Rosenbaum (my best attempt at translation from Russian)

It's been about thirty years since childhood,
It's getting harder to undress your soul.
And these days, more often than not it’s better to celebrate
Not sitting around the table, but rather in the old quiet park,
Where it's not too hot in September,
And the leaves don't whisper the promise of youth.

Now little old ladies seem like close relatives,
And young girls are more like pretty wound-up dolls,
And Mozart’s laughter is ever louder.
Now the neighbors leave after midnight,
The wine hasn't been drunk and cake is left uneaten,
And I go to take out the trash wearing a wool cardigan.

A dark cloud once wandered into our home
And then it dripped off the window glass.
We will come through our rains,
You and I, both of us.

It’s been about twenty years since school,
And my friends' worlds are not youthful anymore.
Misfortunes didn't pass us by.
But the night is still dark,
And the day is still light.
Our kids are growing up.
Let our autumn become their spring.

It’s been about ten years since the weddings.
These days we don't run to a party late at night.
We visit our grandmothers only
Once on their birthday and once at their deathbed;
And also when the desire to feel like grandchildren again clenches our hearts.

It’s now been half a lifetime after the weddings.
Dear friends, don't part ways, for God's sake.
We've passed the stage for making changes in our families.
Even though sometimes it’s really tough,
We've gotten used to each other.
Let’s leave the bitterness of the scene to the Muse of Tragedy,
Let’s not be ashamed of the old walls.

A dark cloud once wandered into our home,
And then it dripped off the window glass.
We will come through our rains.
You and I, both of us.

Размышление на прогулке by Alexander Rosenbaum

Уже прошло лет тридцать после детства,
Уже душою всё трудней раздеться,
Уже всё чаще хочется гулять
Не за столом, а старым тихим парком,
В котором в сентябре уже не жарко,
Где молодости листья не сулят.

Уже старушки кажутся родными,
А девочки - как куклы заводные,
И Моцарта усмешка всё слышней.
Уже уходят за полночь соседи,
Не выпито вино, и торт не съеден,
И мусор выносить иду в кашне.

В дом наш как-то туча забрела
И стекла со стекла.
Мы свои дожди переживём,
Я да ты, вдвоём.

Уже прошло лет двадцать после школы,
И мир моих друзей уже не молод,
Не обошли нас беды стороной.
Но ночь темна, а день, как прежде, светел,
Растут у нас и вырастают дети,
Пусть наша осень станет их весной.

Уже прошло лет десять после свадеб,
Уже не мчимся в гости на ночь глядя
И бабушек приходим навестить
На день рожденья раз и раз в день смерти,
А в третий раз, когда сжимает сердце
Желание внучатами побыть.

Уже прошло полжизни после свадеб,
Друзья, не расходитесь, Бога ради,
Уже нам в семьях не до перемен.
И пусть порой бывает очень туго,
Но всё же попривыкли мы друг к другу,
Оставим Мельпомене горечь сцен,
Давайте не стесняться старых стен.

В дом наш как-то туча забрела
И стекла со стекла.
Мы свои дожди переживём,
Я да ты, вдвоём.


Taken from here