there is always room for forgiveness, healing and change

ten years ago, I was heading for the zenith of my PR career.
ten years ago, I was engaged and then married.
ten years ago, I was super skinny.
ten years ago, my father and I were estranged for more than a decade.
ten years ago, I found my Dad......

It was March 2000, and there was only a month left until the wedding.  I was a pretty chill bridezilla, as a seasoned event planner, I had pulled the details together quickly and seamlessly, the guest list was small (under 70 including dates) the scene was set.  Everything with the wedding was 'perfect', and I was pretty excited how well things fell into place.

But there was something missing.  There was an empty void inside of me, the pain of feeling like I wasn't worthy ... a disconnect that felt unfixable.

I was missing my Dad.  He had been out of my life for over ten years, and the pain of that was devastating.  I did all sorts of work around it, from joining Lifespring, therapy, counseling, support groups, heavy drugs, and adopting friends Dad's as father figures.  Each of the outlets provided me some comfort, but none of them answered the questions for me that played on a continuous loop in my head that started with the word 'Why'.

I was never Daddy's Girl, that spot was reserved for my sister.  But he loved me, and would tell me things you want a Dad to say, like, "you're way prettier than your sister."  Ok, not healthy but ... I loved and love that he tells me this.  Sick, yes, I am.

The month before the wedding, March 2000, my mother and I were on the phone.  She had let me know that she had seen Harvey, an old friend of Dad's, in her neighborhood walking his dogs.  She mentioned this to me a few times over a couple of weeks.  So one night, I dial 411 and get his number.  With my fiancee at my side, I dialed Harvey.

"Hi Harvey, I'm not sure if you remember me, I'm Elissa, Bob's daughter.  You haven't seen or heard from me in a long time.  My mom had said she had seen you around her neighborhood, and I was hoping you might know where my Dad is."

Harvey responded, "Of course I remember you.  Yes, I can put you in touch with your Dad, are you sure you really want to talk with him?"

"Oh yes, if it's not too much trouble, I have a pen and paper, could I get his number," shaking, I'm waiting for the information.

"Elissa, I can put you in touch with him," he repeated, "but, are you sure you want to speak with him?"

"Yes, really, I do," nervous but sure, I responded.

"How about I put him on the phone now," I could hear Harvey smiling through the receiver, "He's sitting right here.  I haven't seen him in years, and he's visiting with me right now!"

My father got on the phone and within minutes we had orchestrated a plan to meet downtown at Temple Bar for a martini.  Our reunion was six martini's deep, and by the end, I realized that all the therapy, counseling, drugs and support groups were bullshit, I really just needed to see my dad and get that sort of affirmation that only could come from him.

I did ask him the big question, 'Why."  His answer was, "I really don't know, but I'm sorry."

In that moment, I surrendered to realizing that was enough, that he was a suffering human being, who made a lot of bad choices.  He shared that he thought of calling me, but each time, he felt worse that more time had passed.

From there.... things changed.  He was back in my life.  He still wasn't invited to the wedding, my mom and sister put the kybosh to that.  I wish I had stood my ground, and it saddens me he wasn't there but... clearly, there will be a next one.  Well, I can hope.

After 9/11, I convinced my mother and sister to invite him to Thanksgiving, and from that point on, our dysfunctional wacky family was reunited.  At that holiday dinner, I refused the champagne, and announced that I was pregnant.  He might of missed the wedding, but he hasn't missed a day of my son's life.   The first people to meet the Zbot after his Dad, was my mom and MY DAD.  In fact, it was my father who handed Zoren to me the first time I finally got to hold him in my arms.


After the torture of the worst divorce in history, my parents made the 'War of the Roses' look like a side show at the Big Apple Circus .... years and years apart, my parents are friends, good friends.  Dad has been making amends to each of us.  He has taken care of my mom during her stroke, cancer and other emergency visits to the hospital.  He visits my sister in Boston.  My father is back in my life, and ... we have had some BIG breakthroughs in our relationship, particularly this year.  I took a stand and made amends to him for my part in the difficulties of our relationship over matzoh ball soup at Passover dinner at my mom's.  And ... most recently, he took a stand and stood up for ME with my family when I needed him to.  After years of crying that my Dad doesn't get my back, I got to see that he really does.

Today he turned 68, although, he would prefer if you would just say 59.  He just went through a couple of years of pain and surgery and I am seeing the impermanence of life unfolding before me.  He's not the tough, heartless, ruthless business man of his past... he too has been broken by his own suffering.  Where I once felt disdain and resentment, I feel genuine love and compassion.  The night we were reunited at the Temple Bar, I discovered my father was a broken man.  I forgave him easily, but it certainly hasn't been easy and smooth between us these past ten years.  Both of us have worked on it, and while our relationship may not be the example of ideal, it ain't bad.  I have a dad, and my son has a very close relationship with his grandfather. 


I'm so grateful to have my Dad in my life.  I know that something strange and mysterious was at work the day I found him at Harvey's apartment.  In these times where I struggle with a continuous crisis of faith, I have to acknowledge that something must have been at work that I was able to find him in one phone call.

So Dad, Happy Birthday.  Thanks for being in my life, and for teaching me that there is always room for forgiveness, healing and change.  I love you very much. 

Dysfunctional Loot Relationship

It's been a while since I felt that desperate, painful, junkie feeling of despair and desperation.  It's dismal when there's nothing left to hold onto and the craving to check out is immensely powerful and takes priority over everything else.  I can recall the days living in the W. Village in the mid-90s, cranked out and tweaked out, living with a guy on a futon in the living room of a small one bedroom railroad apartment so I could be close to a 'supply' and have a roof with a working air conditioner.  In those days, my life was devoid of reality, love or serenity, and I was pretty much broke and very broken.

In those blocked out countless junkie days, my life was constantly spiraling further and further out of control.  My only anchor was my ability to hustle.  I'm a very good hustler.  No matter how devoid of cash I was, I was always able to get just enough to have what I needed to stay up.

In those days, my idea of essentials and needs included cigarettes, a few cool clothes, crank, vinyl, guest list and hustling to make even more money to continue to afford a nighttime clublife lifestyle in a land of fantasy in the underbelly of New York City's downtown.  In this world, I was an expert and knew my way around.

My hustling skills continued to improve.  I clawed my way up, and starved for more money in the same way I needed a bigger fix of the illicits.  Money would line my pockets in fat rolls, organized neatly with all the heads facing up and in numerical bill order.

When I stored thousands of dollars in that Victoria's Secret box hidden in my suitcase, the money was neatly bundled and organized, I knew exactly what I had and how it was stashed.  As long as the box was full, I was at ease. 

In the years that followed, I hustled my way towards a legitimate life, hustling PR job after PR job, trying to shirk my shady reputation and become 'the best person I can be'.  I remember when I was offered a job at a real PR agency for $70K/yr, wow... legally making $70K.  I had plans, moving it around, not blowing it on tons of clothing and crap... keeping some in a safety net and with that... I was at ease. 


On Sept 10th, 2001 I was making $250K.  We had a nice apartment, some new Ikea furniture, money in savings, and I was at ease.  On September 11th, that all went away, and I was in panic and distress.  This is the feeling I'm speaking of, that fear that I won't have what I need, food, shelter, and that tucked away stash to keep me at ease.

FF..... more than a decade later.

These days, I make less than I made when I first graduated from college.  I'm very cool with that.  As I've aged, I've come to terms with the fact that the hustle doesn't make me happy anymore, and neither does the large sums that can't buy me what is really important in life.... LOVE. 

I've simplified our lives, we live in a little cabin, I don't shop for anything but food, gas, books and toys.  Don't have a smart phone or a new iPod.  I barely wear make up or worry about appearances in that way I did in my publicity diva days.  We need very little to have a lot.  We live in the mountains.  I spend my money on activities like snowboarding, surfing and travel.  And I do it all for not just me but for me and my son.  All of the money is not for 'I' but for 'US'.

My fragile financial situation took a serious nosedive last month, I found myself with NO income at all.  And I was NOT at ease anymore.  Money is an attachment and security blanket I need in order to be equanimous.  When I turned my computer on and found that my income was totally halted, my balance shifted.  My serenity raped.  Flustered I spent days scrambling for work, any work, anything to bring in money to obliterate my panic.

Like the junkie days, I found myself scrambling online to find work, any work.  The situation was humbling and humiliating.  My survival instincts to make sure we had enough kicked in hard.  I was prepared to do just about anything to make sure we were going to have 'enough'.  

Fear of Financial Insecurity is my Mara**.  When my economic situation wanes, my peaceful serenity is obliterated by my immense fear and panic.  It's just like I felt back in the old days tweaking for more junk.  I tweak for more money.

The question is, is there any way around it?  Can I exist peacefully with nothing to line my pockets?  Well, I sure didn't try to this past month.  I've been a basket case, emotional disaster, craving a way to check out of my skull and numb myself to the painful cravings to have my accounts be at that 'right' amount so that I am comfortable, and so I feel at ease.

It's all relative, the modicum of money I need to pad our savings these days feels just like the money in the Victoria's Secret shoe box of yesteryear, even though the amounts are drastically different, their significance is still very much the same.  

I definitely have a dysfunctional relationship to money.  I grew up in home where there was plenty of it, multiple houses, mercedes, club memberships and the best of everything.  Then, by the time I was in college, it was all gone and I had to learn to scramble and make it for myself.  I have done a lot to shed my need for being financially wealthy.  Sure, I envy friends I grew up with who have so much more than me materially.

Tonight... on my drive home, I stopped at the farm stand.  In my ragged tank top, short skirt and rain boots.   I picked out a few local fruits, veggies and cheeses amongst the NYC Trendoid Weekenders in their Prada Flip Flops making an attempt to look hipster 'country'.  I used to be them, craving to get out for a weekend in 'the Country'.  I chatted with the cashier, put my things in my reuseable shopping bags, and mindfully walked through the puddles in the parking lot to my car.  Inhaling the sticky humid summer air, feeling the light breeze on my cheek, noticing the stars overhead, I took my time to enjoy the experience as a New Yorker escaping the city.  But I don't have to escape!  I live right here, where they all want to visit.

Enough is such a scary idea, what is enough.  For me, enough is more than food, gas and bills.  Enough is experience, love and peaceful home.  I've worked my ass off to get where I am today.  Money is just money, it comes and goes.  I give way to much power to something so meaningless.

I have much to explore about needing money to be at ease.  I don't think I fully have a solution to this one yet. 

** Mara is the demon who bothered the Buddha throughout his life.  Like the devil sitting on your shoulder telling you to do bad things.

The Goats Ate My Mala Beads

I was in Los Angeles, just finishing my fourth weekend of Dharma Punx Facilitator Training. I was on a bit of a high, excited about everything that was to come. The weekend was spiritually fruitful and educationally productive. I learned a great deal from my peers and teacher, and had the connection and feeling that things were really gelling.

When I arrived at the beginning of the weekend, and my fellow trainees asked the proverbial opener, "how are you?" I honestly answered with... "I'm feeling an equanimity I've never quite felt before. Highs and lows, but I'm just rolling with it."

On Monday, June 21st, while sitting in an Internet Cafe in Venice, after being WiFi-less for so many days, I logged in and began my usual work routine, updating, writing, crafting, sending, doing, clearing... preparing for the workload I had on my plate.

But .... things weren't as they seemed moments before. Some bad news, a surprise lost client, some more bad news.... a dark cloud was growing on my computer screen. All this stuff was coming at once. My phone was blowing up, my texts screen bleeping, my emails parading in... all with different shades of bad I had no control over.

I sat there, far from home, very far from home, scrambling while sipping a $4 Organic Hibiscus Mango Ginger Iced Tea I suddenly couldn't afford. How the fuck was I going to get home? And would my EZ Pass go through when I try to get my car out of the JFK Lot. Will I have enough for gas to get home? And when I get home, can we eat?

FRACK!

I scrambled, updating my resume and posting ads on CL for jobs cleaning houses, painting houses, babysitting and spanking men for money. Anything I could think of that I could do, phone sex, laundry, admin assistant. Panicking in this state, trying to be mindful. Over and over I kept saying, "Just for today, you're in an Internet Cafe with an overpriced Iced Tea and you're alive and breathing."

I made it home. My car did start. My car got out of the lot. I got my son. I drove upstate. I didn't pass go or collect $200.

Zman went to school the next morning and I opened up Craigslist Help Wanted Ads... and then I found an ad that surprised me. It was an ad for an Admin Asst at Catskill Animal Sanctuary. I figured, if I did any kind of work for a nice non-profit, I would be blessed, and lucky. Right livelyhood. I looked at the ad, with a feeling like, this would be nice. This would be so much better than doing sales for Cumulus. So, I sent my resume, with a nice note and took a chance.

The next day ... I found out... they wanted me, and the day after that it was for a job they hadn't posted yet. They needed me, and I really really needed them.

I had this feeling, that this was where I needed to go, and where I need to be.

On my second day working on the Farm, I got to meet a herd of 21 newly rescued goats. I'd never met so many goats at once, in fact how many goats have I really met anyway? As we went in, treats in hand, it was fun to feed them and meet them. They were gentle loving and friendly.

One in particular stole my heart. His name is Atlas. He's 'broken', yes, crippled for life due to improper care and neglect. He laid in pain on the ground as two women gently held him and nurtured him. The Vet came to make an effort to relieve him of his pain, and his outlook seemed not very optimistic. The collaborative goal by all was to love him and give him the most comfortable life he can have.

I took photos and shot videos. I was nervous, and shy. Then, in an effort to keep the herd away from Atlas during his doctor visit, I lured the other goats away with some goat food. Now I don't know anything about goats. They have cute floppy ears, seem pretty docile and don't mind when you pet them. As they gathered around me, scarfing up food out of my hands, the biggest greediest fellow Arthur bit and ate the mala beads right off my wrist.

I giggled and laughed, "the Goats ate my Mala Beads!"

To wit, Abbie the Animal Care Director responded, "Yeah, that's Goats for you."

Silly city girl I am, in my skirt and adornments, what was I thinking? That's right, I don't know what I'm doing, and I certainly didn't know anything about what hungry little cuties the goats are.

I guess these newly rescued four-legged friends needed a little enlightenment. My service to them, Naaaaaaaahmaste Goats! (sheepish, I know** thank you Chris Bick for this one)

I visit Atlas in his stall in the barn pretty regularly. The other day, I actually saw Atlas standing, taking steps, and moving around his stall. He smiles when I see him, and nuzzles for love. Yeah, I'm falling for the goats. Who knew that this city chick could feel such affection for a creature who seemed so alien to her 10 days ago. But here I am, falling in love with goats. I'm learning what loving creatures they are, that they have emotions and feelings and like us... even when they are suffering, they can smile when they are loved.

Emotionally, I'm far from out of the woods. I still have a lot of stuff that came up last month to tend to, and fear about being able to tackle it all. I've been humbled by the humans and the animals in my life, big and small, two and four legged. I am experiencing a new growth spurt emotionally, and am afraid and excited to get to go through it at the farm.

The equanimity I was able to live in just a month ago, seems impossible to grasp at again. How was I able to maintain that Buddha like chillness for months and months, and lose it so quickly in an avalanche of new reasons to suffer. My spiritual journey is in its infancy. I must remind myself of this over and over.

Everything is impermanent. EVERYTHING. This knowledge is freeing and crippling. But like Atlas, I too can be open to love, and allow others to help me heal. This new adventure is going to teach me something new, and is demanding that I learn to soften in work in the same way I've learned to be gentle and compassionate in my life. If I am to extend the journey, I will need to be about Metta, and be in a place of love for all living beings and walk the spiritual walk at work. I may not end up perfect, but I can end up in a much better place than where I was before when I began the journey.