Last week I celebrated my birthday. In celebration, I wrote the following reflection and have been asked to post it to the blog. A mix of an essay on gratitude, an ode to mom, and a mini-autobiography, this flies in the face of a ridiculous commitment I made to myself one day when I was about 10 – to never be vulnerable, never need or rely on anyone (for real – I tried it for about the next 17 years), and to never share when I was hurt. Sharing this reflection is a complete obliteration of those commitments…crazy it is still so scary!
Today is my birthday. June 7th according to my birth certificate, in spite of the fact that my Mom always thinks it is June 6th. I decided to take the day “off” today yet find myself at the computer, typing away. As I move closer to my fourth decade on the planet (I am 37 today) I can’t help but to reflect on the question, “Who am I today?” How have I evolved? How am I different, how have I grown, what have I accomplished? Do I have any regrets? What am I most proud of and what will this next year bring?
In spite of a few regrets, some not so great memories, and lots of dreams not yet realized, I am feeling incredibly grateful for a few things in particular, interesting that they ALL have to do with my relationships.
Mom is my foundation, my shadow, my hope. She dreamed of me for years before I was ever conceived. I was her elephant baby. My older brother Robin was born while mom and dad were still in India and was cared for by Mother Theresa, who was entrusted to care for his soul as he quickly traveled back home to God. So, when I was born, a month after my parents returned to the United States, mom and dad had been awaiting the arrival of their child for almost two years. Hence…the status of being an elephant baby.
I do not have many memories of my earliest years. I know it was struggle. My father, an Indian man with a thick accent married a white woman in the 60’s. I do remember a brief period of time, growing up in Silver Spring Maryland, when my mom didn’t want my father to leave the house. She was afraid he would be killed by a local gunman who was randomly killing black men on the streets. Because of my father’s skin color, he was cautioned to stay indoors until the gunman was captured.
I remember people treating my father with disrespect; this brilliant and fundamentally misunderstood man who was classified as dumb or “less than” because he had dark skin and an Indian accent. To most of society, they did not care that he has skipped something like five grades in school and graduated with honors from the most distinguished school in India.
In a land of opportunities, I know it was tough for him to assimilate into American life, where fathers were not revered as they are in India, where one’s job and possessions defined a man much more than his character, mind, or his dreams. He led a difficult life, losing most of his family, including his mother at the young age of thirteen. He cared for his two surviving brothers in a home where his father’s spirit had been so broken by the hard realities of growing up in Indiain poverty and under British rule at the turn of the century.
My younger Brother and I grew up in a Jewish neighborhood and in spite of the fact that we were not raised as a Hindu or a Christian, but rather given the freedom to explore our own faith, I remember pondering the idea of converting to Judaism, then later Catholicism, mostly because my best friends in Junior High school introduced me to the ceremonial and social aspects of the faiths they had been born into. I went to Bar Mitzvahs, CCD classes, and Christian weddings. I ate Indian food in Jewish neighborhood, in a white man’s world and was nourished by my parent’s examples of inclusiveness, openness, and perseverance.
I do not recall many of my friends being offered a choice. If their parents didn’t believe in God, they forced and socialized their kids to believe (or not believe) the same as they did. If they were Christian, their kids were Christian. If they were prejudice against a certain race, gender, political group, or social affiliation, they extended those beliefs and prejudices to their children. Most parents never allowed their children to form fully out of their inherent essence of innocence, love and soul-level knowingness that we are all connected and equal under the eyes of our creator.
In spite of some not so great family memories and struggles with generational demons, I must say that it was the outside world that provided the majority of the opportunities to be hurt, categorized, or misunderstood.
In elementary school I was called Gandhi Girl and Dot head. My tall (I reached full height in 6th grade and then stopped growing), skinny body, long black hair, olive complexion and easily tanned skin really emphasized my Indian features.
I was not white, not black, not Indian, not Hindu, not Christian, not Jewish, and not Catholic. Completing forms was confusing, I was supposed to pick one thing to be and stick with it forever. I never felt like I belonged to one group, one religion, one clique, or one race. Yet, by all accounts, everyone in society, except for my parents, told me I had to pick, conform, and choose one thing to be. As much as we see ourselves as the freest society on the planet, I think we forget what our parents do to support or detract from this fundamental right we each have to choose who we become and how we define ourselves.
Not me. I was blessed with a family who, by all accounts, and in spite of their diverse upbringings, instilled a personal sense of freedom that would never be impacted by the rude awakenings of the real world. Mom was raised in the Midwest by a simple yet profoundly spiritual family and Dad was raised in India, named by the great Mahatma Gandhi and born to freedom fighters in Gandhi’s movement. My brother and I had no idea how good we had it. We were raised in a living expression of equality, love, and a kind and curious outlook and appreciation for learning, experimentation, and a steady invitation to explore how we saw ourselves fitting into society as a whole.
My college years were an interesting mix of loss, grief, and expansion. In one six month period I lost my dad, was raped and became pregnant as a result. My mother would have supported me in whatever decision I made. The picketers and protestors at the abortion clinic told me I was evil. They hated me without knowing my situation and told me I would go to hell unless I gave birth to my rapist’s child. It didn’t matter that I had been raped by a man who would never step foot into a jail cell, or that I didn’t regain full recall of the event for almost 6 months. At the time, I didn’t see myself surviving 9 months with the constant reminder of something that I was determined to not define me. It did not matter to them that my other- most obvious - option was to choose a lifetime of seeing my rapist’s eyes in the eyes of my child. Maybe I just wasn’t strong enough. At the time, I didn’t even possess the courage to be a vessel for an adoptive family and allow my body to be an incubator for some one else’s dream. In hindsight, I wish I had been stronger, maybe less limited in how I saw my choices. Yet, Mom was there for me in a way that most parents couldn’t handle. She had just lost her soul mate, her daughter was in pain and her entire future life was changing at the speed of light. She is amazing. She is my angel, my rock, my hope, my love.
Mom and Dad didn’t force me to believe a certain way. I was not limited to a small set of possibilities. Instead, they supported me in every step of my evolving journey and although my father has long since made his transition, I know he is still with me on my quest for truth in this lifetime. When I spoke of becoming a doctor, they gave no more importance to that possibility than when I dreamed of becoming a writer, a psychologist, and later decided to major in Criminology. I worked in jails for 14 years, divorced my first husband, dated and married a musician with three kids of his own and ultimately left a secure government job to begin a business founded in my passions and purpose. Mom supported every decision, no matter how insane they seemed at the time.
In my early twenties, when I became pregnant with my oldest daughter and was subsequently diagnosed with Lupus after years of being sick, I realized that I wouldn’t have been able to medically survive an unwanted pregnancy as a teenager. There were some days when I was given as many as 15 injections just to keep me and my baby girl alive. It took over two years after the birth of my second daughter for the bruises to heal on my buttocks, arms and stomach, and even longer for my body to regain the strength it had given to house my two miracle babies. It was evidence of an incredible commitment and desire to bring life into the world. One that was supported by Mom in mind, body and spirit.
Shortly after giving birth to my second child, when I decided to stop all traditional treatments, leave my first husband and instead bring God and my own healing powers into the mix, mom fully supported those decisions too. She didn’t fill me with fear or limited thinking, but rather chose to support my decisions to heal myself and re-write the story of my future life with absolute faith that all would be well. As I flushed bottles of subscription pills down the toilet, I realized I had stepped into freedom, a space of possibility supremely supported by my mother and husband.
It was through all of those experiences that I was able to recognize how special my mother was. She was and is my best friend, soul mate, and business partner. She is the safe space and confidant to all of my thoughts, challenges, hopes, fears, and dreams. I have tapped into a well of gratitude that will never run dry.
She nursed me when I was ill and struggling to heal. She invited me and my children into her home when we had no place to go (Big thanks to David, my stepfather, whose love for my mother has greatly benefited my life as an adult – in fact, he bought me my very first computer!). She believed in me when I decided to heal myself. She supported me when I became lost and disenchanted. She fueled my dreams through her raw faith in me as a visionary whose truth was yet to be revealed. It does not escape me that Mom made hard decisions to not share her opinions and fears at times, but rather encouraged me to walk my own path, never getting in the way of the lessons I was to learn.
Today I am surrounded by some incredibly amazing people. Last night, as I watched my husband Brent and his music partner Joe co-creating music in the studio, I was fully present to the fact that these two amazing men were putting my words and poems to music that came directly from their souls. They breathe deeper meaning and significance to my words and thoughts. And, I get to watch them as they dance in the possibility of creativity, a single note or chord progression transforming my thoughts into higher form.
Slowly they find their groove, hit that one note, one beat and wham, it happens, the three of us are instantaneously joined in one voice (albeit I am not singing). The songs belong to all of us and will soon belong to everyone that hears them.
It is amazing to be bringing up our children in a home where creation is always occurring in such a deliberate way. I know that on day they will deeply appreciate their experiences and I know it is a big influence in their lives. It isn’t easy for children to grow up in a family who places more importance on Truth than things.
My oldest daughter loves making movies, possesses a bizarre ability to mimic accents, is a total ham, has a freaky sense of smell, and can put together an outfit that the fashion industry would die for. My youngest daughter makes up blues songs, builds little villages for our pets (7 mammals and a few fish and frogs), and is a true artist and healer. They both love their friends so deeply you would think they lost an arm when it is time to depart and return to the family roost.
Like any family, we laugh, we cry, we argue, and we roll our eyes as we giggle about our weird idiosyncrasies.
Today I am gifted with an amazing group of supporters who see and believe in the bigness of our vision. Mom, Dave, Pernell, Donna, Bob, Peggy, Jen, Kelly, Karen, Amy, Carla, Holly, Anna, Kiera, Jeannie, Dev, David, and of course, Joe and Brent, I thank you on this day of my birth for seeing at times when I can’t, for believing in things that are not yet manifest, and for being in my high heart herd. I thank our entire Power of Our Way community, most of whom I have not met personally for joining in common intention.
From clients to critics, from friends to spiritual partners, we cross many boundaries in complete freedom and for that I am grateful. Today Brent and I are gifted with incredible opportunities to speak with congregations and groups, to share our music and writing, and to be an inspiration to others to unleash their greatness and live their dreams.
And, what I know on this day of celebrating 37 years of an incredible life, is that I am honored to make a worldwide statement that none of my life would be as it is- none of it – without the love and support and faith of this incredibly special woman, Carol Pathik Kerr and my sacred and “yummy” partnership with my Husband, Brent Law, my incredible children and my small but powerfully intimate circle of friends, all of whom understand that our work is our life and our life is our work. Who I am; my accomplishments, hopes, dreams, and character have been formed under your influence and unconditional support. I belong to you forever in gratitude, awe and amazement and will always strive to make you proud.
I need not one more thing in the whole universe to know that my life is complete and full. I need not one more present, one more dollar, any less debt, any more friends, any less sadness, or any more joy to know that I am the luckiest and most blessed woman ever to live.
So, for all of you who were touched by my words in our song, Power of My Way, please know that the “Power of My Way” truly is the Power of Our Way.
So, happy birthday to me. It couldn’t get any better than this. I love you all.
Namasté, Anita
P.S. Apologies – I am not answering any business emails today
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