Sixty Years of Love and Laughter, Continues

My parent’s official wedding photo 1963

“On 14^th October, 1963, at 7pm he came to our house (wedding took place at my maternal grandmother’s house) with his friends and folks. The big two storied building was illuminated with bright lights and a high arch was made to welcome the groom. Pandels with different colors added a fantastic color to the gay of the party”, my mother wrote in her own wedding book.

This week is the 60^th Wedding Anniversary of my parents.

They met at Oklahoma State University, in 1961 when my mom, Niloufer Ahmed, arrived as a Ford Foundation Scholar to achieve her second Masters, in Early Childhood Education. My dad, Atiq Mahmood was on the last semester of his BS in Mechanical Engineering.

Coincidentally, their families lived 25 houses apart in #10 and #35 Aga Masi Lane but traveled over 8000 miles to meet and fall in love. The liberal arts major and this quant quickly fell for each other.

The smiles of two college students in love in Stillwater, OK

Soon, my dad joined the graduate Industrial Engineering program at the University of Missouri-Columbia (later my own alma mater) and the writing of letters commenced. They wrote to each other almost every week. I remember finding a bundle of their love letters, many years ago and read them with curiosity and interest.

There was a common thread of idealism, patriotism, and responsibility imbedded in their ethos. My dad wrote in perfectly geometric alphabets and switched into English more frequently – mom wrote flowing, large fonts, often very melodic and emotional. Her letters were full of endearing precious terms “shona bou” and “shona moni” or “jadumoni” in the original address on these letters.

One of My moms love letters to my dad titled “Jadumoni Amar” (My Magical Person)

In the 1960s Bangladesh (then politically known as East Pakistan) – expression of public love was not common, as if it was a sin to fall in love. “Arranged” marriage was the norm and there was a commonly held disdain towards romantic dalliances. However, these two persevered.

I recall my mom telling me that she wrote to her father, that she was interested in this young man from their same neighborhood in Dhaka. My Grandfather responded, “I advise you to meet him in his home environment – you must see him in his own element.” She was in love, and nothing could stop her rapture.

My mom finished her master’s and, on the way, back, conveniently stopped in Seattle to visit her childhood friend; my Dad was working in Seattle for Boeing as a Senior Industrial Engineer on the 747 program.  It was the year of the World’s Fair in Seattle. They went to the Space Needle for dinner and my dad proposed with a platinum/diamond ring; the romance was sealed.

Post Engagement Glow

As a scholar, my mom was required to serve her country for 2 years and could not leave the homeland; in 1963, the Vietnam War was in full force and there was a draft order. Even though his number had yet to come up, my dad suspected that he would get drafted. He took two weeks’ vacation and traveled back home; landed at the airport and insisted that he had to marry my mom within 1 week; it was non-negotiable. He was to return to the US in two weeks. His family objected; they had other girls lined up for him. However, my father persevered.

My parent’s Wedding Invitation Card

There were passive-aggressive objections from her family – my paternal family wasn’t “distinguished” enough – somewhat nuovo wealth. According to my aunt, there was ingrained colorism in this opposition – apparently, my dad was shades darker than my mom. My Boro-Amma (maternal great-grandmother), after meeting my dad told her that, as a baby, she always sang to her, “Kala Jamai Bhala Laage Na” (We don’t like dark son-in-laws), but obviously had no impact on my mother!  My mother said she never noticed my dad was darker than her.

According to my mom’s journal “700-800 friends, family and guests were served a grand dinner”. Half of his family boycotted the wedding in protest. Unlike traditional weddings, where the bride is gifted sarees/jewelry from the new in-laws – my mother got nothing. All she wore that evening were gifts from her parents.

My mom’s writing in her own wedding book

The gift of gold from your in-laws is considered something precious for a new bride. After twelve years of marriage, my Dadu (paternal grandmother) finally gave my mom a pair of gold “bala” (wristbands) and my mom never took them off for the rest of her life.

One year anniversary photo

Since my mom couldn’t return to the US, dad resigned from his Boeing job, gave up his Green Card and was quickly recruited to Burmah Shell, one of the largest Petrochemical companies of the region. Both my sister and I were born; we won the parental lottery the day we were born.

The home of Niloufer and Atiq Mahmood in the late 1960s and 70s was a privileged home of highly educated “tiger parents”. Education was everything and nothing else mattered. There were few families in Bangladesh, at that time, where both parents were highly educated and prominently successful in their careers. We observed my parents as good friends, equals and partners. This was a rare phenomenon, anywhere, not just in that region of the world. They enjoyed playing cards together, sharing books to read and constantly arguing over politics!

Our Young Family in 1968, Guptakhal, Chottogram

Watching my mom build two schools ground up, and my dad being the part of the leadership of the multinational in Bangladesh has given me the confidence to do things that I never knew were possible. Their friends and associates were leading technocrats, ambassadors, secretaries, government ministers in the 1960s, 70s and 80s. Our large home in Poribag was always full of guests, friends and family.  Card games, weddings, Rotary meetings, WVA lunches and garden parties were rotating events at our home. In 1977, an actual movie, with then Bangladeshi heartthrobs Razzaq and Babita, was shot at our home. 

 

In 1985, my parents were one of the fifty Bangladeshi couples invited to dine with the Queen Elizabeth II when she visited Dhaka. I remember my mom being so excited by the event and she bought a new beige Jamdani Sari to meet the queen.

The Night My Parents went to dinner with QE2

Sixty years later, On this day, I am grateful these two young lovers persevered.

They persisted through a 9-month long war (of Independence), the following famine, scarcity and a series of de-stabilizing changes. Through all this, my parents were a true “power couple” – steadfast, honest, uncompromising, driven, determined and yet, caring and centered around family.

My father died suddenly in 1985 and mom mom never re-married. She continued to wear her engagement ring and the two golden balas for another 30 years.

I remember the last anniversary party that Apu and I surprised them with in 1984! We invited their favorite friends, and some neighbors to join us for a potluck dinner at our home.

In her wedding journal, my mom wrote, “My friends were busy with me, making me a bride, giving me a happy touch of wedding atmosphere, cutting jokes and laughing hilariously, as if all of them were lost in the candid show of the day.”

Wherever in Heaven you are, I am sure there’s a party going on with all your friends! I can see Iqbal Uncle and Bilquis Aunty, Manzur Uncle and Maksuda Aunty, Habibullah Khan Uncle and Salma Aunty, so many lovely people, always “cutting jokes”, always “laughing hilariously” and making it a “Show of the Day”!

The Last Family Photo of our Family, April 14, 1985

We are privileged to be your children, to have families of our own and to carry on many of your ideals and pass them on to our children. 

This weekend, I had a few friends over at our home; after a dinner of chicken korma, khichuri, naan and a few other Bangladeshi delicacies, we laughed, played cards, “cut” innumerable jokes, talked deep political issues, and made it a fun evening for ourselves.

Your love and pursuit of happiness has left us this legacy of joy, wonder and friendships, that started sixty years ago that we continue to surround our worlds with.

Happy Anniversary, Mummy and Papa.

Chapter 3: Ready for my Best Life

This week, I turn 55. 

When I was in my teens, thirty seemed sooo old; then I was 30 and 50s seemed so far away (and old), now that I am 55, I feel like there is so little time left and still so much to do! One never knows when and how things end, but as we age, we can clearly see the signs of waning physical abilities. Hence the urgency to do the things you’ve always wanted or liked to do before it’s too late. 

My Chapter 1 was about growing up and learning my way around the world – becoming independent from my parents and charting a course of life. Education – was the focus of this particular stage in my life. This chapter ended when I was 25, had my first job as a manufacturing engineer in a small, family-owned company, in Toledo, OH, and was preparing to buy a home of my own. Still seeking stability, building resilience.

Chapter 1: Growing Up: Teenage At Mizzou with first car in 1986

Chapter 2 of my life  was about building a career and a family – the following 20 years of my life was all about building. Married a girl I fell in love with, had our first child, built our first home together and then started the corporate climb –  Lived in 7 homes in 4 states, progressively growing in my career, becoming  a CEO by the time I was 40, followed by more expensive homes, boats, vacations and more children. Life was on a roll. 

Chapter 2: Building a Career, Growing a Family

Interruption: mental illness creeps up in my life and breaks my beautiful family apart; the following 10 years of my life focused on re-learning everything  – defining what it means to be truly and authentically happy; coming out as a gay man while learning to be a single-dad. In 2016, I have written about this in We Will Carry On. Finally, I have given myself permission to agree that’s the most important role I will ever play.

The purpose of my life is to raise two beautiful souls and teach them how to be happy. 

Learning how to be a Single Dad

During this journey, I learned that only I can to describe and decide what makes me happy; and the best way to teach children is to establish the example, that happiness is not a myth – it can be defined, outlined and ultimately achieved – if you’re willing to put in the hard work. While having money helps, It’s definitely not about money. Happiness doesn’t have to appear accidentally and momentarily. And you definitely cannot wait for someone to serve it to you, on a silver platter. 

My happiness cannot be my children’s happiness – they have grown up in a different world and have different challenges ahead of them. I continuously teach them to be resilient and determined; to believe in themselves and their ability to move their own needle, not to wait on others. 

Finding Joy: Ziplining in Costa Rica 2014 !

It took me 10 years (of committed work and therapy) to define what I love, both professionally and personally; all my life, I lived by the standards of my parents or what I believed was required to be happy: work a steady job, build a career, have a family and savings, philanthropy, join clubs and organizations, have good friends surround you. My parents exemplified this world for me, with their lives. And I was convinced and confident that whatever worked for them, will somehow magically work for me. 

While all of the above is fundamentally right, after 10 years of personal work, I have learned that there is much more nuance to that. It’s not about just building a career – it’s about finding joy – being happy, doing whatever makes my heart sing. Example: my parents were not outdoorsy people – having intellectual conversations over cups of hot-milky tea and debating endlessly was more up their alley. On the other hand, I have discovered, after a lot of soul searching, I find true joy in outdoor activities!

Hawaii with Shania 2019

A few years ago, I was once sitting in a board meeting, surrounded by serious, smart people – listening to some corporate attorney but at the back of my mind, I was irritated. I knew I had things to do at home, my mom was in her last days and I needed to be next to her; Shania had a music recital that night and I needed to get eggs for breakfast tomorrow. That’s the day I learned that this corporate role of being a CEO or a Division President wasn’t right for me any more. My happiness lay with taking care of my family and I needed to figure out what I would do for work, while I made my family my most important priority. 

Similarly, I was in a tortured personal relationship over a 4 year period – where toxicity had seeped in and I didn’t know how to break free. I worked hard in therapy, learning about my early childhood habits, and why I liked taking care of “wounded birds” – hence all  my prior romantic relationships were with people who were injured and hurt and needed extreme care. While caring for them, I had lost myself and thought that was the way life is meant to be. These wounded people didn’t have the capacity to love me back. 

In personal life I was a “wounded caregiver” and in the corporate world I took the role of a “turnaround guy” – always fixing problems that I didn’t start or was responsible for.

Finally, today, as I step into a different chapter, I believe, I have conquered these myths and resolved these false choices. Today, I confidently know: 

• I am  the most important person in my  life; no one will love or take care of me the way I deserve or want to be taken care of, if I can’t do it first – for myself
• One can raise a family, take care of others and take care of oneself – it’s not one or the other – no reason to think that one task is more important than another; it’s a constant balancing act. 
• If you write it out, what you want, your energy, and the universe, will conspire to bring you that outcome – you need to be specific in your definition

Armed with my new knowledge and confidence, I changed my work and personal life habits, separated myself from friends and family who brought torment or toxicity to my life.

Four years ago, On January 10, 2018, my therapist asked me what I would like in an ideal future partner. On a piece of paper I wrote down 9 characteristics that I truly liked about my friends, that I would like to see in my future partner: 

1. Kind
2. Giving
3. Generous and Makes Effort
4. Thoughtful and takes care (of me)
5. Fun
6. Loyal and Protective
7. Loves Travel and Concerts
8. Attractive and Charming
9. Independent and Responsible 

A friend advised, if I want a true partner to come into my life, I have to physically make room for them. I emptied out half my closet, cleaned out one side of the garage. Exactly 2 years later, almost to the tee, on January 12, 2020, I met Roberto, my husband, at a restaurant for Sunday brunch which turned into a 5 hour date and at the end, he hugged me tight and lifted me up – No one had ever done that to me! He checked off every box.

Roberto and I met in 2020; First RoadTrip to Savannah, GA

We moved in together during a worldwide pandemic and chronic shutdowns and figured out each other! Our Love Started In the Time of a Pandemic.

On January 9, 2022, we invited our close friends and family to witness our wedding. I always dreamt of my girls to walk me down the aisle one day – and that dream did come true.

I dreamt of my daughters walking me to start the next chapter in my life

We were surrounded by so much love and such great energy, this will clearly be one of the best days of my life. 

As I step into 55, I look forward to a life traveling, and enjoying with Roberto while I watch my girls becoming self reliant, both professionally and emotionally. One day, when it’s time to go, I want to make sure they have love surrounding them, as I have experienced, in different stages of my life.

I am ready for my chapter 3. I have prepared for it and worked hard to get here. I will continue to work hard to remain healthy, be able to take care of my loved ones – while enjoying food, wine, music, travel and the outdoors. Ready for my best Life!

Jan 9 2022: Our Wedding

Meet Me Exactly Where I Am, With All My Scars

My beautiful scars

All over me, Defining who I am 

Unapologetic, Photogenic, Merciful. 

The first time I fell, I acquired a scar; I may have cried and, probably, one of my parents picked me up and soothed me. The confidence in their eyes, as they looked into mine, explained that I would be ok. Pain is temporary, boo, they said. And I believed them and moved forward. 

Scars don’t have to be physical in nature, often they are mental; we call them “trauma”. 

Most of the time, the scar on our body (or mind) is just that. People may try to define us by our scars. But we are more than that. We were born with a soul, hopefully a clean and clear soul. Over time, through experiences and trauma, we become different people. Sometimes we fight back, often we are scared, and we may develop trust issues. 

I was probably 4 years old, and had repeated a swear word I had heard;  my mother held a toilet brush to my mouth to remind me that if I ever swore again, she would brush my “potty mouth” with a potty brush . I learned quickly that was not acceptable in my home. As a teenager, In the company of friends, I tried to swear, but it seemed so dramatic – that I stopped trying! Even today, when I hear profuse and continuous swearing, it makes me twinge in internal agony. 

So I’ve had a conversation with myself; I don’t enjoy swearing. I don’t have to swear to fit into a certain crowd. It’s ok for people to swear around me. And I can ignore, avoid or  leave. If it gets too much, I can let others know that it makes me uncomfortable. I’ve learned to tell people not to smoke around me – because it causes bodily harm – I can also tell them that swearing hurts my ears – if it bothers me too much. 

When you are young, you try to “fit in” – work or private settings. I have friends that have tried so hard to fit in, that they no longer remember who they were, as children. We all have friends that have become different over time and when you look into their eyes, you wonder, how you were ever friends, in the first place. 

Trauma or scars, create vulnerability. If you were attacked in the dark, you become afraid of darkness. We cannot always remove that fear. We tell ourselves, it’s ok to be afraid, as long as we are willing to admit it, accept it.

Once you accept, admit, approve and start loving your new “scar”,  life becomes so much easier. When we defy your scars, or try to ignore them, they often catch up with you. 

I am nervous of highly mercurial people – people who suddenly change from being super nice, to super angry or nasty in a moment; everyone has a friend or relative that does that. Childhood experiences make me run away from those who behave irrationally. 

Once I learned this about myself, I noticed a pattern of past behavior, where I have avoided confrontation. As a child, when I was confronted by sudden anger or rage, I was powerless and hopeless – and ran away from the situation. I’ve noticed that I have done the same thing in my life, many times. 

Now, I disconnect or distance myself from these mercurial types – because they bring no joy in my life. Years ago,  at work, I had a new boss who believed he could yell and scream at me (and many others) whenever he chose. I sat him down and told him that this has to stop or one of us will be gone! He was gone in 42 days. Today, I say to myself, life’s too short to work with jerks!

At this moment, we are where we are and who we are. As a friend, family or a lover, my capacity to really become someone else, is limited. One may believe that they are a force of nature who can change me. Or that your power, as a major corporation can “shape me”, but it’s not only an expensive experiment – with a very high probability of failure. 

As I recruit team members at work, or meet new friends, I ask them to examine their inner scars – what happens when they face a difficult crossroad or a confrontation – how do they behave. It’s very telling that it’s our past that often leads us to behave in a particular way. 

The moment we start accepting, and hopefully loving our scars, old or new, we understand that like a tattoo, this scar is now part of us – and we own it. As long as we own it, there is a chance, we may start to accept and possibly even love it, speak about it and confidently move forward. 

There’s absolutely nothing wrong or bad with scars; everyone has them – they come in all sorts of sizes and shapes and occupy our minds or bodies. Let’s grow into them and own them; don’t let them define us – but accept their inevitable presence on our journey.

Those who love us, will love our scars too.

Home Is Where Your Anchor Drops: Dec 2020

Summer of 1986; I was moving into a temporary rental at the end of my freshman year in college; 1313 Wilson Street in Columbia, Missouri – a tiny, damp, basement room with just little bit of sunlight creeping through a small window, way above my head. This first US college summer, I worked 80 hours a week and couldn’t afford decorate the room; a friend didn’t have room in her car for her tiny plant. It came in a brown, plastic container: silently and content, with 3 or 4 leaves.

My longest living companion; since 1986

After 35 years, that same plant, has traveled 8 states and lived in innumerable homes to become my longest “living” friend. I have now lived almost 2X of this my life with this plant, over what I have lived with my birthparents!

These are small things, with oversized meaning, that we attach to; they provide a sense of continuity and memories, reminding us where we came from and the journey we are on.  

While people spend decades living in the same home, or live with their extended families for twenty, thirty or forty years – I’ve had the experiences of living in 10 cities (8 of them in the US) and over two dozen homes (7 in Bangladesh and the rest in the US). Hence, trying to anchor in one place, and finding deep connections has always been a strong need. I built a home in Fort Lauderdale about 3.5 years ago and intend on living here for a very long time; as I look around me, a few things, living and material, have provided meaningful continuity in my life.

My bike has been with me over 24 years in 7 states

My comfort bike joined me in LaCrosse, Wisconsin in 1997. Both Daiyaan and Shania were carried on the same child carrier, on this bike, and over ~ 24 years, this bike has provided joy, physical activity and a connection to many cities only possible while peddling. This year, overwhelmed with a pandemic, this bike provided that very comfortable connection to nature and physical activity through heat and rain.

Dinner Bell my Mom used to Ring in Joypahar

I have a few things that while obsolete or unusable, still provides a sense of comfort and continuity just standing there. My mom rang a dinner bell during my childhood, calling us to dinner at our two-story home at Joypahar. This bell has lost it’s jingle but still sits on my kitchen counter reminding me of a time that only made sense to me.

These drinking water glasses are what we drank out of at home!

After my mom’s death, I carried a few drinking water glasses from our home; these glasses have been with our family since the 1970s and every time I drink from them, I remember the strong political or philosophical debates we had at our dining tables with my parents.

This year, with the pandemic hitting us at our very core, we are reminded every day of the fragility of our lives, and the environment we live in. One small change in a remote part of the world has a butterfly effect over millions of people in causing havoc and devasation to so many. While temporary, just like our lives on this earth, such upheavel, changes the trajectory of our thinking and the way we are processing our lives. I am grateful for everything that has been given to me – most importantly, our health and those around us.

As I continue in life, with friends and family, while these small mementos connect us with our past, I believe that my best days are still ahead of me and I know there is so much more joy to be had, and so much more laughter to be shared. I am patient.

I will take all of these little memory evoking things with me on the rest of this journey.

Grateful for my family, our health and where we are today

My Home is Where My Anchor Has Dropped.

Creating Your Next New Normal: A post-Covid dream: April 2020

When your biology is shocked, all your cells fight to reject the outside intervention and wants to go back to it’s previous “normalcy”; similarly, when your system is shocked, your mind searches for straws of normality, some semblance of sanity. Typically, you don’t get a chance to think about and plan for a new normal. You may want to continue doing the same as you did before and dealing with the crucial pain of loss.

Invariably, the new place you have arrived, is different than where you were before. Often, that requires us to re-write the rules or, at minimum, change some existing norms.

In today’s pandemic stricken world, we keep wondering what our future holds. Especially after such a “group shock” to our system; when will we hug our loved ones without fear of hurting them? When will be able to touch a guardrail without wondering who touched it before? When can we go to watch a movie at a theatre again?

I’ve been through 3 significant traumatic events in my life; I have learned that my loss is entirely personal, and very few people can understand or empathize the pain I may have endured. Similarly, every time, I have arrived at a new state of mind, it took adjustments, and there is a lingering feeling of loss; however, I have learned to make this new “normality” my only reality and moved forward to accept the new rules, norms and roles.

Losing my dad, at the age of eighteen, migrating to a new country/continent/culture, and much later in life, going through a divorce – each one these new circumstances have created a personal “new normal” for me. At least two of these three “incidences” were beyond my control and migration, can be argued on either side of the coin.
One afternoon I left home to go to a theatre lecture and came back to find my young Dad being hauled away in an ambulance and the next morning, he died, suddenly. My world was jarred and I had to grow up quickly, make decisions on my own and carve my own future. I realize that my Dad’s death has made me more resilient – while making me anxious about relationships. I have also become acutely aware of the shortness of life and have understood that the only connections that matter are your close family and a few friends.

Within three months of my father’s death, I took a long journey and arrived to go to college in the US; leaving a doting family, friends behind, I set out on a journey to define and find a new home. It took me almost twenty years, after living in 8 states, to finally land in Florida where I feel grounded again. Earning my own right to exist in this hyper-competitive world of my new homeland and constantly proving that I can do it, without known connections, is the true test of being an American.

A decade after arriving in the US, I met my princess and proposed to her on our second date. We married, had two lovely children, traveled the world and lived our idylic life on a beach town.  Some 15 years later, another tragedy struck our lives, as my “picture perfect” life was shattered by mental illness and our marriage fell apart. I learned to become a single dad; and to connect with the two most important people of my life. This very personal trauma, also taught me who my friends are, and who suddenly went on an offensive, religious rant to discard me or my children.

I have often said to friends, “Most people don’t get one dream in their life – and I’ve had the privilege of 3 dream jobs in my life” – the only dream job left is to be an “awesome dad” to my girls – and leave them with some amazing memories – something I don’t have a lot with my own father.

Each one of these incidences, death, divorce and migration, are traumatic. Each of them changed me in different ways. I can’t clearly remember who I was before or compare with, who I am today. All I can say is that I know trauma leaves us as a different person Expecting things to be like they were, is unrealistic.

What I discuss with Daiyaan and Shania today, is that we know that things are going to be different in a month, two months or six months from now. We know school for Shania and work for Daiyaan is going to take on different dimensions. We know sports or leisure will be different for all of us. So will our dream to travel; while our tourist souls crave another touch of Barcelona or Mykonos, at least for a few months, we don’t know how we will sit next to strangers on an airplane, or sleep in a hotel bed where someone else slept a few hours ago.

Preparing for the new normal is the key. Not in an intense way, where we hoard food, or toilet paper. But knowing that many of the things we are accustomed to doing – even simple things like hugging each other, will take on a different dimension. Doesn’t mean that we love each other any differently. Just our expression of love may have to morph a bit.

After a week or so, I stop by at Daiyaan’s home and she asks me to wash my hands and sit a table width away.  In the past, during such short visits, we may have been sitting next to each other, on her comfy sofa, watching an old episode of Friends; today, a socially distant interaction is all we feel appropriate.

There will be normalcy again;  I am confident. I will hug my daughter freely one day.

For now, the little girl I brought back from the hospital, some twenty five years ago, sits across from me and tells me about the sushi burrito she ordered via Delivery Dudes or how delighted she is with her Shipt groceries and that she needs to return to a Zoom conference call in the next thirty minutes!

A post pandemic friends Wine Social

My Best Is Yet to Come: Nov 16 2019

I just came back from an amazing vacation with my sister and her husband; they were traveling for work and I accompanied them to Israel, specifically, Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.

Maybe it’s because everyone had scared me about airport security, or maybe my knowledge base of this particular country was limited, or a combination of both – had created very low anticipation for this journey.

Islamic section in Jerusalem

Christian Quarters

Visiting the Wailing Wall on Sabbath

For six days, I had one of my best life vacations! The town of Jerusalem, steeped in the history of 4000+ years of monotheistic religions, was gritty and experiential. On the other hand, Tel Aviv with a young, crisp, artsy, foodie modernity, as if a crafted Malibu experience with a generous dose of  culture and ethnic flair, made it all very heady.

During a sunny Segway mobile adventure of the Tel Aviv coastline, I realized something crucial that sometimes I don’t often give attention: while this is truly an amazing time in my life, The Best of My Life is Yet to Arrive.

The world around me is changing and all my experiences from the past, I believe, have prepared me for this journey – to embrace the change and become a part of it.

Couple of  weeks ago, I attended two back-to-back conferences, SOCAP (Social Capital) in San Francisco and Capital Days in Miami. Young entrepreneurs, from all over the US (and some from overseas) are changing how capital is being deployed and used for the good. Major institutional investors, pension funds and large bureaucratic corporations (that have become so big that they can neither innovate nor create an incubation experience) are taking notice and trying to join this wave. Women and minority entrepreneurs (mostly millennials) are playing a significantly large role in this change.

My interactions with a dozen entrepreneurs over the last two weeks describes how the concept of “tech” is changing. Technology is at the center of all new moves, and to say that this particular startup is “tech”, and that startup is not tech is, no longer valid. Similarly The tech Mecca of San Francisco and Boston are shifting to other smaller metropolis’s like Denver, Austin, Atlanta, and Miami and even smaller cities like Charlotte or Nashville. This is a true game changer for what work means for us and our next generations. I know I want to participate in and contribute to this change, in some form, as I move forward.

On a personal front, 2019 has been a reinvention year for me and my family. We uprooted from Boston and settled back in Florida, to be close as a family unit. Consolidating two households into one, and finding a challenging school that suits Shania’s future growth, has also been a big focus, as she readies for high school. Daiyaan’s stepping into true adulthood (and taking on debt) to buy a home has also been an awesome experience. Cleaning up from the past, we have finally sold our maternal home in Bangladesh. I ended a four-year personal relationship which probably should’ve ended two years ago. Many of these steps were not just necessary, but the natural progression in starting a new chapter in my life.

Bali Swing Jan 2019

Aruba Spring Break March 2019

Sailing in Maine June 2019

I had the most amazing vacations this year. Starting in Bali in January, Aruba in March with Friends, NYC in May with my sister, solo week in beautiful Maine in June, Istanbul in July with Shania, Sonoma for a couple of days in October and capping it all with the dream vacation to Israel last week. During all of all these trips, I have loved, laughed, learned and truly lived.

Sunset and Tea on the Bosphorous Jul 2019

This year I have finally started to feel centered, doing more of the things I love, with people I love. Most of my life, I have tried to meet others expectations, or some societal standard of doing this or that. David Brooks in his new book, “The Second Mountain: The Quest For a Moral Life (Random House, 2019)”, talks about being useful and purposeful. Finally, I feel I am starting to live a life that is more of what I believe in. I am privileged to have two beautiful souls on my journey, who understand my need and love me unconditionally. They give me purpose every day. As they grow older, I am re-defining and re-shaping my own future as well. It’s not just about providing a livelihood, or paying bills anymore. It’s about doing more of what I love, and being useful.

My two amazing daughters!

Whether I live one more day, or another hundred years, it doesn’t matter. I know that every day going forward will be different, experiential and something I believe in.

I am confident that my best days are yet to come.

Sand on the Soles of my Shoes: July 21 2019

We watch this amazing Atlantic sunrise this morning. The breeze is perfect. Florida has beautiful summers.

As we wash our feet at the beachside shower, I notice sand stuck on my feet; I do my best to rinse my feet. As I enter my Q5, the freshly shampooed carpets import a dusting of that sand.

I have a feeling, it will irk me when, the next day, that sand attaches itself so callously to my shoes, with some sort of a romantic vision of changing Italian leather.

Like a small blemish, on perfect skin.

Deep Breath.

It’s all in my twisted thinking.

My daughters openly protest my OCD habits of cleanliness and organization. When I unload the dishwasher, the glasses need to be lined up in a particular manner. And absolutely no transparent objects (like drinking water glasses) can be in the same area with translucent (ceramic coffee) cups or bowls!

For years, I have told myself that things “out of place”, give me anxiety and I don’t correct it. I try not to modulate this expectation and just surrender. In this constantly changing and chaotic world, I organize, whatever I can organize.

This morning though, after sharing that magnificent ocean sunrise with Shania, I look at that sand and encourage my mind to think a little differently; I ask myself how often, and how many people get to do what I do? How often do they soothe their souls with the lapping of waves on their feet. How often do they get to sip their favorite latte, while listening to their favorite tunes, with someone they love! Today is a special day in my life.

I need to let the sand linger on my feet, for as long as I can.

When tomorrow that hard pair of dress shoes pick up some of that sand, its actually a good thing! It’s a reminder of a softer time in my life, when there was a perfect moment of alignment.

I want more blemishes like this on my skin.

Love the beach with my Shania

Everything Will Change In A Year: April 20, 2019

I saw a quote this morning that made me think: “Look around you, and enjoy, be grateful; in a year, everything will be different.”

Last Weekend, April 13, A beautiful day in Ogunquit, ME

As I look back a year, with or without the help of social media, so many things have changed, for me. Especially, in the lives of my children. But also, in my own life.

Last Spring, I was a pensive from the roller-coaster feeling from my constantly changing role at work; I was also in pendulum motion, from my home that I love, in Florida, to the cold of Boston. I had a feeling that this Boston chapter of my life, has to come to a close soon. And, by Fall, my role ended; allowing me to seek what I have wanted all along.

This Spring, I am ready to move to Florida, permanently.

Some things have become more certain, and other, more dispensable things, people or feelings, have dissipated. There is no lingering nostalgia about losing these feelings, which didn’t serve me.

My children have made tremendous strides in a year.

After a re-defining 2018, Daiyaan graduated college in 2018 and found her professional footing, bought her “dream” Jeep (that she has named Natasha, after the singer Natasha Bedingfeld) and now wants to buy her first home this Summer/Fall. She is starting to put down her own roots, in a place she loves. She has chosen a healthy lifestyle of balance. She took her first ever solo trip, and conquered Puerto Rico; she has grown up.

Last Spring, Shania, competed to become her Middle School Vice President and won! She has switched from softball to golf and today, loves basketball as her main school sports; instead of acting in plays, now she is co-directing, for the second year, a school play! She was accepted to attend the prestigious Dana Hall school in Wellesley, MA, but instead, is heading to be with family and joining the pre-law program at her new choice school in Florida.

As their lives unfold, and I see these two beautiful women take their next steps, I enjoy listening to their musings, and life interactions. The new friends they make, and the relationships those fray over time. I tell them my stories, from that particular time in my life that maybe relevant to their experience.

Even though I was raised as a teenager in a different continent, in a completely different era, with no electronic gadgets, or Google, to help answer my questions, the struggles of all awkward teenagers, or young people defining their dreams, are still the same.

Whether you are 13, 23 or 52, Constantly, we search for belonging, love and certainty; it’s tough to accept that none of these feelings are constant, and just to maintain an equilibrium, is a lot of work!

This morning, five of my close friends (same age group), are in deep pain: one from a broken hip (from a fall), another from domestic abuse, and one more, with cancer. Two of my best childhood friends lost their mothers in the last weeks – I knew these loving moms – I have eaten meals with them at their dining tables; having lost my own mom a few years ago, I know that big hole in their hearts are not healing soon.

I pray that my friends have the courage and support to bear the pain they are feeling today. When you experience pain, the depth, the excruciating nature of it, numbs us. There is nothing anyone can say or do, to make you feel differently.

Like last year, I know with certainty, this year, there will be those moments of joy, and sadness. You know there will be a Spring of hope, and the still of Summer.

I know, that whatever incremental, or disruptive changes we are experiencing, pain or happiness, it too shall pass.

It fatigues me to think that, the pain and frustration of the political turmoil we experience today in the US (and resultantly, the world) will only sharpen in the next twelve months.

In my adult life, I have seen and experienced progress, and I don’t give up hope, but I choose to take a long view on history. While things are not perfect, I see progress in health, well-being and innumerable sources of joy.

This weekend, in my little microcosm, I am again, taking a good look at everything and everyone around me.

Acknowledging and accepting that change is continuous and constant – I will do my best to appreciate all those gifts that I have in my life today. I am grateful to the Universe for the love, beauty, health and contentment that I am experiencing today.

I know, everything will change in a year.

Hanging out with Daiyaan and Shania @Portsmouth, NH

I Like Where I am : February 2018

Last week, preparing for a routine colonoscopy (one of those uncomfortable things one has to experience after turning 50), in the early haze of mild anesthesia, my mind wanders. For a change, there is only a light angst, making me think, what will happen to my children, if something happens to my physical self.

The curse of a single parent, with no “back-up” parents, is that you worry incessantly, in your hypothetical absence, what will happen to your minor children. You understand that one is constantly vulnerable to changes in health or external circumstances, but that doesn’t mean you stop worrying. You buy extra life-insurance, you draw up a detailed estate plan, you have conversations with your loved ones, asking them if they will look after your children, and provide them with guidance. But there is always this lingering concern, at the back of your mind.

Moments before my last such hallucinogenic state, I remember wondering exactly what an 8 year old Shania may have done, if I somehow managed to escape during a routine check-up.

But today, Shania is a teenager, and Daiyaan is over 22 and working, paying bills and making her way through this world.

When I observe them together, fighting, arguing, doing sisterly things together – but at night, leaning on each other, when watching their favorite TV show, somehow I accept that, they will be ok, if something happens to me. It’s not going to be easy; but it’s also not impossible. I have also collected enough “together” memories, to leave them Facebook reminders, and digital moments that will spark joy, love, excitement and other emotions, that we commingle to build a life.

With this sense of relative “relief” comes a sort of satisfaction; a deep breath.

As the fog settles, the mind explores. I start imagining, what if something unexpected does happen during routine procedure. At this point, I am looking for bright spots. I think about my smiling mother.

This is the first time, since her passing a couple of years ago, I am in this state of mild cognitive disrepair and I get into an imaginary conversation with her; joking, cajoling, asking me how I have been and how the girls are doing. She asks me what I had for breakfast and if I had brought her back some “Baklava” from the US. We play cards, she makes those facial gestures or little noises, that only she could do. My father, joins us, quietly, smiling – not saying much – thirty years of silence has made him even quieter in my sub-conscious.

This entire haze-filled imaginary interaction, somehow makes me relaxed and fills my heart with an unanticipated calm and joy. To believe that, one has loved ones, on many dimensions, and that escaping from one dimension to the other, may not be as ominous as most organized religions want you to believe.

I want to live forever in my current dimension, no question. But I am also neither concerned, nor sad, about going to the other dimension(s), when that inevitability arrives. A sense of relief, and calm settles in and I float along.

The nurse asks me how I am feeling and if I am ready to put my clothes back on. Outside, in the waiting room, my guardian, Daiyaan awaits to take me home. She flew from Florida to Boston last night to accompany me back from the hospital to home. We discuss lunch, what I want to eat, and the rest of the day. For this day, our roles have reversed and she has become my parent.

On a cold, wintry day, I roll down the car window and let the happy fog of anesthesia slip out, as I take a fresh breath of air. For now, I will remain in this dimension and continue collecting memories with all these amazing, loving people around me.

Today, I like where I am.

Lived, Loved…

I am looking for a third word. That word, that descriptor, that simple verb, that will encapsulate and finalize my life when I am gone.  It’s as if, at my life celebration, there will be three words that may emblazon cocktail napkins; will be part of the vocabulary that people will use that late afternoon. I know the first two words: 

Lived, Loved, …… 

What’s the third word? Adventured… Dreamt… Climbed? 

None of these truly captures the essence of everything I believe in, or want to be remembered by. 

My goal is to not leave any debris behind, when I leave. But, if I were to have an epitaph somewhere, or a brick that had my name on it at a school park, what three words would I like to be remembered by? Drank wine (too many words)? Boated? Maybe it’s Devoured?  

At the beautiful ripe age of fifty, why am I thinking of an epitaph. It’s not that I have a death wish, or have recently diagnosed a debilitating disease.  

I am at a good place where, whether its one day or another seven seven thousand days (~20 years), I want to look back and say I did these three things well and those are the best descriptors of my short time on earth.

 
I believe that what we say, think or write down, ultimately has a higher likelihood of happening. Hence, I must choose carefully and select that third word that will determine my destiny for the rest of my days. 

I believe that words are everything. 

Words are powerful. What you say, is critical and important. 

 Words can start or break relationships or wars; words can also soothe your soul and change a persons life. I have been told that words of affirmation have helped people think of their careers; in one instance, a young project manager at a place I worked, came in and resigned because he had read Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist, which I had given to him as a holiday gift, where Coelho talks about being a Shepard or a Baker. At his exit interview, he told me he didn’t want to be the baker, or in his case, a project manager – he wanted to be the Shepard, and fly jets around the world. He went on to become a pilot.

 Hence, one of the first thing I teach my children, and at work, that we must choose our words carefully. Be selective. When it comes to verbalizing our thoughts, almost always… Less is More. 

In today’s environment, where blustering twitter feeds, insults and promulgations, some of our ephemeral leaders are bombastic and freely throwing words around, that mean nothing; they command attention for thirty seconds, and somehow take up empty space, like that extra sweater in your closet that you haven’t worn for years.

In this verbose environment, words are even more important and require even more careful introspection. Words cannot be just thrown out and expected to be forgotten. In the world of ether, whether it’s a hurtful text, or a drunken insult, it’s out there, forever.  

I would love to have the word Inspired. But that sounds self-promoting; I wouldn’t mind, Laughed. I could live (or in this case, die with that!).  Friends have suggested Cared ! I love it. 

Have you thought about your 3 words? 

I am open to suggestions.