“And here I am slowly drifting away from everything I once claimed to love.”
The Drifter: drifter (noun): one that travels/drifts; drift (verb): to deviate from a set course
When I was forty-five years old my life was drifting towards change. My husband of twenty two years and I were drifting apart. My oldest sister, Paula, chose to drift out of her life with alcohol and a bottle of sleeping pills. My mom began showing signs of Alzheimer’s Disease and was slowly drifting away from our family. And I was a drifter—in the middle of what felt like a midlife crisis, drifting around trying to find myself.
I spent the first half of my life focusing on building my career. After college I landed a great job at a marketing agency in Chicago. It was my dream job. I was a young apprentice Art Director working my way up the ladder. I loved working in the city. The atmosphere was alive and exciting. And the people I worked with were very talented. We shared a lot of the same values. We all wanted to work hard and play hard. And that’s what we did. After work we’d meet at the downstairs bar, sing karaoke and drink martinis. Very Mad Men-ish. Many of the folks I worked with back then I’m still friends with today.
At the time, I was also married. I got married at twenty-three. My husband and I liked to play hard, too. We chose not to have children, and instead, we adopted sailboats and Harley Davidson motorcycles. We had fun! We competitively sailed together every weekend in a two person C-Scow on inland lakes throughout the midwest. My husband would skipper the boat and I was his crew. When we weren’t sailing we were riding our motorcycles along the country roads. I had a custom Softail Deuce; its pipes made a rad crackling sound as I came to a stop. I felt free when I was sailing and riding motorcycles. It’s a feeling I liked and would come to want more of.
Drifting apart…
For twenty years my husband and I enjoyed a wonderful marriage together. When death and illness affected our families, we both began to drift apart. The death of my husband’s mother made him shut down emotionally and physically. It was painful for me to see my partner having a hard time dealing with his grief. I tried to talk with him about it, but he didn’t want to share his feelings. Lack of communication made our relationship suffer, and we started to lose our healthy connection together. We were living what seemed like separate lives because we were rarely spending time together. He was escaping to his dental practice everyday, and on weekends was away sailing or riding his motorcycle. I was working more often, too, focused on advancing my career.
After decades of working in Chicago at the marketing agency, I was hired by a global corporation located in the suburbs. It was a big job with new responsibilities. My role was on the client side of the business, responsible for directing the development of marketing and advertising agencies’ creative materials. At work, I felt important and useful. I craved positive feedback because, back at home, I felt like a failure in my attempts to communicate with my grieving husband. Going to work at the corporate offices was a nice escape for me. The company’s buildings were arranged in a campus-like setting within the woods. It was a gorgeous and peaceful environment—like an art gallery, there was curated artwork from all over the world hanging on the walls. My office window looked out onto a picturesque forest. During breaks from my computer screen, I’d stare out the window, see wildlife pass by and reflect on the growing distance between my husband and me.
Drifting out…
On the weekends, I’d stopped sailing. Instead, I spent more time helping my family deal with my sister‘s declining health from her addictive lifestyle. Paula’s husband was privately trying to cope with her disease, but when her health didn’t improve, he turned to my parents for help. Together they admitted her into several recovery centers. She got kicked out of one, and ran away from another. She was determined to get her alcohol of choice—wine. Eventually she chose to leave her husband and move into my parent’s home. Paula was still drinking, and the excessive amounts of alcohol she drank often gave her seizures. My parents had to call an ambulance several times to bring her to the hospital. This put a tremendous amount of stress on their marriage; and it drove them to make the tough decision to tell Paula to move out. She chose to go back to Arizona where she had attended university. My parents booked her flight, set up an apartment for her to move into, and watched their daughter fly away, unsure they would ever see her again. She was now mistakenly on her own. A few months later my parents got the dreaded call. The building manager told them Paula was found deceased in her apartment. At the age of forty-two, Paula had decided she couldn’t control her “demons,” and made the choice to drift out of her life. (Read more about her story: Paula’s Perfect Storm, Alcohol Addiction, Anorexia and Depression.)
Drifting away…
After my sister’s suicide, my mom’s bubbly personality died, too. Her grief was overwhelming and it affected her health: She cared less for having proper hygiene and dressing fashionably. She became forgetful and repeated stories during conversations. My dad took her for a clinical assessment where she was given simple memory and cognitive recall tests. Her diagnosis was early stage Alzheimer’s Disease. She was only sixty-five. It was heartbreaking to watch my mother drifting away. I wanted to spend as much time with her as possible. We often went to the movies together. My mom loved the glamour of Hollywood. As a child, I remember her dancing and singing around the house. Her and my dad had fun together. They were happy, creative people who liked to entertain and travel. My mom always dreamed of “seeing the world” and encouraged me and my siblings to travel, too. I envied my parents marriage and lifestyle and aspired for my own relationships to be like there’s. When my mom got sick, my dad took care of her. I was in denial about her health. One day, when she didn’t know who I was, I realized she would never be the same. My sister’s death and my mom’s illness made me see that life is short. I knew I was only gonna get one shot at it, so I began to want more.
Drifting around…
Like my mom, I wanted to travel. I thought by traveling alone I could reflect on my faltering relationship and imagine what a life of being single might look like. I was scared for many reasons: One, because I had never traveled by myself before. And two, thoughts of leaving my husband after twenty-two years of marriage, were terrifying.
My job had given me the perfect opportunity to travel and drift around. Included in the company’s benefits package was the gift of an eight-week paid sabbatical. I tacked on my four weeks of paid vacation and was planning on starting my three month long sabbatical on March 1, 2009. The first month, I was going to honor the memory of my sister, Paula, by volunteering at the Red Cross Detox Center in Dharamsala, India. I would spend the next two months traveling to Nepal, Italy and Turkey. During my time away I’d hoped to gain a fresh perspective of myself. Who was this person I seemed to be drifting into?
The Dalai Lama
Before I left for my trip I read, The Art of Happiness by the Dalai Lama and became more interested in him and his philosophy on life. In his book he talks about compassion. He says, “If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion.” I truly believe this. In fact, the more I practiced compassion for others, the happier I felt. Reading his book and learning about his life made a significant impact on me. I felt a connection to him and his beliefs. I even thought about becoming a Buddhist!
I wanted to learn more about him, so I researched where he was from, why he left China and where he was currently living. He was born on July 6, 1935 in Taktser, China and is the 14th Dalai Lama. His birth name is Lhamo Thondup, but is known as Gyalwa Rinpoche to the religious Tibetan people. He is the highest spiritual leader and former head of state of Tibet. In March 1960, after communist China passed anti-religious laws that caused an uprising of the Tibetan Buddhists, the Dalai Lama escaped into exile to the mountainside town of McLeod Ganj, India where he still lives. I was thrilled to discover that his home is in the same district as the city of Dharamsala, where I would be living during my month in India. Maybe I would get the chance to meet him!
Drifting alone…
Now, it was March 1, 2009, forty-nine years after the Dalai Lama escaped to McLeod Ganj. I was also escaping— drifting alone on my way to an exotic place that I had never been before, India. The first month of my three month sabbatical had begun!
I was nervous and excited to begin my volunteer work. The organization that was sponsoring me was called, Cross Cultural Solutions. My goal was to help addicts begin to heal while in recovery. I wanted to listen to the their stories and share my sister’s story. I had no volunteer experience, but assumed I would get a better understanding of what I needed to do once I arrived at the Detox Center.
Once in Delhi, I met the other volunteer, Ben, who would also be staying at the Dharamsala Home Base. He was from Oregon, still in college, and was taking the year off to travel and volunteer. He seemed to have a drifter spirit like me, so we hit it off. I confided in him about my sister, and shared my fantasy of meeting the Dalai Lama. We boarded our flight to the city of Dharamsala the next morning. It was a tiny, twenty seat aircraft. Ben sat in the window seat in front of mine. He turned around and told me to look out the window. I saw a black Mercedes pull up to the plane. Guess who walked out? Yep, the Dalai Lama! I couldn’t believe he was walking onto our plane. He sat close to me, just a few seats behind and across from me, so I was able to turn my head and catch glimpses of his infectious smile. He had a calming presence, which helped me relax and feel less anxious about my upcoming volunteer work. Having him on my flight to Dharamsala felt like an omen— like he was there solely to bless me and my travels. Of course, he wasn’t, but it was a nice thought.
Ben and I were both looking forward to settling into our new home for the next month. It was a newly-built house tucked into the foothills of the Himalayas, with gorgeous 360 degree views of the mountains and walking distance to the little city. We were greeted by three female college students who were taking a semester abroad to volunteer at different facilities: Alice, Rachel and Sandy; our chef: Vihaan; the Home Base coordinator: Reyansh, (he became like our surrogate father); and three beautiful Indian women: Pari, Jiya and Anaisha, who came to the house everyday to help Vihaan prepare our meals. My roommate, Alice, was in grad school and studying to be a teacher. She showed me to our bedroom, and pointed out that we had an en suite bathroom (A nice surprise!) In it, there was a toilet, versus a hole in the ground, and a shower with a bucket. To “bucket shower,” I had to fill the bucket with water, soap up and then pour water over my body to rinse off. I selfishly thought about how I would miss taking my long, hot showers, but was grateful to have a private place to bathe.
The Detox Center
Reyansh drove me to the Detox Center the next morning. My first impression was that it looked like a prison. It had iron bars across the windows and front door. Reyansh walked me inside where we met Sanjeev, the Group Counselor, and Vishnu, the Program Director. I remember feeling nervous because I had no idea what I was going to do. Sanjeev introduced me to the group of men I would be working with. He also served as my translator and co-worker. Most of the guys spoke only Hindi—the world’s oldest language and the most spoken in India. The sound of their voices was funny and made me laugh because I thought it sounded like they were speaking in Italian.
After initial introductions were made, I asked the men to sit in a circle. I wanted to show them the photo album I’d put together of my sister’s life. They appreciated seeing the photos of Paula and learning about her journey, and were sad to know that she had died. I asked them to individually introduce themselves and tell me why they were there. Many of them told me that their families had admitted them, instead of choosing to admit themselves, just like Paula. They had been addicted to drugs that were cheap and easy to get—like alcohol, marijuana, and prescription drugs. Since this was my first day, it was a quick introductory visit. I would return the next morning to start working with the guys for four hours each day.
Now I had to seriously think about what I was going to do with these men for an entire month. One idea I had was to give them journals to write down their thoughts. Another was to have them do interactive group activities every morning to help form a closer bond. I got ideas for new activities by emailing my colleagues and friends back home. One of my favorite ideas was to have the guys lie down, lay their head on another guy’s stomach and then start laughing. I did it with them, too, and the stomach movements made my head bob up and down, which made me laugh. Soon, everyone was lying on the floor laughing. Ha ha! It was hilarious.
Another activity I had them do was make clay sculptures of what their addictions looked like to them. And then I had them smash it, like they were smashing their addictions. Next, I had them make a sculpture of what their life would be like without alcohol or drugs. One man, Vinod, made a diamond sculpture. When I asked him what it meant, he told me, “Life is like a diamond with the spirit of all the gems.”
As time went on I began to feel more comfortable working with the guys, and Sanjeev. He helped me a lot. We collaborated together at the end of each session by sharing each other’s notes and discussing how each man was progressing. My goal was to create a positive environment that the men could laugh and feel comfortable in. I wanted to give them hope. To do this, I came up with an idea to have them write down their dreams. Then I asked them to choose their favorite. I worked with them individually to brainstorm five goals that could help them reach their dream. Sanjeev and I met with each man to prioritize the goals they chose. I did this exercise for myself, too. My dream was to get my Bachelor of Fine Arts Degree by finishing art school.
A few times, the Program Director, Vishnu, came by to observe what I was doing. He would quietly walk around and not say a word. I didn’t know what to think of him. He always wore a stern expression on his face, which made him seem unfriendly. One day he called me into his office for a chat. We tried to have a conversation but it was difficult because we didn’t understand each other’s languages. So we stared at each other in uncomfortable silence and drank our Masala chai—a tea beverage made by boiling black tea in milk and water. Fortunately, Sanjeev soon joined our meeting to help translate. He told me that Vishnu said I was doing a great job. Whew! Hearing his positive feedback made me feel proud to have stepped into this unknown territory.
I really liked Sanjeev. He was super smart and a very good counselor. We became great friends. He took me to his property where we walked through tall, healthy crops of wheat growing on his land. Afterwards, we went to his house to eat dinner. Near the front door, a goat was tied up to a fence post and a wild dog was barking at it. Inside, we walked into a room with a king-size bed. Sanjeev introduced me to his young son who was sitting on the bed watching cartoons. His little boy was adorable. I sat with him while Sanjeev went to check on his wife, who was preparing dinner. I got to meet, Asha, when she appeared from behind a curtain that was used to hide their tiny kitchen. She carried out a tray of food and graciously served it to Sanjeev and I, but wouldn’t join us for dinner. I learned later that it’s an Indian custom for wives to eat after their husbands and children. I did convince her to enjoy dessert with us, which was homemade ice cream that she prepared using fresh goat milk. After our meal, I thanked Asha for dinner. She gave me some bracelets from her wrists, and a little purse. I felt terrible because I didn’t have a gift to give her in return. So I gave her a big hug.
When I wasn’t volunteering, I was back at the Home Base, writing, reading or walking into town for exercise. The other volunteers and I became pals. One morning we woke up early to attend a lecture that the Dalai Lama was giving at the temple outside his estate. We took a scary rickshaw ride up a narrow, steep mountain road that led to McLeod Ganj. We brought a blanket to lie on as we waited for the Dalai Lama. No one seemed to know his exact arrival time. A few groups of people near us had transistor radios which they’d use to listen to his lecture in English or other languages. Others had prayer beads that they held in their hand, counting each bead one by one, over and over again while chanting. Finally, the Dalai Lama came walking up the middle path that divided the lawn. He was treated like royalty by the religious Tibetans who knelt and bowed to him as he passed by. Occasionally, the Dalai Lama would stop, drape a gold ribbon around someone’s neck and give them a blessing. He spoke in Tibetan during his speech so we couldn’t understand him. When I tried to listen to the English radio translation, his speech was difficult to follow, but his voice sounded kind and gentle. I enjoyed watching his animated facial expressions as he spoke. His endearing smile and boisterous laugh made me feel happy, and was a great reminder of his written words, “If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion.”
Around the Home Base we had fun, too. One of the girls found a litter of puppies in the woods near our house. We cared for them for a few days until they got adopted. There was a pup for each of us! And the three beautiful Indian women that came everyday to help prepare our meals were kind and gracious. They liked to practice their English by asking us questions about our lives in America. We were also curious about their Indian lifestyles. One day I asked Pari if she would henna my hands: I remember how the tiny brush she used tickled; and how the paint smelled like menthol. The whole process was very soothing. While she was painting, Pari told me about the Mehndi ceremony, which is when henna is applied to a bride’s hands and feet the night before her wedding to calm her nerves. The design painted on palms of hands symbolizes receiving blessings, and on the top hands, protection.
Since we were in India during the month of March, we were able to experience Holi festival, a celebration of the beginning of spring, and the triumph of good over evil. It begins the evening before with huge bonfires built to ward off evil. The next day, from sunrise to sunset, people celebrate the triumph of good by smearing brightly colored powdered dyes onto the faces and clothes of passersby, and throw water balloons at their unsuspecting victims. It’s a day meant for the Indian people to relax, visit friends and have fun being silly.
Back at the Detox Center, the guys and I learned from each other. There was a sign that hung on the wall that displayed the word TEA—an acronym, which stood for: I cannot control Thoughts and Emotions; I can control Actions. We agreed that everyone experiences negative emotions and has anxiety; how people differ is how they choose to deal with it. Those that are optimistic about their thoughts have more positive outcomes. I was proud of all the men for working hard to get healthy. By practicing compassion they were becoming happier individuals; and I was, too. Together, we were actively choosing actions that would make our dreams come true.
On March 31, my volunteer work came to an end. During my last day at the Detox Center the guys sang a song they had written for me. And I gave each man a hug, a personal goodbye note and a group photo. It was especially hard to say goodbye to Sanjeev. I was thankful for his guidance, support and friendship. As I left the building, I imagined Paula’s soul shining bright like diamonds in the eyes of all the men, and felt complete knowing that my sister’s legacy was beginning to live on.
After my time in India, I traveled to Nepal, Italy and Turkey for the remainder of my sabbatical. I was seeing the world like my mom hoped I would. I was experiencing different cultures, visiting new countries and meeting a variety of interesting people. I felt like I was meeting a newer version of myself, too—a brave woman on a life-changing adventure: Climbing up 13,550 ft. to see the Annapurna Sanctuary Base Camp in the Himalayan Mountains outside Kathmandu, Nepal—I felt strong and empowered. In Italy—I felt free, drifting around by myself while navigating the cities of Venice, Rome, Florence and Tuscany, before heading to the historic walled city of Lucca to meet my Italian relatives. And in Turkey—I celebrated my forty-sixth birthday on a 60' traditional Turkish wooden motor-sailer called a gulet. The sailing crew presented me with a cake they made and sang “Happy Birthday” as we watched a spectacular Turkish sunset together.
On the final night of my sailboat trip, I remember sitting alone on the ship’s top deck looking up at the stars and reflecting on the past three months spent drifting around. I was feeling grateful to have had the opportunity to help my guys at the Detox Center during their recovery, especially since I wasn’t able to help my sister. Helping them identify their dreams, and choosing my own dream, made me realize what was important to me—being free to live on my own, finish art school and travel. I’ll never forget that moment. Because as I sat there contemplating my future, I decided to change my life. I made the decision that I was going to tell my husband I wanted to separate. This was the most difficult decision I would ever make in my life. I didn’t want to hurt him. But, I knew if I stayed married, I would die inside. Not because my marriage was horrible; it wasn’t. And, if we had had children, I most likely would have stayed. But, since we didn’t, I made the choice to leave. I would soon be entering into unknown territory again, just like I did when I left for India.
Drifting towards change…
When I arrived home, I told my husband that I wanted to separate from our marriage. Splitting up was very painful for both of us. I felt guilty leaving him. He didn’t want me to go and was kind to me as I struggled with my indecisiveness. I wondered if I’d made the right choice. I felt selfish; but, I knew that I had to be in order to be free to do what I wanted. My life was drifting towards change. I began to take action on my goals: I moved out and into a loft downtown. And I applied to art school, got accepted and began taking evening painting classes. Eventually, my husband and I both began to feel comfortable with our new, independent lives. We came to realize our split was probably for the best. After five years of being separated, we got legally divorced. From what I hear he’s doing well and enjoying his life—still sailing and riding his motorcycles. I hope he’s happy and will always be grateful for our time together.
My mom eventually passed away from her long ten year battle with Alzheimer’s. The years leading to her death were difficult for our family. We had to make the tough decision to put her in an assisted living home. She thrived there for a while, but eventually her symptoms worsened, and we had to move her to an advanced care facility. From there, she continued to decline and ended up in hospice. Right before she passed on my sister, Christine, and I went to visit her. When we walked into her hospital room she was peacefully sleeping. I touched her smooth skin, ran my fingers through her hair and told her it was okay to fly away and be with Paula. She died later that evening. (Read about my mom’s ten year decline from Alzheimer’s: Mom’s Killer Alzheimer’s; Reminder to Enjoy Life’s Best Moments.)
Throughout the years, after my separation and divorce, I dated a variety of men. However, none of those partnerships evolved into the happy, healthy relationship I was searching for—the kind my parents had. So, instead I got a puppy that I fell madly in love with and named Paulo, after my sister. Right after Paulo came into my life, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was forty-nine. A year later, after a bilateral mastectomy, chemotherapy and radiation treatments, my cancer was in remission. As I celebrated my fiftieth birthday, I felt older, wiser and truly free. (Read about my journey: Five Lessons I Learned from Surviving Breast Cancer.)
Drifting into happiness…
Today, almost fifteen years after my sabbatical, I often wonder what my sister would be doing with her life if she were still alive. I think of her everyday. Sharing Paula’s life with the men at the Detox Center helped me heal from the grief I felt after her death. And I finally achieved my dream that I promised myself, and the guys, I would complete. I graduated from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago with my Bachelor of Fine Arts Degree. (I wrote a story about my creative process: Say “YES” to MESS.)
After years of being single, dating, traveling all over the world (personally and professionally) and self-reflecting, I’m in a happy, healthy place. I still have my loveable dog, Paulo. And I also have a new love, Tino (Read about how I found love: Six Winning Rules to LOVE by.) He’s a retired Chicago fireman, born in Paris, France and has a Yugoslavian heritage, so he’s well-traveled. He’s the happy guy I was looking for—and I married him! (Learn about my favorite mistaas: Me and My Misterhood.)
I’m retired from corporate life now and am the artist I always dreamed of being. I paint colorful landscapes of sunny Arizona, where Tino, Paulo and I live in the winter, and of the breezy beaches of Michigan, where we spend our summers. I still feel like a drifter who loves to travel, but instead of drifting around trying to find myself, I’ve finally drifted into my true self.
“Being your TRUE self is the most effective formula for SUCCESS there is.”
—Danielle LaPorte—