Wall Street Addict in Harlem

Note: All the facts regarding this man’s story have been altered to protect his identity. The Twelve Step Program insists on anonymity, and for good reason; however, I personally feel that the stories of many inspire others to begin their own quest for peace and joy. 

Years ago in midtown Manhattan I had the terrific opportunity to hear a man—once a big wheel on Wall Street, but who had nearly destroyed himself with cocaine—speak at a 12-Step meeting. His story was dramatic. An attractive and eloquent fellow of upper middle-class origins, he had risen fast in his career and was soon earning the big bucks. He bought a fancy apartment on the upper east side and had a cool live-in fashion model for a girlfriend. He dined at the best restaurants in the Big Apple, jetted around the world on company business, and hobnobbed with the rich and occasionally the famous. Then a so-called friend introduced him to cocaine…and so began his rapid dive into a living hell.

His addiction was so destructive that within a year he’d lost his job, his apartment and his woman. His family, sick of his conning ways, wanted nothing more to do with him. He ended up homeless in Harlem, where he used to cop his drugs. One late evening he found himself sitting on the dirty littered floor of a burnt-out tenement with not even a few bucks on him for a vial of crack, worse still, he had not a shred of self-respect.

Angelica’s Brilliant Lama – Samsara’s Seven Flavors #1/12

Peak of summer, Manhattan 1995….life was on the upswing, what with an admin gig at a top law firm a hop, skip and jump from Grand Central, and my very own co-op apartment in picturesque Brooklyn Heights, whose major attraction happened to be a fabulous roof garden with a scintillating nocturnal view of New York’s other three boroughs (Queens, Manhattan and Staten Island), and glimpses of the cool blue profile of the Lady of Liberty towering majestically over the horizon.

A swirl of friends — artists, musicians, writers, poets, sculptors, photographers, and the occasional lawyer or stockbroker befriended during my years of freelancing on Wall Street and in Manhattan’s law firms — added zest to the mix. And while the week was one crazy stretch of slogging to keep body and soul together, weekends allowed me to dip my soul into hatha yoga and meditation, an amazing novel, an off-Broadway show, or even a Shakespeare evening performance in Central Park, after which a bunch of us would troop over to some generous stranger’s penthouse on the upper west side to party beneath a canopy of stars.

Luminous Kalyanamitras – Part 3

Looking back, I guess my earliest kalyanamitras were Carol and Venu, who dispensed solace and help as I careened wildly in and out of their lives during my frenzied adolescence and twenties; without them, and without exaggeration, I may not have survived.

At a time in Manhattan when I could not see beyond the thicket of my personal problems, Joneve insisted I start writing again. Her persistence unleashed a force within me that soon began to roar like a tiger; simultaneously, a wellspring of courage began to flow, allowing me to grow to meet the challenges I faced.

Silver-haired and gracious talk-therapist Amy met with me once a week for years in her spacious office in lower Manhattan. As I listened to myself trot out a nauseating stream of excuses about why I could not change my domestic circumstances, I realized the sniveling coward in the mirror would have to die if I was to thrive again. Amy taught me how to cut through the babble of guilt, fear and social conditioning in order to hear the still small voice within.