Pivotal moments in our personal histories

It's Other Timelines week on AOA, in which we'll be looking at alternate histories of this place, about big and small things that did or did not happen.

Everyone has them -- moments and decisions that could have gone differently. The choices you made put you on the timeline you're on, but what if things had gone differently?

For Other Timelines Week, we talked with a few people about their own pivotal moments and personal alternate histories.

Discovering a new community of people

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Alexa DiCristofaro
Graphic designer

I do not know where I would be socially or confidence wise had I not joined the cosplay community. I have been cosplaying for three years and it really has changed a lot about my life.

I had grown up watching anime (Japanese cartoons) and reading manga, but I never put any thought into becoming one of the many characters I would encounter. When I entered college, two of my friends introduced me to cosplay (they had been at it for many years). After buying my first wig and first full cosplay, I was HOOKED. I began to attend conventions throughout the year, some farther away than others, and it became a very big part of my life. However, there was a time where it began to be a little too much on my part. I had to take a step back a few times to be able to find a happy balance between cosplay, graphic design, and my other classes.

I have met the most amazing people through this community and I can call most of them really good friends. I have met people from Florida, Boston, England, even Sweden! This community has so much to give and even now, despite the fact that I have graduated, I am still making my own cosplays and I am planning to attend at least two conventions just to be able to see my friends and have fun for a weekend. It is really a rewarding hobby if you're in it for the memories and the bonds you can make.

(The character in photo is Lavi Bookman from D.Gray-Man.)

Troy v. NYC

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Adam Siemiginowski
Owner of The Hill at Muza

Back in late June of 2014 I was questioning a lot of things all at once. I worked for Proctor and Gamble for a few years and I was living in New York City. I felt like I wanted to move on -- there were like seven days in row where I kept writing down either-or-situations. Do I stay in New York City or go to Troy? Do I stay at Proctor and Gamble or do my own thing? I was dating someone at the time and I questioned that, too.

And after a few weeks I took every one of the aggressive moves. I left New York City and went to Troy. I started arranging to leave Proctor and Gamble and everything fell into place -- they were trying to downsize, so they arranged for me to get a separation package -- but it was kind of a secret application, not everyone knew about it, but it turned out I was a good candidate. And I ended up not being with the person I was dating, which I think was a good thing.

The day I left New York, I told everybody I would be back in four to six months -- and I haven't left Troy.

I think about this all the time. I'm much busier now than I was at Proctor and Gamble. You have more support in a corporate environment. I never get to the end of my to-do list now. But I'm very satisfied.

Family

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Christine Meglino
English teacher/performer

When I was 22 years old, I turned down an 8-month contract to perform on a cruise line. In the two months that followed, I questioned my decision daily. I was convinced I made the wrong choice. I was living back at home, my life lacked purpose, and I felt lost.

To distract myself from what I then called the "worst decision of my life," I spent time with my family and even made a few trips out to New Jersey to visit my grandparents. In time, I realized that I made the right decision. My grandfather was diagnosed with lung cancer that same year, and it turned out that the memories I created with him during the eight months I would have been at sea, were my last.

In the last year of his life, we laughed, danced, sang, and with his guidance, I found my purpose and went back to school to become a teacher. If I signed that contract, I would be without some of the best memories I have with my grandpa, and for that, I am forever grateful.

A job became a mission

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Debbi Ross
Manger of the Ronald McDonald House in Albany

Everything was all set in our life. My husband and I were dorm parents at a college in Massachusetts. Our housing was taken care of, we had jobs, and he was traveling to grad school at UAlbany. Then I got a call from a college professor of mine. She asked me to interview for a position as a house manager at the new Ronald McDonald House in Albany. I'm a yes person. If you ask me to do something, and I can, I usually will. I loved this professor, and I read the brochure for the Ronald McDonald House and thought this was something I could do. When I met the members of the board and heard their stories, I knew that I needed to do this.

We were young. We had plans. I agreed to take the job and to live in the house for two years. The two years became 36 years. We raised four children in our apartment in the Ronald McDonald House. All of them spent time at the bedside of a dying child who felt close to them and requested that they be there. Living in my work went from being a 24-hour-a-day job to being a mission.

At one point it felt like we were outgrowing our third floor three-bedroom apartment (two of the bedrooms were loft) in the servant's quarters of the 1886 Victorian Ronald McDonald house. One day, two streets away from RMH, the sweetest 4-bedroom 1912 house went up for sale. Our neighbors asked us to come see it and they lowered the price for us. We had a family meeting, and told the kids they would have adjoining bedrooms separated by French doors, their own backyard and their best friends just happened to live across the street.

After taking a day to think it over, the oldest said she wanted to stay at RMH because she loved living with, and making friends with, sick children and their families. The middle child said she wanted to stay and she promised never to complain about sleeping in a small room with her sister again. She said she would miss seeing the evening volunteers. The five year old was on the fence because she had always dreamed of sleeping in a canopy bed and her RMH loft bedroom didn't allow for that!

In the end everyone said they wanted to stay. Our kids are grown now, and they all volunteer for Ronald McDonald houses and say they are grateful for growing up in an RMH. Is it hard sometimes? Yes. But if you don't come out of your comfort zone once during the day then you don't have purpose.

Tripping into a new job

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Zainab Magdon Ismail
VP of Quality Improvement at American Heart Association

I schlepped my giant 50-pound banner, stickers, and nail file giveaways and set up my table display among 20 other vendors packed into the low-ceiling cafeteria. The room was hot. I was tired. And after six hours of counseling 45 seniors about sodium and soup cans, I was beat; there had to be a better way.

As I tripped over the display while packing it up, the guy next to me struck up a conversation. And just like that everything changed.

I found myself interviewing for a job to make broad public health change -- helping hospitals, health departments, and EMS build health systems. It's riveting work! How do we diagnose disease in the field? How do we shave off minutes where seconds count when triaging patients? Even harder, how do we get people to eat healthier and call 9-1-1 when they have chest pain?

I am dreamer -- perhaps a public health moonshot? I still have table displays, but they are at Harvard and MIT, at innovation forums and hackathons, scoping for the brightest brains to help us overcome sodium and soup cans.

For the love of a cupcake

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Jenna Pitera
Librarian and cupcake enthusiast

When All Over Albany was a newer blog, my long distance boyfriend was new to the city, and was using it as a cultural lifeline. He entered, and often won, a lot of the contests. One of the prizes he won was a year's supply of Bettie's Cupcakes.

I was living in Providence Rhode Island at the time. I'm a former suburban Capital District kid, who was sort of sour on the Albany area. My boyfriend would ply me with the offer of these free, amazing cupcakes, and I'd make the trek out and have Capital Region adventures.

Slowly but surely, he and the cupcakes changed my mind about Albany. Our family live in Hudson Park now and we're about to celebrate our fourth anniversary. I really think it's the cupcake win that got me here.

Crash

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Ric Orlando
Chef, lecturer, author, Chopped champ

I've had many life-changing events; having my house burn down in 1993, watching all three of my children get born, and marrying Liz. But this was my first life-changing event and ultimately, the one that made me who I am today.

When I was 15 years old I was about to start my sophomore year of high school at East Haven High School. My father and mother's families were both from East Haven, a blue-collar suburb just east of New Haven. My parents got divorced when I was young and I lived with my mother in various apartment complexes and projects within New Haven, the "big" city. Before I started high school, I moved back to East Haven to live with my father and my step mom.

My first year of high school I attended Notre Dame high school in West Haven. It was an all boys Jesuit high school. I actually went on a scholarship because I aced the entry exam. I was always a good tester.

My father's business wasn't doing so well, and finances were always very tight, so even though I was on a scholarship there was still plenty of tuition and other fees to pay. So, my father challenged me to really excel at Notre Dame or I was going to have to go to East Haven High School. Well, as a freshmen, I set the record for the most detentions in one school year at Notre Dame. That tore it. My father sent me to East Haven High School for my sophomore year.

(keep reading)

My father Richie was an all-state football player and track star. Prior to my starting the school year we actually dined with some of the members of the athletic program who were excited about me coming to their school to play ball. The hope was that Richie Orlando's son Ric would follow in his footsteps. I was looking forward to it, too. I was jogging. Lifting weights. Building myself up. I was a pretty beefy 15-year-old boy at that time weighing in at 5-11, 220. I was going to kick ass.

The life changing event happened on Labor Day weekend 1974, the traditional weekend before school starts. In Connecticut, everybody parties at the beach. Me and three of my friends -- Paul, Mark, and Mitchell -- went to Misquamicut beach in Rhode Island and partied hard all weekend. When we got back that Sunday night we all crashed at my house.

We all had the urge for munchies, as teens will, so we decided to walk to the Angelo's -- the home of the legendary number nine steak, cheese, mushroom, pepper, and onion sub. There was also a girl I "knew" who worked there. So not only did we get discounts and free stuff, but sometimes late at night she would use her key and she'd feed the whole gang. The walk to Angelo's from my house was short but hairy.

In order to get to the Angelo's you had to cross eastbound Frontage Road, go under I-95, and then cross the right westbound lane of the access road and through this massive parking lot. On Frontage cars drove pretty much as fast as the cars on 95. The were no provisions for pedestrians. It was always a dare.

After filling up on massive, cheesy, mayo-y steak subs and giant sodas, we headed back to my place. It had faded from dusk to dark. We were clowning around along the median of Frontage Road. I don't know what possessed us, but the game was to moon oncoming traffic on I-95. And of course, me being the class clown as I was, I was the first to drop my shorts and moon a couple of oncoming tractor-trailers. We were laughing and talking, it was all very hysterical. As we stumbled down the hill and approached the eastbound lane of Route 1, the lights went out.

I stepped off the curb into an oncoming Volkswagen bug.

I have no recollection of actually what happened to me but the story was retold and re-created by my friends.

Apparently I crashed into the oncoming car, through his windshield. The driver swerved off the road. I flew through the air like a rag doll. My shoes flew 30 feet into a gas station parking lot on the other side of the two lane road. I landed in the center of both lanes on my broken back with my leg in a perfect "L". My friends approached me in horror, thinking I was dead. Like a Stephen King segue, I opened my eyes and said "What's happening?"

I ended up in Yale New Haven Hospital needing multiple surgeries, traction, the works. My first stay at the hospital was six weeks. During those six weeks my life itself completely changed.

I was just about 15 years old. Suddenly I was living alone. Yes, I was in the care of the hospital, but I was really living alone. I had no curfew. I had no bedtime. I had no school to be with my friends. Obviously I had lots of visitors, but visiting hours were limited and for the most part I was alone.

I was in a ward called Hunter 4. It was a very 70s-type place. It was just for teenagers. All of the patients on Hunter 4 were between 13 and 17 years old. Yale had some pretty cool progressive ideas going on. It was one long hallway with the nurses station right in the center. The rooms were up and down the left and right side of the hallway, accented by storage rooms and water fountains. Mounted high on the wall on each end of the hall were big Bozak stereo speakers. WPLR, the progressive FM rock station played 24 hours a day. Yes, Beatles, Traffic, Dr John, The Band, Hendrix....

At the end of the hall was a large lounge. They were musical instruments, boardgames, books, macramÃ© kits in there. No television. But things to keep us sane.

I wasn't the only teenager there for a long stint. There was a kid named Eric who had allegedly robbed someone, stole their car, and flipped it in a police chase. He was under police surveillance at all times. There was a guy name Warren, one of those Connecticut rich kids, who jumped off his dad's yacht into water that was too shallow and broke his neck. He was in head traction and we had to roll him in his bed very carefully, trying not to rock the weights that dangled from cables that were screwed into his skull. Another guy named Eric fell drunk and backwards off the bleachers at a high school football game and broke his back.

When I entered this hospital I was a young Italian American kid on route to playing football and being part of the jock hierarchy at his dad's alma mater.

What I was exposed to at Hunter 4 completely change my head.

We had counselors that would roll us to the lounge in our wheelchairs and beds and entertain us and tell us stories. It was a guy name Reuben, who encouraged me to pick up a guitar. I learned a couple chords growing up from my older cousin, and when he saw me tinkering with the guitar he let me to bring this guitar into my room. I plugged it into this little headphone set and I'd play along to WPLR. Reuben heard me and gave me an eight-track of Jimi Hendrix, Band of Gypsies. I stayed up all night improvising to "Voodoo Child."

We had group rap sessions in the lounge. We talked about everything from music, to poetry, to crime, to art, to politics. I was exposed to more culture in six weeks of healing in the hospital then I was in 15 years growing up.

I was introduced to Henry Miller, Kerouac, Gil Scott Heron, Lou Reed, The White Album, Leroy Jones, Nin, get the picture? I was in the right place at the right time with the right people. I was a budding 15-year-old, away from my family and friends in an environment where social change was the norm. We were in the middle of the Watergate hearings. Women's liberation. Incredibly thoughtful poetry and art and music was blooming. And I was lucky enough to be in a place where I was exposed to it without the cynicism and ignorance of the small town people I grew up with.

Six weeks of healing in the hospital and then a subsequent eight more weeks when I went in for my second surgery set me into such a direction that I was never going back to the person I was before.

My first job after my accident was as a patient aide on Hunter 4.

Job or grad school

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Jason Steven Murphy
Marketing communications, sitcom dad, loud music listener, human (probably)

As I neared the end of undergraduate film school, I faced a quandary: head to LA or NYC to carry cable for an undetermined amount of time, or enroll in grad school. I chose the latter. I guess I was just not ready for a job -- particularly one where paying one's dues might never pay off (though I am definitely happy for the classmates that did make it happen). And while I could do without those student loan bills every month, grad school brought me to this area. Which led me to meeting zillions of awesome humans beings, including my (UNBELIEVABLY COOL) wife of (holy smokes) nine years, who eventually gave birth to our (WICKED AWESOME) daughter in our home.

And guess what? I'm even using the skills I learned in grad school as a marketing specialist at (of all places) a machine tool manufacturing company. While it was occasionally a bumpy ride, I'm calling it overwhelmingly a win.

Leap and the net will appear

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Daniel Berman
Daniel is some kind of food something, busying himself by writing the FUSSYlittleBLOG, working as a community ambassador for Yelp, and judging culinary contests

After college, my lifelong friend Adam was heading to graduate school at Berkeley, and he offered me a ride out to California, and a place to stay when I got there.

With no job, prospects, or connections, I packed up all my things to pursue a career in advertising. After months of informational interviews, and countless rejections, I finally got my foot in the door at a small agency in one of San Francisco's grittiest neighborhoods.

There I learned the business, figured out what I wanted to do in the industry, and launched an interesting career crafting media strategies for General Motors, Taco Bell, Levi Strauss, eBay, Haagen Dazs, got milk? Microsoft, Clorox, and others.

You know, until I left all that behind to follow my wife's dream of being a university professor, and recreated myself into some kind of food something.

A break-up gave way to a dream

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Angelique Powell
Actor

I moved away from the region to Boston when I was 23. There I lived for five years, and the entire time I expressed to my then-partner that my passion had once been theater. But all the while something held me back from going out for it.

I would often lament that I was so jealous of my friends who were really brilliant at the things they were passionate about and were making their lives work. I thought that wouldn't happen for me because there was nothing that I was so talented at that I could make a career and be passionate about deep down in my core.

I went through a tough breakup of a longterm relationship that manifested into a deep depression. It led to my return to the Capital region. But the confidence I had gained over my years in the city gave me the strength to audition for a production of Clybourne Park at Schenectady Civic Playhouse.

I haven't stopped performing since. In fact, I quit my retail job for a significant pay cut and started working in the box office at the Palace Theatre where I could be closer to my passion, and I don't think any of that would have happened had I not made the initial move away.
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Thanks to everyone for sharing their story!

1 comment

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Comments

This is an amazing piece!

... said daleyplanit on Aug 4, 2017 at 9:22 AM | link

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