Lessons, p.7
Lessons, page 7
I loved my conversations with my dad when he picked me up at the airport. I took this photo of him behind the wheel.
In the end, the longest and most important relationship any of us will ever have is with ourselves. That’s why I believe self-awareness is so important. We all need to learn to become comfortable with ourselves as early as possible, and to grasp that we are responsible for who we are. And, as I said, the best way to get to know ourselves is through our relationships with others. Relationships may be casual or based on friendship. They may develop from work-related activities, or be romantic. Some are short-term. Others can last a lifetime. Relationships can vary tremendously. Some examples: I’ve been in a friendship that urged me to make positive changes, but then the other person’s behavior was stagnant and didn’t grow—or sometimes it’s been the other way around, when I have been the one who was afraid to change. With other relationships, I’ve come to the realization that the only thing we had in common was a time in our lives that is now in the past. Friends move, or change jobs, or get married, or get divorced. However, what is consistent is that all our relationships are important for our growth.
A good way to start to figure out who you are is to examine how you treat yourself and others. In my early twenties, I was extremely hard on myself. I was working in a business where girls (that’s what they always called us, too—“girls”) are judged every day by how they look. I turned that same critical eye on myself. Plus the criticisms I’d heard back in school and when I started modeling—your nose is too big, your eyes are too small—were stuck in my head like a broken record. So often the work I was doing didn’t satisfy me. The angle was wrong. The lighting was wrong. I was wrong. Obviously, being so self-critical didn’t feel very good. Being judgmental the way I was back then, and taking personally other people’s negative projections, is really destructive.
Only after I began meditating and practicing yoga did I set off on the long road of becoming more compassionate toward myself. People who begin a meditation practice often first notice a judgmental voice inside their own head. Self-criticism. Even paranoia. Why did I say that? Why didn’t I deal with that situation differently? Inside my twenty-something brain was a movie camera that kept playing the same disapproving films over and over again. The same spool, the same loop, the same characters, the same dialogue. Of all the many lessons meditation has taught me, the most important has been about the power of my own thoughts to help or harm me.
I’ve always had very high standards for myself—and have expected that the people around me would share that commitment. But over the years I’ve learned that this is not necessarily the case. Everyone has their own timing and way of doing things. With this realization came another: that everyone, me included, is going through something no one else knows, everyone has a story—and therefore it’s important to remember to be kind to ourselves and to everyone we meet.
I still have moments when I push myself too hard. The difference is that I’m now aware of my imbalances. When I have thoughts that really don’t serve me, I now see them as visitors or walk-on characters in a movie. I just observe them—it feels very much like being seated in the back row of a theater—giving me the objectivity to say to myself, “Oh, you’re thinking about that again!” and then I breathe those nasty thoughts away. By refocusing on my breath, I make a conscious effort to change the conversation in my head. I do this over and over again, every single time I meditate, and throughout my day. (Once, in the middle of my morning meditation, when Benny was quite small, the thought crossed my mind that I hadn’t cut up the grapes that I had put in his school lunch box. I was seized by the thought that he would choke on an uncut grape! I nearly lost it—and had to talk myself out of it and focus more deeply until I could see that my fear was talking, not my clarity. Then I was fine. Meditation helps me to stay calm and clear—even when it involves grapes.)
When I first came to New York at age sixteen, it was a big transition for me in so many ways. The first was cultural. As a Brazilian, I would greet almost everyone with a hug and a kiss. That’s what I knew! Brazilians are warm and demonstrative. Two minutes after you meet a Brazilian, she’s inviting you over to her house for dinner and you’re calling her “Auntie.” Americans aren’t always that way. In my early New York days, people would freeze, or pull away from me, or just stand there looking confused. Don’t they like me? I wondered. Did I just do something wrong?
Left to right: With my longtime agent, Anne, and my mom, New York City, 2000. I was probably twenty in this photo.
This is one small example of how important it is not to be hurt or confused by our diversity. We shouldn’t expect others to be like us. When I reflect on my teens and twenties, those years consisted of hundreds of conversations that took place inside my own head. Even when many conversations involved other people I was still in a constant run-on dialogue with myself.
Who am I? was the most common one. Am I who other people think I am? If not, am I hiding who I really am? Am I drinking too much? What’s my limit? Should I stop smoking? There were others, too: Am I someone who needs to spend time alone? Do I like going to parties, or do I feel more comfortable around a small group of friends? What sorts of romantic relationships work best for me? This type of questioning, I’m guessing, takes place inside all our heads, to help us figure out our likes and dislikes, our limits, our routines, and what makes us feel good or feel bad, not to mention what we want out of life. Through asking ourselves fundamental questions we come to terms with our priorities and values.
Having said this, learning about yourself through being involved with other people is completely different from comparing yourself with other people. It may sound hard to believe, but I go out of my way not to compare myself with anyone. I’ve been inspired by other people, but that doesn’t mean I’ve measured myself against them. Comparing yourself with another person is pointless. Why? Because all of us have something special to offer since each one of us is unique. If you spend time comparing yourself with someone else, the only thing you’re doing is setting yourself up for disappointment and failure. You won’t ever feel good enough. There are seven and half billion people in the world, so chances are that someone will always be “better” than you in some respect. But is that person you? Did she grow up in your family? Did she grow up at the same time you did, share your parents, your siblings, your childhood, your teachers, your friends, your advantages, your disadvantages, your education, your jobs, or . . . ? Of course she didn’t. When we frame things that way, the idea of comparing ourselves to other people seems ridiculous. I compare myself with only one person: me. Am I doing the best I can at my job? Am I being the best wife, the best mother, the best friend, the best human being? How can I keep learning and improving?
I’ve always been a receptive, porous person, attuned to the energy other people give off. That’s one reason why over the years I’ve learned to be more selective with my friendships. In my teens and twenties, I wanted to be friends with everyone! I also considered it my job, even my responsibility, to protect them. Basically I was invested in making sure everyone around me was happy. I’d been that way since I was young. If Pati and Gabi got into a fight, they always came crying to me, and I’d be the referee and peacemaker. I was always bringing home cats and dogs I found abandoned on the streets, and if Raque wasn’t paying attention to her pet bunny, I took it upon myself to care for it. When I started making friends in New York in my teens, I quickly became known as a good “psychotherapist.” So many people were telling me their problems that at one point my sister Fafi joked that I should start charging an hourly fee!
I wanted only the best for the people in my life, and assumed this feeling would be mutual. Unfortunately, I learned the hard way that this wasn’t always the case. When I first began making money, I was happy to give it away to anyone who needed some. Having grown up sharing a bedroom with three sisters and dividing up a single chocolate bar into six equal pieces, sharing was all I knew. You don’t have any money to pay rent? Here, let me help you with that! Having problems with your boyfriend? Then use my apartment! You don’t have anything to wear? Take my dress, take my shoes! Well, it didn’t take long for my naïveté to get whipped out of me. At one point I realized that no matter how much I gave, it never seemed to be enough. In fact, some people got so used to my generosity that they would get upset when I said, Sorry, this time I can’t help you. I was left feeling hurt and used. I learned that in any relationship, no way should one person do all the giving, and the other person all the taking, because resentment will start building up from both sides and the friendship will become damaged. Kabballah, which is a philosophy I studied for a while, has a concept known as “Bread of Shame.” It says that people need to do the work of Transformation in order to earn the Light. If we are over-giving or doing something for a person that they have not earned, we are giving them Bread of Shame. If we take more than we give, then we are consuming Bread of Shame. Sometimes the best way to be loving is to give other people the space to earn the Light for themselves. After getting burned a number of times, I started to choose more carefully the people I kept close to me. Along the way I learned another significant lesson: if you’re a person who gives and gives—of your money, your apartment, your car, your clothes, your time, and your love—sometimes you’re the one who is out of balance. A wise older friend once told me, “You need to give people the opportunity to do what they can and must do for themselves.” We all go through whatever it is we need to go through in order to evolve and grow, and you don’t want to get in the way of that process.
I recently had a talk with a good friend who has always been an over-giver. He was having some personal issues and this time needed my help. When it was time to go, he thanked me over and over again. “Look,” I said, “you’re the one who goes around giving and helping—and in the past you’ve helped me. Sometimes it’s important to give others the opportunity to help you. If you’re always the one who’s doing the giving, well, it’s actually kind of selfish.” It is a lesson I wish I’d learned earlier. The truth is that asking other people for help is not a sign of weakness, but actually gives them an opportunity to feel empowered. I was happy that my friend let me give back to him, because reciprocating in my relationships makes me feel good.
These days I’m probably not as immediately warm and open as I once was (though I’m still Brazilian). But I still choose to believe that people are good at heart and I often focus beyond their personality on the spiritual essence that is animating them. The spirit is the beautiful spark of goodness that resides in everyone. In particular I enjoy being around people who inspire me and bring out my best. People who are kind, intelligent, and compassionate. I also don’t like beating around the bush. Be direct—I can take it. I hope I give back these same qualities to my friends. Time is the biggest gift any of us is given, and we all have a limited amount of it. The biggest gift we can give anyone is just that—our time, our love.
We may be able to choose our friends, but we can’t choose our families—which makes our parents and siblings our first and greatest teachers. (Certainly they’re the most influential.) I’ve always been extremely close to my family, and few relationships mean more to me than the ones I have with my five sisters. Raque, Fofa, Pati, Gabi, and Fafi—I know, it’s a mouthful—comfort me, challenge me, and protect me. They bring stability to my life. My family always gets me, and I don’t have my walls up around them. I can’t! They would see right through them. My parents and sisters know me better than anyone and they are constantly providing me with feedback, whether I like it or not.
As the oldest, Raque, who was only seven when my twin sister, Pati, and I were born, is basically my second mother. (There is a fourteen-year age difference between Raque and our youngest sister, Fafi.) When Pati and I arrived, my mother made a wise move. She told Raque and also Fofa (who’s two years younger than Raque) that they could each choose a baby to care for and help feed and diaper. That baby would be her responsibility. Working as hard as my mom did as a teller at Banco do Brasil, and with so many girls in the house, she needed to find as many helpers as possible. Raque may have been my second mother, but she is also my older sister, and she loved to tease us for fun—because what older sibling hasn’t done that? Our grandma lived five hours away in the country and, as I said before, she did everything, including raising and slaughtering her own chickens. Whenever there was a chicken head lying around, Raque enjoyed taking it and racing after my sisters and me. We would run and lock ourselves in the bathroom trying to escape. Another time when I was young, we went to visit my grandparents’ graveyard, which was separated by a fence beside a field with a grazing cow. There were a bunch of plastic flowers on the ground, so I placed a few on the wooden fence to decorate it and try to cheer things up. The next time we went back there, the plastic flowers and the cow were gone. Raque told me the cow had choked on the plastic flowers I had left on the fence, and died. For days I felt terrible, but then again, who doesn’t love having an older sibling with such a great sense of humor?!
I love Raque more than anything, and she has my lifelong gratitude. She always took great care of all of us ever since we were born, and as the eldest girl, she’s also our family’s official memory keeper. If my mom doesn’t remember something that happened when we were little, Raque is always there to fill in the blanks.
Graziela, the second eldest—we all call her Fofa—was always an overachiever. She was the first to leave home, to study at a top-quality high school located in Brasilia, where our grandparents lived. So she moved there. My parents wanted to give their daughters the best possible education. After attending an excellent high school and graduating with two degrees at the same time from the Federal University, Fofa was qualified to be a federal public servant. Later, at age twenty-six, she became a federal judge. She’s probably the fairest, most rational, and analytical of all of us, as well as a beautiful, selfless person. (Her nickname in our family is Mother Teresa.) She’s also an incredible chef, and loves having the whole family over to try out her delicious recipes.
As a twin, I always used to wonder, Where do I begin, and where does Pati begin? Are she and I the same person, two parts of the same person, or separate people entirely? Having a twin sister is like growing up with your own personal measuring stick or thermometer. That became even clearer to me when Pati at age ten was diagnosed with double pneumonia, and the doctors weren’t sure if she would live. I was traumatized. The thought of Pati being close to death was so terrible that I couldn’t even fully grasp it. She was in intensive care for almost a month, but to me it felt like an eternity. For the first week I wasn’t even allowed to see her. When I finally visited, she couldn’t even talk. She was stuck there with oxygen tubes to help her breathe. I kept asking when she was coming home, but my mom said she couldn’t tell. My twin sister had been by my side my whole life, and all of a sudden she wasn’t. I was devastated. When Pati was in the hospital, I promised to pray to God every night for her to heal. Praying was the only thing that comforted me. Life seemed suddenly so fragile, as though it could break apart in a moment, just like that. When I wasn’t sitting by Pati’s bed in the hospital, I was at home in our bedroom, folding and refolding her shirts and pants, getting them ready for when she came home. Thank God she did come home, and from that point on I began appreciating life in new ways, with more gratitude, and with a much closer connection to spirit.
Like any siblings, Pati and I are alike in some ways, different in others. Starting when we were teenagers, for example, I was nearly a foot taller than she was. Pati was more popular and social and loved being with her friends, whereas I preferred spending time alone, climbing trees and getting lost in my own little world. I thought Pati was so cool! She also inspired me at school. She was a very good student, which inspired me to study as hard and do well.
I have always loved music and enjoy singing. In fact, Pati, Gabi, and I all sang in the school chorus. It was so much fun! There’s an old saying in Portuguese that in English translates to “Who sings sends away his worries.” On Sundays, we usually had churrasco, grilled beef, chicken, or pork on sticks cooked inside a hot fire. During churrascos, my dad always brought out his guitar and everyone in our family sang. I knew Pati didn’t have a high opinion of her singing voice, and I remember being aware of her discomfort and never wanting her to feel bad. At the same time, playing guitar and singing with my father was one of the highlights of my week.
Gabriela, or Gabi, was and still is the funniest and the most rebellious of all of us. There was never a dull moment when she was around. Gabi is only one year younger than Pati and me, and growing up we were a trio, a Brazilian version of the Three Musketeers. If I thought I gave my teachers a hard time in school, it was nothing compared with Gabi, who was always getting into trouble. Before Fafi came along, Gabi spent five years as the baby of our family, and it couldn’t have been easy for her to give up that role. Today Gabi is a lawyer, intelligent, funny, and intense, and possibly even harder on herself than I am on myself. She is a perfectionist and feels it is her job to “protect” everyone in our family, and in the process sometimes forgets to take care of herself. Happily today she is more aware of this and working on finding a balance.
