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In 1999 I was � nishing a book about my gypsy grandmother Maria and her journey from eastern Ukraine to California, and all she had endured along

the way. An editor at Scribner told me the voice was good, strong even, but suggested I cut my 700-page book down to 350 pages. Eight months pregnant, I broke out into sobs on his o� ce couch.

“Go have your baby and come back when you’re ready,” he said. “� is is just the business of writing.” Right then and there, I decided I wasn’t cut out for the business of writing. My lifelong dream vanished.

Sage was born the day a� er my 25th birthday, and I didn’t have it together upon arrival. � ings hadn’t worked out with his father, my book wouldn’t be published, and then when Sage was 4 weeks old, he needed an operation to save his life. I was broke, without insurance or a job, but I was miraculously able to get him the procedure by standing up to the doctors who’d initially refused him care without insurance. Who knew birth defects were considered preexisting conditions?

I did whatever work I could to support us. I painted houses, worked in a shoe store, became a secret shopper, did nude modeling for art classes, and in the rare times I could use my education, I helped other writers with editing and website publishing. I’d show up for work with Sagein a rocking car seat, praying he’d keep quiet until the job

was done and the cash was in my hand. I felt like a terrible mother and beat myself up with the constant question: How could I have brought this beautiful baby into such a mess?

Between odd jobs, I spent a� ernoons in the library at the Krotona Institute of � eosophy in Ojai, California. With Sage sleeping in his sling, I studied Annie Besant, Jiddu Krishnamurti, and other enlightened masters. One day, the longtime librarian Lakshmi said, “Zhena, your son has come into this incarnation with his own karma. His early su� ering

will lead to very blessed later years.”

Her words startled me—how could a baby’s su� ering be his own? How could my mistakes not be the cause of my child’s pain? Before, I’d seen Sage and me as one—and his birth defect as my fault. � e poverty and instability I brought him into were my shame, which I’d used to isolate us from the world.

With swi� certainty, Sage’s presence taught me it wasn’t about my pride and that I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself. I had to create a life for us—fast. Mustering as much strength as I could, I asked God what I could do. � e solution from on high? Gypsy tea parties with belly dancers and tea leaf readers. I tied my heritage into my hobby and with all the research I’d done about my grandmother’s gypsy lifestyle, I found it easy to take my tea blends and create a gypsy theme around them.

As parents, we assume it’s our job to guide our children, but often they’re the ones who nudge us toward the path we’re meant to take.

By Zhena Muzyka

there, I decided I wasn’t cut out for the business of writing. into this incarnation with his own karma. His early su� ering

� e poverty and instability

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Toddling Around TeaAs my business became a success, Sage grew up mainly

in our small warehouse � lled with tea. He played with shipping boxes as I struggled with QuickBooks. His � rst noncongenital injury was from climbing a tea-bag heat sealer. His room was a pup tent on my o� ce � oor, his babysitter a bunch of VHS tapes from thri� stores. As I built the business and did my best to be a reliable mom, baby Sage grew into a beautiful boy. � rough hard times, he taught me the power of his quiet, wise, discerning heart. A� er four major operations, his body was healed, and we had a multimillion-dollar business based on a purpose greater than our pain.

A� er all, Zhena’s Gypsy Tea did more than sustain the two of us. When I visited India and Sri Lanka and saw the impoverished conditions of the tea pickers, I committed to pioneering fair trade practices in the tea industry that would bring them health care, child care, maternity leave, safe housing, clean water, education for their children, and even retirement funds. It was risky for a new business not yet turning consistent pro� ts, but giving back to those who made our success possible became a vital part of my mission.

Flash forward almost a decade, to late 2008, as I looked around the huge warehouse, surveyed the dozen employees, and re� ected on the millions of tea units we sold annually, I realized the business my son inspired had become my spiritual practice. Sage’s birth had brought unseen blessings and I’d surreptitiously become a devotee of his teachings. I don’t believe I was his parent so much as he was my teacher. He taught me that love and a mission to serve will move obstacles from any path.

By this time I was remarried, and Sage, at 9, had his own desk in the building, interacting with the sta� as a peer. He tasted tea with me and gave me tasting notes. His birth and karma transformed me into a woman with means. Getting

health insurance, � nding stability, and helping the tea workers out of poverty had all been born of our struggles.

Sage also helped pick Gerard. My son had never really bonded with any of my previous boyfriends, so I’d quit dating altogether. One night, as I served tea at a Ram Dass event, a bright-eyed man in a long Hindu kurta took a shine to me and began coming up to Ojai to see us. Once, at a concert, Sage tested his love for me by demanding he kiss an imposing security guard on the cheek to prove his dedication. Gerard did, and Sage became his biggest fan. Our tea workers were soon throwing us a wedding in Sri Lanka.

A Mia for MommaWithin a week of closing a round of nearly $5 million in

venture capital for my business, I noticed I was feeling woozy. In disbelief, I bought a pregnancy test at lunch and it tested positive. I should have been over the moon, but I was afraid the new investors would � re me.

“Zhena, the investors invested in your company, which was created to support your � rst baby,” Gerard said, hugging me. “You don’t think this baby will bring his or her own set of blessings?”

I recalled how the tea workers had hosted our wedding in a Lakshmi temple in the tea � elds. My mentor and tea supplier, Gnana, had said, “Zhena, if you have a baby girl, she will be an incarnation of Lakshmi,” the Hindu goddess of wealth.

Before this, I hadn’t been able to get my business funded. During the 2008 economic crash, no one was investing in socially responsible companies like mine. I’d had at least a hundred fruitless meetings with potential investors. � en I met a new investor in New York, and within a couple weeks he’d funded the company. � is was so unlikely that people called it a miracle. A� er the funding, I found out I was

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� ve weeks pregnant. My baby girl’s conception happened within days of meeting this potential investor. Surely, I thought, this was the karma my little Lakshmi brought with her.

While my belly grew, I overcompensated and worked extra hours. I wanted to ensure my investors that this new baby would not only help me build the business, but like Sage, would also inspire product launches and “hockey-stick” growth. Gerard would take Sage home at night and I’d work late, with a bag of whatever I was craving.

One day, a friend called to say she’d had a dream about the baby. “She wanted me to tell you her name is Mia,” she said.

Sage and I repeated the name over and over. We decided it was her name when we realized it was short for Maria, my gypsy grandmother’s name. Mia was born with a birthmark on her third eye, a pink bindi that became dark red when she cried. We took her home, and she had an entirely di� erent message for my life: Go back to writing. � e new investors hired a CEO and moved the company to Los Angeles. Soon, my services were “no longer needed.” I was a little sad, but soon I found myself back where I’d started—writing. But this time, I had a healthy Sage, a bright-eyed Mia, a loving Gerard,and the resources to write without worrying where our next meal would come from.

I wrote a book about my journey, with Sage as my theme, and planned to self-publish. But a scout from Atria found my book through a writing workshop and soon made an o� er. I started out as a writer, took a 14-year business detour, and ended up right where I’d begun.

� rough the path Sage had put me on, I’d fallen in love with business, and the business of books. And through the path Mia put me on, I was back where I’d started, but more inspired, mature, and conscious of the blessings. Every cell in my being knows my children’s karma has been my saving grace. I credit them for everything. � e stories, the strength, the business acumen, and the journey of my soul’s growth. � e big question now: What will grandchildren bring?

My mother is an amazing woman. Her valuable insight, her � ery passion, her sheer determination, and her kind and protective nature have given me an upbringing I could not be more grateful for. One of the greatest things she’s given me is an awareness of the world’s people and their unique cultures. When I was 10, she took me to the tea � elds in Sri Lanka to work with the kids in the schools. We’ve since traveled to the jungles of South America, small villages in Mexico, locals-only beach huts in the Caribbean, and many places in the United States. She’s pointed out di� erent religious practices, cooking styles, and living situations—she’s shown me to appreciate diversity and to see people not for their di� erences but for their qualities. I’ve found that most people are kind, hopeful, hardworking, and sincere. � is perspective has been vital to who I am today.

Passport to PresenceBy Sage Tate