Back in 2005, helped along with the enthusiasm of a close friend (we'll call him Meriwether), I planned to make my way from Washington to South America.  I wanted to see what it would be like to live on the road, learn Spanish through immersion and maybe even rediscover a piece of myself I thought had been lost in the turmoil of a difficult year.  After devising many ways to augment pickup trucks, build from scratch, camp, backpack, hitchhike and otherwise craft an economical and road worthy plan, I settled on an old '70s camper.  It was in pretty good shape mechanically and had only a slight twinge of wilderness musk.

            The hand of Fate solicited me during one of my last days of work in downtown Seattle.  I stopped to grab a bite to eat a the sidewalk creperie before my walk home.  I was meditating on the merits of savory versus sweet when a lusty blonde approached and asked me if I'd "be interested in in traveling the world and getting paid for it."  Ya.  Right.  Well, it turned out she was from the Travel Channel, after all.  I ended up auditioning the next afternoon with Meriwether (it was a couples gig) and although we had fun, we were not cast.  But the notion clung to me afterward that one of my dream jobs - hosting a travel adventure show - had literally tapped me on the shoulder.   I perceived the experience as validation for my forthcoming Mexico plan and with renewed determination, I tackled the camper.

            In terms of renovation, first thing was first: all the linens and cushions had to go.  Twenty-five years of dust and grime and spider eggs were lurking in the creases of the atrocious brown and avocado plaid that stated all too clearly just how much history this little tin box had seen.  Next, I scrubbed and swept and painted everything.  I put new flooring down and crafted new cushions and curtains.  I built a 'pantry' and added some storage at the foot of the bed.  Being that I was headed South of the Border, the Mexican motif seemed appropriate and the bright, cheery colors made the interior feel deceptively roomy.  

 

            Around this same time, my mother was renovating her own slightly larger tin box and I was recruited to help.  Not two weeks after completing my own home-not-on-wheels-anymore, I was again wielding paint rollers, nail guns and sandpaper.  I was stationed in her driveway and lived in the only 100 square feet of space I could call my own, cursing my life and the truck I rode in on.  To cheer me up, she suggested I submit my gorgeous little home to the show "Small Spaces."  So I did.  And they called me.  But again, it was not to be.  Filming was scheduled in Phoenix in two weeks but I had to decline due to transportation issues.  What seemed like another television disappointment turned out to be a Universal Nudge toward the direction of film and television, however, for I ended up in Phoenix after all - a mere four months later.

           Finally, broke, bitter and betrayed, I gave the camper over to the care of Meriwether, financed (another...) new car and drove south to Flagstaff, Arizona to spend a few weeks with my family so that I could get my head on straight again.  A few weeks turned into a few months and I learned about the New York Conservatory for Dramatic Arts: School of Film and Television.  Just a week after stumbling on their website, I scheduled an audition with them in Phoenix - the first stop on their national scholarship and admissions tour.  Fate, it seemed, had finally dealt me a hand I could play and plans to move to New York proved easier than I would have imagined.  Amazingly, it flowed - to the tune of a three bedroom apartment to myself, a long lost friend in Connecticut and a serendipitous encounter with the NY bellydance community.  So, though I no longer have the camper, I have had an adventure:  I live in the ups and downs of the flow, I learn Spanish in the Dominican neighborhood that I reside in, and I rediscovered more pieces of myself than I ever thought I had lost.