New York to Santa Fe
I wanted to be a travel writer. I worked for New York Magazine.
I feared living check to check. Now, six years later, I realize that no matter what, we are always dependent on others for that check. That check is never guaranteed.
I walked down Houston street and asked myself, “What the Hell do I do next?”
I was spoiled. I could pick whatever I wanted.
Instead, it picked me.
I needed to move to Santa Fe.
I didn’t know why. It picked me. I said Okay.
I moved to Santa Fe. I cried to first night I got there. I wondered , “What the Hell did I just do?”
I worked as a hostess and waitress. I was a terrible waitress and spilled water all over the fashion designer, Tom Ford.
I bought cowboy boots and semi-precious stones. I spent a lot of time alone, and read the local paper’s Missed Connections.
I dated sexy men with somewhat odd issues… Because that seems to be why people go to Santa Fe. Everyone but me, of course.
One man I met at the mall. He was spooky video editor man with giant intimidating lips. He tried to record our kiss.
One man I met at the coffee shop. He was too honest with me and scared me off. Plus, he ate healthier than me.
One man tricked me onto a date, and then landed an unauthorized kiss in his pickup truck when he dropped me off.
Early one morning I saw an ad for a green energy course and certification at the community college. I took the risk, gave up my Saturdays, and signed up.
I found my calling for green marketing and in return also found a man-boy calling.
I decided that I could change the world. My certificate (printed on non-recycled paper and mailed to me in a large vanilla envelope), was just the start.
The over-friendly, yet completely genuine, gentlemen in my course introduced me to his son.
The son and I chatted over the phone and decided to meet up. The son described himself as a red-headed Arnold Schwarzenegger. I am pretty sure you can tell that I was not excited.