What's Next?

So... now that Milestone is finished and being put out into the world, now that I've been to Africa to volunteer as I always dreamed about... now that I visited an old friend in Hibernia, I am left with figuring out how to close ye ol' documentary. Do I simply say my equivalent of "good night and good luck" and move on? Do I end things in a more shock value way by say - mooning the audience? Throw a party? Run naked through the streets? There are just so many options...

But in thinking about it - this documentary is not about exposing an issue. It's not about illuminating a cause that had previously gone unnoticed. This is about what you do when your life takes a turn that you hadn't planned on. Hopefully many people can relate to the idea and, I'll admit, on my best days I hope someone somewhere sees the documentary and feels a little better. But I know that this isn't a story that is going to save the world. Believe me, I totally get that. So, if it's not a story that gives out ideas and arguments and then backs up said arguments with interviews and what-not and then ends, then how does the story culminate? How do you finish a storyline - when - in actuality my story isn't (unless a piano drops on my head) finishing? I'm closing one chapter and diving into a new one. So what is it that would send that message? And frankly, I don't think mooning people sends that message. What then?

SKY DIVING!

Nothing says throwing yourself into what's to come like jumping out of a moving plane! Throw caution (along with your body) to the wind!

That's it! That's next!

Holy shit!

Best Laid Plans - Introducing Milestone (Part 19)

Like most adventures, coming home from Ghana felt a little... Well... Anticlimatic. I had an amazing time but needless to say the week flew by and it seemed suddenly Joe and I were back on the plane (where we were sanitized) and heading home. Once we got back, I gave everyone their gifts and then Joe left the project and I was left with this footage thinking – what do I do now? Things didn’t feel over. It seemed like it was part of a larger story. What is this life I’m leading now? What does it look like? The trip to Africa felt like just a part of it rather than the total IT. Everyone around me was either very seriously attached, married and/or starting a family of their own. I couldn’t see my life in theirs anymore and Africa didn’t change any of that (of course). It’s not that I necessarily expected it to, but after it was over I felt like it was more of an inauguraul entry into a new life rather than the culmination of something. Like it or not, my life isn’t going to be filled with coming home to a husband or partner. It’s not about sleepless nights with a crying baby. So what is it? The question again comes back to – what is my Plan B?

The answer is: Adventure.

A couple of months back from Ghana, I had an idea. A short comedy about a woman who’s friends go to extreme measures to help her get over her husband leaving. It was about 10 pages long and just launched out of me onto the page. When it was finished, I gave it to Alicia to see what she thought. The next thing I know, we’re talking about adding it to the On the Leesh roster of projects and she’s asking me if I have any interest in directing. Me, direct? I’ve never directed a film before. I always looked at having someone else direct my words as it being a safety net for the script. Writer/directors don’t always have the ability to see the forest for the trees when something isn’t working – and I greatly feared that. But isn’t that what this year is about – doing things I fear?

Suddenly, part 2 of my story was becoming clear.

Here we go... I was going to direct a film! And so... I introduce you to “Milestone”.

Best Laid Plans (Part 17)

What would you ask of a voodoo priest? (Part 1)

Before going to Ghana, I found out about the history of the practice of voodoo in the country. Although today, the majority of the population of Ghana is Christian, there are a number of Ghanaians that still practice Voodoo. Robert, one of our guides told me that sometimes, if something happens to someone – say something of theirs was stolen, they'll go to a Voodoo Priest to find out who did it and to exact punishment. Both Richard and Robert explained that voodoo is not all negative though – that it’s not about hurting people, but rather about empowering yourself.

My personal experience with this practice stops at those kitschy voodoo dolls that a person can buy at a gift shop. And I’ve never thought of myself as particularly superstitious – though I do often find myself knocking on wood, and if someone asks me if I’ve seen a roach in my apartment I find I’m afraid to answer so that I don’t ‘tempt fate,’ so-to-speak. But beyond that, I walk on cracks in the sidewalk (is this why I trip so much?), I don’t throw salt over my shoulder (though to be honest, that might be because I know I have terrible aim) and I don’t think that when my ears ring it means that someone is thinking about me (or whatever significance that's supposed to hold). However, who am I to say that there isn’t magic out there? People spend their lifetime studying mysticism and voodoo and little ol’ me is certainly in no position to discredit anyone’s belief system. I choose not to question it not only because I am in no position to, but also because, to put it plainly, I would be terrified to piss a practitioner of voodoo off. So, although there was some part of me that feared the unknown, I was also on a mission to experience things in spite of my fear. Therefore, when Richard offered to take me to a voodoo village just beyond our work site, I found myself agreeing without reservation.

I was going to a Voodoo Village!

It was our final day of work and after lunch, Richard and Robert told the group that I had wanted to visit the village and offered to take anyone else who wanted to go. Turns out, everyone was just as curious as I was. So off we all went into the woods. We crossed the very stream that the villagers use to do their laundry and pick up their water and headed into the tall grass. My group was told more about the settlement. It was a healing community that was built for people to stay for the duration of their illness. It seemed that the only people who lived their full-time were the Voodoo Priest and his assistant. This news made me even more curious about what I’d find there. Would there be rows of cots with people extremely ill? Along with the priest, would there be a doctor there as well as a nurse? What types of illnesses did most of the people have? Malaria? Cancer? How did voodoo come into play with a person's sickness.

As we continued walking through the forest, both Richard and Robert told me that I should tell the priest why I was in Ghana. That I should talk to him about my divorce so that he could help me. Hmmmm...
Grateful for the offer, I explained to them that, while I was devastated at the abrupt demise of my marriage, I didn’t want to go back to New York and hear that my husband’s penis randomly detached from the rest of his body (or something along those lines). Again they promised that the priest’s focus would be on helping me, but I still declined.

The dirt pathway in the woods led to an opening, which led to... A Voodoo Shrine. Robert, a believer in much of the religion, turned to me and said quietly, “don’t touch anything.” I absorbed this warning with very wide eyes and an open mouth. Quickly, I turned to Joe who was filming the figure and chided, “don’t you touch anything!” He looked at me like a kid who was wrongly accused of bad behavior by their mother. Granted, he wasn’t touching anything but I didn’t want to take any chances. The shrine was a face with its tongue out. By face, I don’t mean to suggest that it was a statue of someone being silly and jutting their tongue out because trust me, it was nothing like that. It definitely had a more serious tone to it. Adding to that heaviness were objects that I guessed were offerings.

After taking in the shrine, I headed into the village...

Best Laid Plans (Part 6)

Ode to the elusive Press Pass!

Why do you elude me?  You say that you are on your way and yet... why have you not arrived yet?  I promise to be good to you when you arrive... I will do a jig even, and, had I the skills to, I would happily perform a double-triple-loop-backflip.  Yet, here I am, with an empty hand, sitting by my mailbox, longing for it to be filled with some sort of official-looking paperwork.

While our visas arrived very quickly, it seemed that our application for the press pass was misplaced.  The people processing the information could not have been nicer or more helpful and have said that the information has been found now and is currently being processed.  However, the neurotic New Yorker in me will remain concerned until the actual document is in my shakey, nervous hands.  Joe, of course, is not concerned.  He merely shrugged, ordered another round of pancakes and sucked back his third can of root beer.  Joe has, it should be noted, informed me that we are in a marriage of convenience.  The convenience being that he figures, I worry so much, that he need not worry at all.  Convenient for him, stroke-inducing for me.  The truth is, I'm sure it will all work out.  The people I have spoken with have been great and want to help out, but I can also honestly say that I long for the day that I can talk about my want of the press pass in the past tense.  

If you're out there press pass, come home.  We promise to treat you well!!

Best Laid Plans (Part 5)

Embassies?  Consulates? Press Pass? Whaaa??

I am a narrative girl.  I make up stories.  I say... lets pretend that so-and-so meets so-and-so in a coffee shop and then...  Or, let's make believe that some girl meets some guy in the park and then...

I can for sure say that I've never uttered the words, "Can I document my travels as I traipse around Accra to sightsee, and then make my way to Ho to interview people and volunteer?" Nor have I ever asked my doctor if she wouldn't mind if I film myself getting a shot (and oh please god, let them not put me in the paper apron that opens in the front, while they administer my yellow fever vaccination and capture it for eternity on tape).  That is all very real.  Sure, I was never the type of writer that told far fetched stories.  You'd never catch me spinning a tale about a girl meeting a guy in the park, falling in love, and then combining forces to combat rockets shooting out some secret government bacteria.  My story would most likely entail my girl and my guy falling in love and then dealing with, oh, I don't know, relationship issues.  So, unless those rockets came with a surprise pregnancy, or a cheating boyfriend/girlfriend, it's not really a story I'm likely to tell.

I should say however, that just because my scripts are usually grounded in reality it does not mean that they are real, so now, my days of documenting the actual is throwing me off a bit.  My days consist of Joe's voice humming in the background saying things like: 'Julie's freaking out about plane tickets - let's get this on film!' Or 'Julie's freaking out about getting the press pass - let's get this on film!' 'Julie's freaking out - who cares about what! For godsakes get the freaking camera!'

It's all becoming real in a way that I never considered before: the budget, the plane tickets, the program, the interviews, the shots... yellow fever, hepatitis, malaria pills, tetanus, cipro for extreme diarrhea, an epi pen for my shellfish allergy... oh my... and while I've had many of these shots from previous trips or from swimming in the Hudson River (don't ask), hearing the list once again is, well, not a small thing.

Recently, I told my mother that I've been having anxiety dreams about forgetting to take care of something before Joe and I leave.  For example, my dream would have me forgetting something like the malaria pills only to then look down at my leg and see a smiling mosquito eating my ankle for lunch.  To this, my wise mother asked, "Then why are you doing this?"  I thought to myself, can I answer that it's because I'm getting a divorce?  Is that a legitimate response?  Should I even care if it's not?

From the stories I've heard, when relationships breakdown, most turn to the bottle, maybe have a lot of sex, refuse to leave the house, or bury their head into a huge tub of ice cream.  I don't know that I've heard the old tale of the person making their way to Africa.  Yet, I think the thought behind it is the same, and certainly I am not any different from anyone else.  You see, while I find myself having an anxiety dream about some Ghanian prison, I find that I'm not having a dream about my husband walking out again.  The rotation of ideas and thoughts and reasons for his leaving play less often in my head and is slowly being replaced by the trip.  I'd be lying if I said that I planned it this way, because I absolutely didn't.  I hoped for a distraction sure, but I never imagined how much this trip would consume me. And it's consumption in the best way possible.  Now I'm certainly not negating the building blocks of the drunken stupor, or the night of random sex, or the various flavors of a well-churned ice cream - it's just that that wouldn't do it for me.  I needed something more lasting, I guess.  I needed something that would match the pace of my racing mind.  

And I have to tell you... I think I've found it.

Best Laid Plans (Part 3)

Planning to do a documentary  throughout my trip was never my intention.  I had really thought that I would just go to Ghana, have the experience of doing the volunteer work, immerse myself in another culture and well... sweat my arse off.  The feeling that I needed to plan something to leave where I was, was palpable.  However, as I started talking about my trip to friends, family and random subway riders, the idea of documenting things became more interesting to me.  The number of people that told me that they had always wanted to do something like I was planning, or that they'd wanted to travel to Africa or do a volunteer vacation was astounding.  I began to feel as if there was energy underneath me, propelling me forward toward this idea of not only getting myself out of my head and away from my comfort zone, but also showing others that they could to.  After all, I truly believe that the expression 'if I can, anyone can' absolutely applies here.  Let's face it, comforts are usually not far from my life. I'm not a huge nature person.  Don't get me wrong - I enjoy nature.  There is nothing like looking at a beautiful forest - from the passenger-side car window, and the expanse of the beautiful ocean - as you sip a cocktail on the deck of a restaurant.  Okay, to some extent, I kid, but to say that the jungle I've been most familiar with is an urban one is the absolute truth.  The main reason I've ever gone camping (and I can count these on one hand), is for the s'mores - and don't even get me started on campground bathrooms!  So, here I am, going to Ghana.  I have no idea what to expect, which usually quite frankly, makes me uncomfortable.  But the entire year has been unexpected, so why not just learn how to... well... expect it.  

Again, if I can, and you've always wanted to, then what's stopping you?