Episode 2: If You Can't Have a Baby... Then Go to Ghana?

This is the episode that starts it all...

Best Laid Plans (Part 18)

Voodoo (Part 2)

So there I am in a hut with my fellow traveler, Jodee and two women from the voodoo village. They’re helping us take our shirts and shoes off. Yep, shirts were coming off. Honestly, beyond my initial surprise at the priest’s request, the first thing that came to mind was ‘why in the hell did I wear the fartiest bra in the world that day’. Oh well...
After Jodee and I took our shirts off, the very gentle women then wrapped us in white sheets. So there we stood, wrapped and ready for the church. The Voodoo priest told the group that appropriate attire whilst in the church did not include shoes or a shirt. So while the men just disrobed out outside, Jodee and I were taken to a more private area.

Then we were ready.

Our group was escorted into the church. I didn’t know what to expect in there – I didn’t know just how ill the people would be and what sort of ceremonies would take place. It also wasn’t a church in the way that I knew them. It didn’t have tall ceilings, it didn’t have a steeple, or pews, but it was an honored, though makeshift space. The benches were in an L shape and the priest and his assistant sat in chairs at the front. Our group filed in and sat down on the nearest benches and, after a hello from the parishioners, the music began. It was loud and beautiful and heartfelt. I don’t know what I had anticipated I’d feel when I went into that church, but it was not this. It was like the rest of the world closed down and there was only this space with these people. The music and the singing was amazingly engaging and then, two-by-two, people got up and danced toward the priest. This was a celebration and nobody seemed ill at all. It was like they were all borrowing energy from each other and were moved to move. Clearly, what I don’t know about voodoo is a lot.

Robert and Richard turned to me again to see if I wanted to say something to the priest about my heartbreak. I couldn’t do it. First of all, I’m sure that all of these people had way bigger issues that required his attention and secondly, I didn’t want anything to invade this experience.

So here’s my advice... If you ever have the opportunity to go to a voodoo village in Ghana, do it.

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 15)

Here is a sentence I never thought I would utter...

I HAVE HAD SCHNAPPS WITH THE CHIEF OF A VILLAGE

Have you ever had plain schnapps? I had previously heard of various flavored schnapps... peach, peppermint - but plain? Really? More on this later...

So after a long drive in a packed bus on various paved and dirt roads we arrived in the village. Richard had explained that our first day of work would start with a welcoming ceremony with the Village Elders and Chief.

Then came the schnapps.

As part of the ceremony, a gentleman from the village who assisted in translating, got up and, after a small ceremony within this welcoming ceremony, poured schnapps into a shot glass and began offering it to each person in the room. Part of the ritual included drinking what you could and then pouring the rest of the contents on the floor in front of you. This ritual is one I was *extremely* thankful for! When I brought the glass to my mouth, my nose hairs immediately stood up on end. To say that my lips burned as the liquor touched my mouth is to put it mildly. One thing I knew for sure, any viruses, germs, bugs what-have-you that were making a little home for themselves within my body were now killed dead as the schnapps made its way through my digestive system.

With the welcoming ceremony over we made our way to our construction site. Many in the village were already busily working on the computer center's frame. A Globe Aware group that had been there previously had begun the structure of the building but there was still much work to be done. Next to the soon-to-be computer center was the school. The school itself consisted of cement walls, cement floors and a tin roof. If children wanted to sit on chairs, or use tables, they had to bring it with them every day. Richard had explained that when the previous GA group was there, the school was missing its roof, so they ceased work on the computer center for awhile and instead, put on the roof of that building.

Every day we were there a large number of people from the village came out to work as well. But when a group wasn't there, the work didn't really continue. This is not from laziness, it's from the attention that every day life requires. People have their own work to do whether it be farming, construction, whatever. They have to make a living, and while a computer center would be vital to this village, the building of it isn't going to put food on the table. The Chief had explained to all of us that they wanted to build the computer center for multiple reasons. An obvious one was so that students and adults could have access to the world around them. The village, without proper transportation, is quite far away from even the nearest city of Ho. The Internet could connect them in a way never before experienced. The other reason was because, for the children that went on to higher learning, they more often than not, permanently left the village. The hope was that the village would remain current enough to appeal to its youth so that after they receive their education they would come back and contribute to the life of the village.

On the whole, the village is beautiful. On one side, there were mountains surrounding us. Some of the people I met told me that they farmed there. On the other side was a forest that contained the river that many still used to bathe in, drink from and do their dishes and laundry. This place was different yes, but beautiful none the less. To have the majority of a town come out for an event like this is unheard of in the hustle bustle of a city like Manhattan. Here it seemed that most everyone knew each other. In my world, you rarely gave eye contact to strangers no less know their name.

Different, yes. But different was just what I was looking for.

Best Laid Plans (Part 14)

After the long journey from Accra to Ho, our van pulled into a long dirt driveway. A small, unassuming bar stood at the corner of the road. We’d all come to know this bar as the place to relax on a break or as a way to end the evening. Further on down the drive, there was a large concrete building that was well built and looked rather new. This was to be our home. All of us expressed surprise at the accommodations and I’ll admit that I was glad it wasn’t just me who had anticipated a much more ad hoc dwelling. Each room had two single beds and their own bathroom with... wait for it... flushing European-style toilets! We were told that there wasn’t anything but cold water to be had, but frankly, we’d all assumed that was going to be the case so that was no surprise. But finding out that I had a nice place to put my tushy when nature called felt like a gift from heaven. The place felt almost decadent!

After getting set up in the rooms, Richard picked us up and took us to his place in Ho. There we met his friend and partner, Robert. Robert and Richard – along with working with Globe Aware - had started their own nonprofit called DIVOG (Disaster Volunteers of Ghana). Their group does similar work to Globe Aware and Richard and Robert often host the DIVOG volunteers in their own home. At the time I was there, Robert had given one bedroom of his two bedroom home to two volunteers from Spain while, him, his wife, their children and another family member all stayed in the other room. Their dedication was extraordinary and their energy unbelievable.

After we all settled into his living room, Richard (finally) explained how we’d be spending our week! Every day, we’d be driving about 40 minutes outside of Ho to a small village called Tsyome-Afedo.



Our assignment was to help build a computer center in the village. The project had been started by past groups, but needed a lot more additional work before it was ready. So there it was – a fear realized - I was told I’d be doing construction work. I’d be building something that people were expected to be able to USE. Not only were people going to need to use the building, but they’d also be storing expensive computer equipment between the four walls that I, a lady who often has others change her light bulbs, would be helping to build. In a faraway place, I could hear laughter... I believe it was the ‘get-off-your-ass-and-do-something-gods’ challenging me to, well, get off of my ass.

As would often happen throughout the project, my trepidation brought a big smile to Joe’s face.

Did I remember to bring band-aids?

On Our Way!

With the recommended dosage of Immodium in my belly, Joe and I got in a cab and journeyed on to our Globe Aware meeting point. In the cab, I was amazed by all of the people on the street selling goods – everything from hairbrushes to snacks. When the cab stopped at a red light, the car was quickly surrounded by people selling their goods/products. Beautifully balancing their items on their head, they’d try to sell their goods to anyone willing. Although it took some time to get used to being surrounded by people whenever the car came to a halt, neither Joe or I felt accosted or anything like that. In some ways, one can see how practical this commerce system is. I think of it as their version of the drive-thru. I wonder though, if the practicality goes both ways. For the driver, it is a very convenient system, but is that true for the seller, stuck outside in the rain and trying to get interest in their sliced fruit? I don’t know.

Our cab driver took us to the Pink Hostel in a different neighborhood in Accra. Again, the lack of familiar addresses made it difficult to ask to go somewhere, but our driver got us their quickly and with ease. Joe and I were the first to arrive at the meeting spot. The small mini-van was waiting, but none of the participants, nor the head of the Globe Aware program in Ghana, Richard, were there. We were told Richard had gone to pick up some of the participants and was on his way back.

The quiet, serene street was in opposition to my mounting excitement. I wanted to be on our way. I wanted to see the Volta region – where we were staying, who we’d be working with, what we’d be doing. Not long after we’d arrived, a cab pulled up and out came a man with a backpack. This was Scott. Not on the original list of participants, Scott, in a constant state of wanderlust, had decided to come at the last minute. In just a few minutes of conversation, I discovered that he’d been to many, many places in the world for work and for recreation. I was immediately envious. What would life be like spending 6 months here, 6 months there? Nervously, I told Scott the project that I was embarking on. Quickly he agreed to be a part of it and said he didn’t mind being filmed. Whew! One down!

A short while after Scott arrived, another cab pulled up and out came Richard – greeting Joe and I with a warm hug and kind eyes. Also exiting the cab were Jodee, Wayne and their son, Wyatt. A family filled with energy and wrapped in bug-sprayed bandannas, they loquaciously described the problems they encountered in getting to Accra. How they were stuck in Nigeria for a time, how Wyatt had gotten sick on the journey and how they didn’t know if they were going to get to the meeting place on time. Joe and I then explained our project and all 3 seemed excited by the prospect.

Richard interrupted our conversation to explain that we were still waiting for two more participants – a writer, George, and his son Eamon. George was delayed at a jewlers, so Richard said it would be easier to pick him up there.

We packed the van and then crowded in. Joe and I sat in the back and observed everyone else. A short drive later, we arrived at the meeting place to pick George and his son up. With two more in tow, we smushed into the now, very tightly packed van and began our journey to the Volta Region.

I had to steal myself thinking about how amazing it was that this was happening. Joe and I had our press passes, Richard had had a long talk with a representative at the Ministry of Information’s Office and cleared our trip and all but George and Eamon had agreed to be on film.

I was in Africa. I was in Ghana. This was happening.

Globe Aware Begins

[note: once again my apologies for the lateness of this next installment... work has been crazy but it's been all good things!]

Finally! Globe Aware’s official start day arrives! I woke up with such anticipation for the days to come. What would we be doing? What would the group be like? Would they be open to the documentary? Globe Aware had said that they were going to mention it to the other volunteers, but I wasn’t counting on anything. That morning, Joe and I had a hearty breakfast in the hotel’s dining room and made our way back to our room to gather all of our things. The butterflies in my stomach were whirling like nobody’s business as the time ticked by. I continued packing, Joe continued organizing the equipment and my butterflies seemed to be reproducing. Wow! I guess I’m really nervous, I thought. Very quickly I realized that it was not butterflies at all. I ran passed Joe and made my way to the bathroom. (For those of you who are now rolling your eyes at my potty recollections, too bad – you wanted an honest account so here goes!) I’m sure I don’t have to go into more detail than simply noting that I got to know the bathroom quite well that morning. I believe it’s a universal enough feeling to be able to stop there, don’t you.

The time ticked by...

I finally opened the door and almost slammed into the camera – leering at me. Seems while I was busy taking care of my business, Joe was busy taking care of his. He’d waited in the room, red record light flashing, beckoning me to well... Flush.

I. Had. The. Poops.

Downing the recommended amount of Immodium, I yelled at Joe to turn the camera off and checked out of the hotel. Goodbye bathroom... Hello long journey to Ho.

I hope it’s not a bumpy ride.

Best Laid Plans (Part 12)

DAY 2


Although I think both Joe and I felt that we could’ve slept the day away, we got up early in the morning so that we could be at the Ministry of Information’s Office first thing. We needed to get our press passes and were told not to begin filming without them.

One of the first things I found most interesting about Ghana is that there are no real addresses – PO Boxes yes – but addresses, no. You can’t say to a cab driver, take me to 145 Prospect Street b/w whatever and whatever. And being somewhat anal, before I left, I’d tried to map the distance between my hotel and the Ministry so that I could have some idea of how far it was and how much time we’d need to get there – but alas, one cannot find a PO Box on mapquest.

For some reason, government people (regardless of the country) make me nervous. I always immediately find myself itching to confess a crime that I don’t even know exists. I also find that I have to keep myself from blurting out inane information that, while wouldn’t necessarily make me a criminal, would definitely make me seem like a nutter... Such as ‘when I was 15 I told my sister that there were no more brownies when, in fact, I had the last one hidden away in a cabinet for my own selfish consumption!’ So along with my official paperwork, I also carried with me my odd compulsion to admit idiotic wrongdoings. Joe on the other hand, was simply itching to start filming whatever possible. At least one of us was focused.

Thankfully, we were seen right away and the official that we spoke with was very nice while also putting the fear of god in me. She explained a number of reasons why, if we didn’t follow the rules, we could be arrested. She wanted an explicit rundown of where we were going to be filming, which would have been fine but for the fact that I had no idea. She said that if we were discovered to be filming outside of where we said we were going to be, our equipment would be confiscated and we could be arrested. I suddenly found my confession compulsion and my visions of a Ghanian prison merging into one holy-hell nightmare of epic proportions. I looked over at Joe so that we could share each others fears silently but he looked so relaxed that I became concerned he was gonna fall asleep. Apparently, the sound of the Officer’s voice, while making me quiver with anxiety, was like a lullaby for Joe. When she turned her attention away from us to find a typist that could put together our press passes, Joe smirked at me and said that she was just trying to scare us. I reminded him that they don’t serve pancakes in prison but he was unshakeable.

After informing us that the typist was not in the building and would be coming in from a different location, she asked again where we wanted to film. The Volta Region was too general for her. I explained that we would be in Ho and then in surrounding villages that we didn’t yet know the names of, to which she reminded me of confiscation and imprisonment. I was worried that we were at an impasse. I gave her Richard’s number – he was the Globe Aware contact in Ghana but her attempts to reach him were unsuccessful. Would we get our press passes? If she refused us would we shoot anyway? I looked over at Joe and, as if he knew what I was wondering, he winked at me. Well, maybe he and I would share a cell.

Amazingly, after about 20 minutes, without specifics on where we were going to be filming, we were handed our press passes. I hate when Joe is right.

Along with our press passes, she sent us away with her assistant in tow. I had asked her whether she knew of any good markets in Ho and she said that the best markets are in Accra. She also said that her assistant would accompany us to them (for a fee) and we could film it.

Well, well, well... At least I knew we wouldn’t be arrested (at least not that day) and Joe knew that we’d get some great footage. We both got what we wanted.

I'll admit... its been awhile...

Whew! Its been awhile since any of you have heard from me. I wish I could say that it’s because I’ve been busy with the editing process, or because I was thrown into some adventure relating to the documentary, but alas, that would not be the case (and I am a terrible liar). So here we are in October and its been many weeks since I’ve last written. I think the reason is three-fold.

1. I found it difficult to so quickly review my day’s events during my time in Ghana. The week was so jam-packed with experiences that, I don’t know, I think I felt like I was inserting a tone onto the experience rather than waiting for some perspective on it. Does that even make sense?

2. Before leaving for the trip, I was under the assumption that when I returned from this supposedly life-changing experience, I would be, well, changed somehow. However, in actually experiencing my homecoming, I found that while I did feel amazingly accomplished in having seen this trip through, I discovered that I was still basically the same person, with the same feelings. Heartbroken? Check. Somewhat lost? Check. Excited and cautious of what’s to come? Check and check. The trip didn’t replace anything for me, it merely added a new feeling – albeit a positive one, but it was addition, not substitution.

3. Lastly, the third thing that took me away from writing about my experiences is quite a major event. I’ve lost my director of photography and editor. Sadly, Joe is no longer a part of Best Laid Plans. He did great work in Ghana but I am now having to go about the rest of this experience on my own.


This year has given new meaning to the term, best laid plans for me - in multiple aspects of my life. So, Alicia and I have decided to simply go with it. Originally, I was to experience this volunteer vacation and go to Africa as a way to invite the things that I’d have had to put off had my husband not walked out, and had I had children with him. I was to be part of a two person team. But my best laid (original) plans for the documentary hadn’t worked out. Now it’s just me. So, with Alicia’s expert guidance I’ve decided to shift things again. The documentary will not end with my plane landing in the US. Life goes on and so does Best Laid Plans. Stay tuned as more information is to come...

And yeah, I’ll continue the journal entries of my time there... You’ve all asked for it and I promise that next time I write, it’ll be about day 2!

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?

Best Laid Plans (Part 1)

2007 was looking to be a pretty exciting year for me. My first feature film was being produced by On the Leesh and we were scheduled to go into production that spring.  I'd also penned a new webseries and we were looking to launch the show in late winter.  Professionally, both as a writer and actor, things were looking good and I felt like I'd reached new heights in my career.  Personally however, I'd been struggling.  My husband and I decided that we wanted to start a family in the near future, but needed to work some things out first.  However, in the time it would have taken to have a baby - approximately 9 months later, my husband wanted out. He wanted a new life. Now, to go into the details, to list here what I thought went wrong, what my impression was, what I thought his impression was, would not be worth it.  It would develop into a he said/she said that is neither fair nor informative.  It is only necessary to know that I felt abandoned and given up on.  As I'm sure most divorced people know, to be the one that is left, to be the one that is told you are not what the other person wants is unbearingly horrific.  I found myself falling into some abyss in which I was consumed with unanswered questions and encumbered with insecurities about myself and my own failures.  These thoughts can be a full time job.  Added to that grief were questions about my new (and sad) financial status, my solitary living situation and the responsibilities of my dog and cat that I could no longer share with someone. I felt cooked. I began to think about how the idea of planning in life can sometimes seem ridiculous - how preparing can seem akin to predicting mother nature.  By this time last year, I thought I'd be in babyland along with many of my other friends. But now, I find myself back in this single world that went from meeting people in bars to meeting people online.  The handshake went the way of the online "wink" and the first phone conversation has turned into the first email exchange.  I'm finding that your best laid plans are no plans at all.  So what do you do when you realize you're consumed with your own problems and your major plans have collapsed under your feet?  

You go to Ghana.

This entry marks the first of my weekly logs about flying half-way around the world to bring myself back to reality.  That while my heartache is real, there is a world out there that is in much more need of attention than just another newly single girl living in New York City. This is my first entry in my attempt to spend some time out of my own head and into a more hopeful world.  Stay tuned...