Best Laid Plans Where You Live

So... I realize that I haven’t written in awhile. I wish I could say that I’ve had a good excuse, but alas, I have nothing to offer you other than being in the midst of some things that made it difficult to take a step back and assess. In short, I’ve been avoiding you. That’s right people... I have been avoiding a blog! But hear we are – almost a year since I left for Ghana.

But I have news... First – check out the cool logo for the film that Melissa Jernigan at OTL created for me! I think she did a great job and am grateful to her for her patience in my not knowing what sort of graphic best summarized the project. Big thanks to her!

Second, while I, again, cannot really get into some of the details of what’s occurred in my situation I will say this. It is a SMALL world out there in a very big way. People talk about how huge NYC is, but truly, NY’ers (at least my friends have agreed with this), often stick to their small neighborhood most of the time. You create your own little safe haven in the midst of the city’s noisy chaos. Certainly for me, I’ve had to work at creating a whole new existence in my own neighborhood. Since it’s the same place that I moved into as a married person, all of my beginning memories of living there were associated with that identity. And then breakups happen and you find out how amazing it is that the simplest things trigger monumental emotional recollections – such as walking your dog, or going to certain restaurants. In the beginning of this process, your neighborhood is like a dysfunctional home that feels both safe and like its inundated with land mines. But then, the more things you do on your own, the more territory you take back and fill with new happenings, the more the “safety” scale tips in your direction. It’s your home again.

Neighborhood, by definition (I even looked this up), means “an area surrounding a particular place, person or object”.

Perhaps that’s why then, while chillaxing around my neighborhood with my dog, I was pretty jarred by seeing my past hanging out with his future only blocks from where we lived. Life winked at me in the form of a very jarring reminder that people don’t operate under the same rules. Perhaps nobody is right or wrong, but you learn quickly that the feeling of safety that you’ve built is shaky. If you assume that people have the same life rules that you do, and you create your world with that assumption in mind, you can, like me, be pummeled by the fact that that is wrong, wrong, wrong! So here I am again, learning something new. I’m growing people! If only the emotional growth could expand to my actual physical growth I’d be smiling from ear to ear! Looking back, there’s been so much disappointment this year – so many surprises that I wasn’t at all prepared for or deserved. There were things that I was so sure of a year ago but now realize I was completely wrong. But I’m not in charge of any of those things. Sometimes I can’t help but let the disappointment wash over me and follow me around, but other times, I’ve realized that what I can also do is simply focus on the things I am in control of and surround myself with people who operate under similar life rules as my own. And maybe that’s not a best laid plan, but it’s the best I’ve got right now.

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.

Best Laid Plans (Part 10)

The Countdown Has Begun!

Joe and I head out in two days! Already packed and ready to go is our cancer in a bottle – better known as deet bug spray, some toilet paper for those ‘just in case’ moments, immodium, pepto, our visas, passports, customs letters, sunscreen, band aids, malaria pills, flashlights and a very sexy fanny pack. After much trial and error, Joe has also found a protein bar that doesn’t make him wince (for those of you picky eaters out there, your leader opted for the peanut butter flavored clif bars). We purchased lots of those, as well as some additional bars for me. At Alicia’s insistence, we also purchased some mosquito netting for our beds. Not yet sure what we’ll hang it on but I’ve realized that, folded up as it is, it’ll also double as a nice pillow on the plane. I know you might be feeling some major packing component is missing from this list, but not to worry, Joe and I will not be waltzing around Ghana naked. This, for me, is actually the most challenging part of the pre-trip preparation. How can I be sure that my 3-inch black heels won’t be needed at the volunteer site? Are chandelier earrings really excessive? There might be a very appropriate occasion for my sequin top and I would be so disappointed not to have it. Perhaps I can be clothed and Joe can go naked. I bought spf 50, so he should be fully protected as he carries the equipment in his skivvies. Kimberly from Globe Aware says that there is nothing you can’t live without for a week but I beg to differ. So if you happen to be watching CNN this week and here of a story about a naked tourist running around Ghana, know that I did indeed win the battle over bringing the sequined top!

Hopefully, the next time you hear from me, I’ll be in Accra, Ghana!

Best Laid Plans (Part 8)

So, I’ve started doing these video journals at home since Joe simply refuses to follow me around where ever I go. I thought of dousing myself in pancake syrup as a lure, but thought better of it at the 11th hour. The idea of the video journals began when Alicia had the gumption to ask me what my story arc was. I know, nervy, right? The fact is, as much as this trip and the volunteer work will be at the center of the story, the true epicenter of the doc is supposed to be dealing with the life change that divorce thrusts upon you. Because of this, Alicia pointed out, it just isn’t enough to record the process of getting to Ghana, or interviewing others who participated in volunteer vacations, it requires something more intimate. Now, while I’m sure, if it was required, Joe would happily follow me around in order to record some thought that had crossed my brain if it fell into the documentary’s realm; the video journals provide a bit more intimacy. This offers Joe the added relief of not having to watch me cry (which, I’ll admit, I’ve done in some of my entries). They say that people’s pasts and/or baggage follows them around in life and lately, I’ve found that both my ex, and this trip to Ghana (let’s pretend it’s in human form) are leading my personal pack. Their presence finds their way into everything I do: from work, to having drinks with friends, to dating, to sleeping. I think of it as being like the Verizon commercials that show human representations of cell bars following Verizon customers around everywhere they go. I’m told other people feel this way too – here’s hoping that they weren’t just being nice and my posting this blog doesn’t result in some mental health professional coming to my home to “invite” me to their “farm” in the country. Crazy or not crazy, it’s how I’ve been feeling lately – like I’m being metaphorically followed. Whereas a month ago, I found that this trip was pulling my focus from the demise of my marriage, recently it feels as if the two are getting closer together. I’m not sure why that is. I’m wondering now if this trip is going to be less about me beginning anew with a grand jumping off point, and more about intertwining the failure of my marriage with my need to have something else succeed. This documentary and my relationship with my ex have been further connected in my head because, as I recently confessed to Alicia, I am weirded out by the idea that he is reading these blogs. I know the phrase ‘lack of forethought’ is probably crossing your brain right now, but caution and jumping head first into something rarely coincide. You know, perhaps I should be video journaling about this right now…

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 4)

Joe and Julie Go to Ghana

In order to do a documentary about going on a trip, you must have someone there doing the documenting.  This someone is a sweet-tart-eating, pancake-loving, root-beer-drinking dude named Joe.  Let me be clear on this - the list of foods and beverages that Joe will take into his body can be counted on one hand.  Pancakes: Yes. Sweet Tarts: Yes.  Root Beer: Yes.  Pizza: Yes.  Salmon: Yes.  Everything else: NO.  Many questions arise from this list, such as how salmon somehow got an acceptance letter to Joe's stomach but say, Milky Way bars didn't.  

Now, if Joe were standing over me as I wrote this, I'm sure he would throw some more foods and beverages onto this sad little pile, but there wouldn't be many.  In fact, a typical non-work conversation between Joe and I goes as follows:

Me: "Hey Joe, what about lasagna? Will you eat lasagna?" 

Joe: "No. Gross."

Me: "But you eat pizza and it has basically the same ingredients."

Joe: "But pizza's not gross."

Me: "What about vegetables? Don't you eat any vegetables?"

Joe: "No. I talk alfalfa pills."

Me: "Joe, you need to be studied by the AMA."

Joe: "Bring it on."

Somehow, every conversation degrades into me telling Joe that the American Medical Association should study him and Joe expounding on the power of alfalfa pills.

So, when I was first thinking about doing this documentary and initially talked to Joe about whether he was interested in going with me, my first question was not, 'are you interested?' or 'how do you envision this,' it was "what in the hell are you going to eat???"

Joe promises me that he will "iron man it" as he likes to say, but we've been planning this documentary for awhile now and I have yet to see him show the slightest bit of interest in any foods outside of his safety list.  So now on my Ghana 'to do' list I have: visas, shots, permissions  and ensuring that Joe doesn't whither away and die from lack of food and drink.  I have also promised him one carry-on bag filled with Sweet Tarts, but I'm not exaggerating when I say that I've wondered if Customs will assume that Joe and I are somehow carting drug laced candies with us, since nobody would understand needing to carry an entire bag of Sweet Tarts with them.  Though I also realize that I tend toward worrying... while Joe tends toward... relaxing.

Yes, this is going to be a great partnership.

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...