Anchors Away

There are a lot of things that I believe people should experience, but one thing above almost all others is that every woman should have at least one torrid love affair in her life. 

You know the kind of love affair I'm talking about… The kind that unexpectedly turns your world upside down. Where there are no rules and all inhibition goes out the window. The kind where every moment is filled with desire and heat. Where there are no walls, and no games - only passion. The kind where you fall so hard and so fast that you know the end result can be nothing but a crash. 

The kind of affair that makes you feel truly alive. 

Yes. I believe every woman should have at least one of those love affairs in her lifetime.

I've been lucky enough to have two.  

My first torrid love affair occurred at a time when I was least expecting it. And it was with the kind of man whom I never would have expected it to be with.  

Anyone who knows me knows that I have a strong… affection for men in uniform. But it wasn't always that way. To be honest, I still don't really understand it or where it even came from. Growing up, I always was drawn to the poetic, intelligent, emotional, and romantic kind of guy. But at some point, the sight of a man in any sort of military uniform made my heart race. It's become quite a joke amongst my friends and family, but to this day, whenever I see a man in uniform, I'll admit that my heart does go aflutter.  

It may have started after I saw "The Gladiator" for the first time. Or it could be my attraction to the romanticized portrayal that was always depicted in my history books and in movies; That of a strong and stoic man returning from war into the open arms of the woman he thought about every day, as she loyally and proudly waited for him back home. Maybe it's my attraction to someone who has strength, courage, ambition, and pride... who knows how to fight and is willing sacrifice for something he believes in.  

Or maybe it's because I once had a torrid love affair with a Marine named Jason. 

Fleet Week in New York City: that magical week where mighty warships roll into Pier 88 and spill out thousands of Marines and Sailors who galavant around the city looking for a good time.  

For me, it's like Christmas.  

But it wasn't always so. Of course I had heard of Fleet Week, but I never really "participated" in it. After all, I had spent the last seven years in a relationship and I was busy with other things. I mean, I was a proud American and supported the military, but I didn't have any out of the ordinary attraction to soldiers.

All of that changed in May of 2009. I had just finished my second semester at Columbia for Graduate School. It had been about a year since my ex and I broke up, and because it was such a heart wrenching break up, I hadn't been involved in a relationship since it ended. I decided to focus on myself and things I loved; I didn't want to waste any time on romance or love. I had just returned back from a trip to Miami with some friends from school when I heard that Fleet Week was starting, but didn't really give it much thought. I was too busy loving life.

It was May 21st. I had literally just landed at JFK Airport a few hours earlier when my friend Rich called me up to meet him for a drink to catch up. "Just one drink," he said.  

It always starts with "Just one drink."

I was exhausted but decided to go meet him anyway. We met at our normal spot down in Murray Hill and proceeded to have "one margarita." One turned into many and before I knew it, he was stumbling home and I was jumping in a cab to meet some other friends at a bar down on the Lower East Side called "Off The Wagon."  

I found my friends on the second floor balcony gawking down at the gaggle of marines and sailors drinking at the bar below us. Like I said, up until this point, I had never really cared one way or the other for Fleet Week soldiers. I mean, I thought they were fun to look at, but that was it. My friends sensed my indifference and started to give me a hard time. So I decided to be a good sport, play along, and pretend to join in on their game.  

Then I saw him. He was standing alone at the bar in his khakis, awkwardly watching his friend flirt with some blonde. He looked uncomfortable and out of place. He was tall with broad, strong shoulders, sandy brown hair, and the most beautiful blue-green eyes I had ever seen. 

I was instantly attracted to him. 

Maybe it was the margaritas, but when we locked eyes for a moment, the whole world seemed to stop.  

I looked at my friend Karen and pointed down at him.  

"I am going to talk to that one."

And with a confidence that only four margaritas could inspire, I walked down the stairs and strutted right on over to him.

I poked him on the shoulder and he turned around, startled. He looked extremely uncomfortable at my bold and aggressive advancement.  

"Hi. I'm Dara. And I'd like take a photo with you," I dauntlessly announced.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Um sure."  

God those eyes were beautiful.  

"You know," I continued without a beat, "You should really want to take a picture with me.  I'm kind of a big deal."

He answered with a little laugh and a doubtful smile. The tension instantly evaporated. 

"I really am, you know. Don't you want to hear why?" I asked coyly.

He laughed and seemed to relax. "Sure. But let's talk over a shot of Jack."

Oh my God. He had the most charming southern accent. I instantly turned into putty.  

We took our photo, got our shots of Jack, and sat down at a table. We ended up talking there for three hours. Even though he was a little shy, I learned that his name was Jason. He was from Alabama, a Corporal in the Marines, grew up on a horse farm, and was stationed in Jacksonville, NC. He loved Jack Daniels and a good steak. He had just been on deployment for the past year and this was his first time in New York City. 

Now it's important to note that throughout this whole thing, I had no intention of being "that girl" (you know what I mean). And I made that very clear with him. I remember after we had been talking for awhile (and after we had drank a few Jack and Cokes) that I said something obnoxious like  "Look, if you're here looking for a quick thrill, there are tons of other girls here who are ready and willing to take you home. But you should know, that's just not me. So if that's what you want, here's your chance to walk away."  

He paused, taken aback at my out of nowhere, pseudo-bitchy candor, but then he started to smile again.

Oh that smile….

Without saying a word, he stared at me point blank and didn't move a muscle. It was then that I realized that maybe it wasn't his game either. I didn't know if he was just trying to be polite or if it was really how he felt… but in that moment, we established a mutual respect for each other.

And I was hooked. 

We continued to talk and I found myself so unexpectedly into him. We laughed all night and talked about the city's many splendors.  

When it was time to leave, he suggested that we go to Central Park the next day so that I could show him around the city a bit. I agreed. We exchanged numbers and said goodnight.  

I figured that I'd never hear from him again. 

But I did. And for the next seven days, we spent every possible moment that we could together. It was surreal; all my rules went right out the window. We walked endless miles around the city, I took him to all my favorite restaurants, and we talked for hours on end. He was a taciturn guy so he did most of the listening, but he seemed to get a kick out of hearing my stories and learning about my life. Our first afternoon together, he compared me to Scarlett O'Hara, telling me that he thought I had her tenacity, stubbornness, and spirit.  So for the rest of our time together, he called me Scarlett and I called him Rhett.  

I had never felt so alive.  

The best part about Jason was that he was the antithesis of my "type." In the real world, he would never have been the kind of guy I would have seen myself with. He was a small town boy from the south who smoked like a chimney and had never been exposed to any real culture or education. He was reticent and preferred to listen to me loquaciously babble on about things rather than talk about himself. And I'm sure I intimidated the hell out of him with my big city personality and loud mouth. But there was something about him that I was just so drawn to. Even now, I can't really explain it, but we had this extraordinary chemistry. We were two completely different people with barely anything in common, but for some reason, the energy between us was electric.  

He was tall, strong, and stoic. He was kind, and respectful. I felt safe with him and for the first time in almost a year, I started to feel something of affection for someone.  He was the first man, in a long time, I let into my world. I never thought my heart could feel those things again, but it did. We spent every possible moment together, avoiding the reality that this would all soon come to an end. We knew we were on borrowed time, and we didn't let any minute go to waste. Each day together was filled with a passion I hadn't experienced in years. It was all so thrilling.  

On his last day in town, he invited me to the ship for a tour. I showed up that morning so excited to see the ship and all it's splendors. But we never did take the tour; we ended up sitting on the deck overlooking the Hudson River talking for six hours. And for the first time, he opened up to me. He told me his life story, and shared some of his most personal, heartbreaking, and uplifting memories with me. We just sat there, two strangers, falling in… well into something. I'm not sure what it was, but whatever it was, we were certainly both enjoying the ride. 

Since that night was his last night in town, we had a special evening planned. So after our heart to heart talk, I left to get ready for our final night together.  

I showed up to the ship right before sunset wearing my favorite white dress. As he walked off the ship, my heart melted. He was wearing the dress blues; my favorite uniform. Earlier in the week, he had told me that he never brought his dress blues with him on deployment, so he didn't have them with him. But tonight, he had borrowed a friend's set for our last night together. I was speechless. He looked dashing.  

And so, as we watched the sun set over the river, the night officially began.

It was a night that turned out to be one of the most unforgettable nights of my life - a night that I never wanted to end. 

But it did end. We spent the last hour just talking… about everything. Every unspoken thought and feeling was disclosed… except one; the tacit understanding that when he left on that ship in a few hours, it would be over.  

That night, the ship had a two am curfew. The hour came way too soon. And before we knew it, it was time to say goodbye.  

I walked him down to the street, and right before he got into the cab, he turned back to me and told me something that I will hold close to my heart for the rest of my life.

"I'm a better man because I met you."

Then he kissed me in a way that made my knees weak and my soul cry. And as the cab drove out of sight down Broadway, I felt an overwhelming wave of sadness.  

Just like that, he was gone and out of my life.  

I didn't sleep that night. I just sat by my window and looked out at the river, knowing that in a few hours, it would be the portal that would take him away. Right before the sun came up, he sent me a text. It was the last text I would ever receive from him.  

It said, "I'll never forget you Scarlett."

That morning, I walked all the way down from my apartment at Columbia to Pier 88 to watch the ship depart. As I watched it cruise down the river, I knew that I would never see Jason again. Once again, that overwhelming wave of sadness washed upon my heart.  

That's the thing about torrid love affairs: they're like tornadoes. They come into your life without warning, turn your world upside down, and end just as hastily, leaving a path of destruction and heartache. But after a torrid love affair, you are a different person… and there can be no room for regret.  

That affair changed me.. It made me feel alive again in ways I didn't think were even possible. Of course after he left, my heart broke and I cried many (many) tears… But the fact that my heart was even capable of breaking meant that it was still alive.  And to me, that alone made the whole affair worthwhile.

About a year later, I received a missed call from him on Memorial Day. He never left a message and for some reason, I didn't call him back right away; I guess I didn't really know what to say. But when I finally did call him about a month later,  his phone was disconnected. I never heard from him again. 

After that, I started to find myself drawn to soldier-like men. The stoicism, strength, masculinity, and discipline that Jason encompassed was just so attractive to me.  I still can't really explain the attraction, but I like to think that part of it derives from that beautiful affair I experienced all those years ago.   

I find myself thinking of Jason often. And when I think of him, I think of him fondly. He was a real southern gentleman who made me feel alive again, and I am so grateful for our brief, but wonderful time together.  

Semper Fidelis, Rhett. You'll always be one of my great love stories.  I'll never forget you.

With Jason on the deck of the USS Iwo Jima

The first photo that we took at Off the Wagon

Dinner at Carmines with some of the other guys from Company 26. 

Wearing his dress blues at the top of the Empire State Building - Our last evening together

The Hitchhiker's Guide to Los Angeles

Hitchhiking in LA is the equivalent to riding the NYC subway after 2 am: It's a crapshoot who you'll be sitting next to… and you almost always get one hell of a story out of the experience. 

When I first moved to Los Angeles, I decided to not get a car right away. I was really only planning on being here for six months, and coming from a city like New York where public transportation is as accessible as pizza at three am, I figured that Los Angeles (another big city) would also have a efficient system. I could easily figure out LA transit; after all, I was a New Yorker. 

Boy was I wrong.  

#1. In Los Angeles, buses and subways stop running at midnight.  

#2. In order to get anywhere, you have to transfer at least four times.  

#3. They usually only run every half hour.  

And last but not least..

#4. The people who take the bus… well they're not your garden variety commuters.  The bus crowd usually consists of the illegal, the license-less, and the paroled.  

Oh yeah, and also the naive New Yorkers who mistakenly think they can get around LA without a car.

And the thing about cabs in LA... well they aren't as accessible as they are in NYC. They don't wander the streets looking for people. You have to actually call a cab and if you take one from the west side to the Valley, you're looking at spending at least 50 bucks. It's less than ideal and if you're phone is dead (as mine usually was), you're proverbially up creek without a paddle.  

As a result, on several occasions, I found myself without car, ride, or mode of transportation. Even though there were most certainly times when I felt concerned, in the end, I always ended up finding a safe way home, thanks to some hardworking guardian angels, and a few kind souls I met on the streets.  And while I don't condone hitchhiking in any city, I'd like to share with you my favorite "hitching" experience.

About three weeks into my LA residency, a short film that my roommate worked on won an award at the Independent Reel Film Festival in Hollywood.  Since she was out of town for the holidays, I attended in her place.   

The night of the show, I took the bus to the theater without any problems.  

But figuring that the bus only ran every hour after midnight, I tried to sneak out of the show a few minutes before it ended to make sure I caught it.  

What I learned once I got to the bus stop was that it sopped running altogether after midnight. And it was now after midnight. I was stuck in Hollywood alone.  

Uh oh.  

I started to panic. I ran back to the theater and started asking everybody on the street if anyone was going back to the Valley, and if I could hitch a ride back with them.  

One person said yes.  

His name was Mike and he was also from New York. He told me that he was going to a diner in Studio City to meet some friends so if it was ok, he would drive me to the diner and I could figure out how to get home from there.

I quickly thought it over and weighed my options. At least I was going to be back in the Valley; I figured that I could always walk home from the diner if I needed to. I had no other options. My phone was dead and I didn't know what else to do. 

So I opened the door to his silver Cadillac, slowly sat down in the soft leather seats, and said a silent prayer. 

Off we went. We started to chat awkwardly. There I was, in a car with a stranger, and I had no idea where I was or where we were going.  

It was terrifying.  

When we got to the diner (thank God we made it there!), he invited me in to meet his friends and have a drink. So I went in, not knowing what else I was supposed to do.  

That night ending up changing my life. 

In the diner, I not only met some of the people who would become my very close friends, but also someone who would indirectly set me up with my dream job.  

One of the girls at our table also happened to be from NYC so we exchanged numbers to hang out. A week later she called me up and invited me to a Christmas party in Beverly Hills. At the party, I met one of her friends, Harold, who introduced me to one of his friends, Melissa. When talking to Melissa, I learned that she too was a huge New York Giant's fan and played in a flag football league in town.

I had no idea what these people did for a living and I truthfully didn't really care - I just appreciated that they were so nice to me.  We all exchanged phone numbers.  A few weeks later, I received a call from Melissa to join him at an after-party for some show.  

The show happened to be Dancing With the Stars.  

And Melissa just happened to be Karina Smirnoff's publicist.  

Wait, what?

The next thing I knew, I was drinking champagne and being introduced to my favorite ballroom dancer, Karina Smirnoff. I had seen her on Broadway years earlier, and she was one of the few dancers I truly admired and enjoyed watching. I couldn't believe that I was actually meeting her.  

She was super cool, and super nice - extremely personable and just as beautiful in person as she is on television. I couldn't believe that we were laughing and talking together over cocktails. It was all so surreal.  

And if that wasn't crazy enough, once we started talking and it came out that I too was a ballroom dancer, she excitedly exclaimed, "This is fate! I am actually looking for someone to work with me at my new studio."

Shocked, I mumbled something about her getting my info from Melissa but she cut me off. 

"No, let's exchange numbers now.  Here's my number and email address, email me your resume when you can."

Was this really happening?  I dumbfoundedly nodded my head, took her information, and walked away. This couldn't be real. In a few hours, I was going to wake up from a dream and laugh at the absurdity of it all.  

But it was real. And the next thing I knew, a few weeks later I was in Karina's studio, dancing a foxtrot to Frank Sinatra for her.  

I am pretty sure it was the most nervous I have EVER been in an audition.  

Once I finished, she took me into her office. I had no idea what to expect. She sat down across from me and told me that she thought I was great. She loved my spirt and positive energy. Then she told me that she would love for me to join her team and work for her. I was hired.  

Oh. My. God.  

I now worked for Karina Smirnoff. Two years earlier I was watching her dance on Broadway.  A week ago I was watching her dance on television.  

Now I was watching her pull out a contract for me to sign.  

So the moral of the story is this: when hitchhiking, never turn down a ride to a diner at one am with a New Yorker; they know all the right restaurants and all the right people. And to think, I never would have needed a ride with him if I had gotten a car when I moved to Los Angeles. I never would have went to the diner that night and met all those people. I never would have ended up at a random Beverly Hills Christmas Party where I met the friends who would bring me to a DWTS after-party and introduce me to Karina Smirnoff.  

Talk about fate.  

It was a true Cinderella story: The poor hitchhiking girl who ended up getting her dream job thanks to a random stranger on a street corner.  

Only in Hollywood.

The red carpet for the show I attended in Kim's place that night: 

Hollywood Reel Independent Film Festival

One of the friends I met that night, Rachel

At the Diner later that night with Mike and his friends.  Photographed here with Josh Sussman who has since become of my favorite people in LA.  He and his girlfriend Tess (who has become one of my best friends) ended up driving me back to my apartment that night.  

Oh What a Difference a Decade Makes

About ten years ago, I was given a very special Christmas gift by a very special friend. It was a book called "The Alchemist" by Paulo Coelho. It is the story of a boy named Santiago who leaves his everyday monotonous life as a shepherd and embarks on an adventure to purse his "personal legend."  He goes through many trials and tribulations but successfully comes out on the other side. The book chronicles his journey with the overarching theme of "faith." It is undoubtedly my favorite book, and I have read it over ten times in three different languages. I always read it when I am at or about to approach a crossroad in my life. I can quote it on the spot and some of my favorite sayings come from its content.  

The same year I received that book, I fell in love and entered into my first real relationship. I was young, dreamy eyed, full of idealism and had an optimistic view of the future. I was filled with a remarkable sense of faith that my future would be full of amazing adventures, just like Santiago's was. I was in New York City, singing and dancing my way through life and pursing my own "personal legend." I was living the dream I had always wanted. He was a good and kind man. We fell in love quickly. Years went by. We planned a future and expected to live happily ever after.  

Then life happened.  

Seven years later, after countless changes in my life, I found myself sitting on the floor, alone in an apartment outside of Philadelphia. It was the apartment that I once shared with the man I thought I would spend the rest of my life with. It was a dirty break up. I was heartbroken and devastated beyond comprehension; I could barely function. My parents had to drive down to my apartment to literally scrape me off the floor and take me home with them.   

Now what?

I had given up almost everything for this relationship. I had stopped my dance career in its prime to move in with him while he started Medical School. I became a "house wife," staying home, doing laundry and supporting him while he studied for his medical exams. My friends wondered what had happened to me. I wasn't filled with a sense of adventure anymore; I seemed content with giving up my dreams. I thought I was ready for marriage, children, and the "conventional life." I took a bartending job to make extra money while I completed a history program at the University of Pennsylvania. He told me that I should apply to Grad School for teaching so that no matter where we moved for his residency, I could find work. After all, doctors don't marry dancers.  Reluctantly, I agreed but only applied to one school: Columbia University. I never thought that I would actually get accepted (and I didn't really want to go to Grad School anyway.)  But, I argued, if I'm going to do this, I want to do it in a place I love and miss: New York City. Figuring the whole thing would calm down once I was rejected, I just sat back and waited for my letter.

I was accepted to Columbia University on March 12. By April 15, he and I were broken up.  

Those days were some of the darkest of my life. I had been consistently in a relationship for seven years; I didn't know how to be alone. I fell into a deep depression. I defeatedly moved back in with my parents for the summer, watched Yankee games with my dad, and reread The Alchemist, searching for inspiration.   

Where would I go from here?

It seemed that fate had a different plan for me - one that I was totally unprepared for. But I had no choice. My dance career was extinct and I had no real job lined up. So I decided to follow the signs and press on forward, no matter how difficult it was. On August 15th of that year, my best friend Becca and I drove across the GW Bridge in my dad's pick up truck with my life packed up behind us. I was on my way to my new apartment on 121st street (A sign!! 21 has always been my lucky number...) and was about to start classes at Columbia University with the student ID of DLK2721 (yet another 21!). As we crossed the bridge into Manhattan, the Jordan Sparks song "One Step at a Time" came on the radio. A strong wave of faith suddenly overwhelmed me. I looked over at Becca and smiled.  

"This is going to be great…. I can feel it".  

And it was great. That was the day my life truly began.  

Although I started school that fall with a heavy and broken heart, it was slowly healing.  I threw myself into my work, my friends, the city, and my new life without him. I started teaching at La Guardia, the High School of Performing Arts (otherwise known as "The Fame School").  It seemed that life was starting to "happen." I made incredible friends, was going to major high-profile events like Fashion Week shows and after parties, the Kentucky Derby (and by another stroke of luck or fate, picked the winning horse!), Operas, Musicals, parties, and major sporting events. I got to participate in some challenging and prestigious academic research projects, and I felt on top of the world. Life was throwing me some wonderful credit and I was cashing in every cent. Still wanting to indulge my love for dance even though my career was long over, I became involved in the school's ballroom program and when a friend of mine learned that the show Gossip Girl was looking for tango dancers who looked "Argentinian," she hooked me me up with the show's casting director. The next thing I knew, I was on set with Blake Lively, showing her how to Tango and dancing in front of a camera.  

Really?  

Unbeknownst to me at the time, that single experience set off an incredible chain of events. I finished school that following May, and expecting to get hired as a full time teacher at La Guardia for the following school year, you can imagine my dismay when Mayor Bloomberg announced a teaching hiring freeze in New York City for new teachers. It seemed that I wouldn't be able to shift my career into the world of education after all.  

Great.  

Luckily for me though, as fate would have it, my dance career seemed to experience a bit of an unexpected resurrection. Due to a good reputation on set, I ended up filming additional episodes of Gossip Girl, and even a few episodes for While Collar. Suddenly, I had earned enough credit to join the Actor's Union, and I got a talent manager for dance and print work. Surprisingly, the jobs kept coming. It was effortless; I didn't even feel like I was trying. Things just started moving on their own and I was riding the current. Through a friend at school, I was able to get a bartending job down on the Lower East Side for extra cash. Before I knew it, I was training and competing in ballroom with my partner Fritz, bartending Coyote Ugly Style on weekends, and dancing on set for TV shows and films during the week. I even fell in love again. That dark day in Philadelphia seemed to be a thousand years away. I was living life to its ultimate fullest, never taking a day or experience for granted. It was my rebirth and I was in awe of how my life had changed. 

This can't be real life. 

The following summer my manager suggested that I look into going to Los Angeles to check out the market there; I was exhausting the New York City scene. LA would be a new market with endless possibilities.  

California? Me? The Quintessential New Yorker with the Jersey Bravado? Yeah right! Besides, I was loving my crazy life in New York City. When I was nine years old, I went to see a show with my parents in the city. I remember seeing the dancers on stage, and afterwards, over a soft pretzel that came from a vendor on the street right by St. Patrick's Cathedral, I made a vow to my dad: someday, I would move to New York City and become a professional dancer.  

And I had. Why would I leave that dream come true for a second time?

But once again, fate forced me to detour from my original plans, and in November of 2010, I boarded a plane with two suitcases and a one way ticket to Los Angeles in my hand. Six Months. I would give myself six months in LA to make something happen.  

Here we go again: starting over.  

I certainly had my doubts (as did everyone I knew), but part of me felt like Santiago - leaving my easy life behind for a new adventure. Once again, that familiar wave of faith washed upon me, and as the plane landed at LAX, I held onto that faith… very tightly.  

But even with all that faith, my first year in Los Angeles kicked my ass, and kicked it hard.  All the luck, and magical effortless success seemed to be left on the East Coast. My first year was undoubtedly the most challenging and difficult year of my life, and it truly tested my courage, spirit, faith, and patience. In fact without the amazing support of my incredible roommate Kim, my good friend Matt, and my amazing saint of a mother, I would have either jumped out my balcony, or lost my mind.  

Almost everyday, I contemplated what a mistake I had made. I missed New York so much. What was I thinking, giving up my amazing life there? I had left wonderful friends, a great apartment, job, and glamorous lifestyle. I had more money than I knew what to do with when I lived there, and each night was filled with something to do, somewhere to go, or someone to see. Best of all, my family was only a hop, skip, and a jump away across the Hudson.   

What had I done?

I had no job, no car, barely any friends, and I was running out of money fast. It was time to shape up or ship out.  In all the free time I had, I once again read The Alchemist, looking for a sign that I had made the right decision. I held onto that faith that everything would be ok. But one bad thing happened after another. My poor roommate watched me go from homesick, to sad, to pathetically depressed. She felt helpless, and nothing anyone could say or do seemed to inspire me.  

And then in April of 2011, I hit rock bottom. After a series of unfortunate events, the final straw came on April 28. I had experienced some pretty rough nights in LA, but this night was undoubtedly the worst of my life. After finally getting home at four am thanks to a very kind bouncer and cocktail waitress (whom I believe were my guardian angels that night), I called my mother and cried. I cried on the phone for probably a solid two hours. I'm not even sure I really said anything… I just cried and cried and cried.  She sat there 3000 miles away feeling helpless, and I'm sure I broke her heart that night.   

But my mother is an amazing woman. She talked me off the ledge and reminded me of how strong I was. She let me cry, and she told me that if I wanted to come home, all I had to do was say the word. But she also told me that she believed in me. That was what I needed to hear.  

The next day, I made a new vow. I sat on a beach in Santa Monica, looked out at the sea, and promised myself that I would do this. I would make this work.

I would survive.  

It took about one solid year. One year of hitchhiking, scraping for money, walking endless miles throughout the city of LA, desperately taking less-than-satisfactory jobs, feeling alone, crying more tears in that year than I've probably accumulated in my entire life, endless "bad situations", and holding onto hope like it was the only thing I had… because it was.   

But I did it. Not without the help of fate, family, and my friends, of course. But things eventually began to turn around and I emerged as stronger woman. Thanks to a couple of twists of fate, I started to get work. Thanks to my parents, I got a car so that I wouldn't have to take the godforsaken LA Bus, or hitchhike and walk around town anymore. And before I knew it, a new year began - a year that turned out to be one of the best of my life. I was working more than ever, creating a solid family built of both new and old friends (those amazing girls I used to bartend with in NYC actually), and I was starting to love life again. I got a job with Karina Smirnoff, was dancing all over town, and even got a dog. I went to incredible events, awards shows, premiers, and parties. I traveled around the world, and even lived back in New York City for a few months. I started tutoring and was able to satisfy my nerdy passion for history and teaching. I could feel my cynicism fading... I started to take risks again, and even began to believe again - in love and in the kindness of people. That good things can happen, and that they would happen. I allowed myself to love and trust. It was like my own personal Renaissance; I had finally made it through the rain, and into the amazing sunshine that Southern California is known for. 

I had become Santiago.

Looking back at the naive and idealistic eighteen year old I once was, I smile. I smile at her idealistic sense of the future and how she naively thought how wonderful every detour, both positive and negative, would be. How I thought my life would be a specific cookie cutter image, and how sure I was that it would happen. There are certainly times when I wish I was her again… when I could only see the future as filled with promise. But the wisdom I've accumulated over the years, the love, the heartbreak, the failures, the success, and also the amazing (and not so amazing) memories that are archived in my brain… I don't regret any of it. And although there are moments when I wonder if I've made some wrong choices that altered my course of life for the worse and start to feel regret for those mistakes, I try to remember that if we never veered off course, we wouldn't ever be surprised by life. And who wants to read a story when you already know the ending? And while I can certainly be quite cynical and jaded at times, there is still a part of that naive eighteen year old in my heart.  At times, she peeks through the scars and reminds me of how amazing life can truly be, and to remember that everything has a silver lining. She reminds me to enjoy and savor every moment, and to always enter every experience with a bold and open heart. And she reminds me how throughout all the hard times, my faith always remained a constant presence, never letting me down, and lifting me up when I couldn't do it on my own. She reminds me that like Paulo Coelho says, "Sometimes, there's just no way to hold back the river." You have to just sit back and ride the current and see where it takes you, all the while enjoying the view.

Ten years ago, I never thought that I would still be dancing professionally at this age, or living in California doing the things I'm doing. I never thought I would still be making mistakes and learning lessons the hard way. That I would be traveling the world and accumulating an anthology of adventures and stories. I thought by now that I would be married with children, probably living in a house outside of New York City, going to dance recitals and little league games.  

Yep. It's funny how life works out; it never really transpires the way you think it will.

... And I don't think I'd have it any other way.

Getting Interviewed at Fox News

At the bar I worked at in NYC - Kings Head Tavern

Dancing Waltz with Fritz at the Manhattan Classic

My first night in LA with my amazing roommate, Kim

Two of my favorite co-bartenders, Laura and Danielle

My wonderful friends from Columbia

Dancing Standard with Fritz at DCDI Invitational

My amazing Global History Class at La Guardia

On set for Gossip Girl with friend, Dan

Dancing with Blake Lively - still photo from the show

My best friend and guardian angel, Becca

Domenico Vacca After Party for Fashion Week at Pink Elephant with my fabulous friend Sayo

Columbia University Graduation with my friend Melanie

With Blake Lively on set - she was really cool, and I've had the pleasure to work with her on several other occasions.  

My roommate, little sister, and one of my best friends in the world, Kim.

In April of 2011, enjoyed the opportunity to walk the runway at the Claudia Gonzalez Pruitt fashion show... The show itself was great.  However, this photo was taken hours before what I consider to be the worst night of my life; otherwise known as My Rock Bottom Hours.

The car that became my saving grace: Lola (and my dog Bella in the backseat)

At the Clover Classic Comp in Philly with first Latin Partner, Stefan

My knight in shining armor during my first year in LA, Matt, a.k.a "Cali".  He rescued me on more than one occasion and was always the first one to lend a hand to change a busted tire, or pick me up when I was stranded. 

My beautiful bartender sisters.. we all worked as bartenders together at Kings Head and now we all live in LA within  a mile of each other.  They are my sisters and I don't know what I would do without them.  

Begin the Begin

I believe it was Nathaniel Hawthorne who stated in his introduction of The Scarlett Letter that writing about one's self was indeed quite vain and narcissistic. Yet as humans, we constantly find ourselves fascinated with the lives and stories of others. We are mesmerized by the characters portrayed to us (both real and fictional; Kim Kardashian anyone?). We become captivated by the world in which they live, and engrossed in their adventures. We even begin to feel connected to them on a personal level. We sympathize with them, feel their pain, laugh at their misfortunes, celebrate their success, and even mourn their failure. Sometimes we fall in love with them; other times we may detest them. But through their stories, we find comfort, sorrow, or joy. We humans have an innate and deeply curious nature that draws us to the stories of others by way of books, movies, and television. How many times have you flipped on E! News to see who Jennifer Aniston was dating? Or spent a whole weekend with a book, unable to put it down because you wanted to find out if Katniss survived to the end of the Hunger Games? Why is it that we are so compelled to loyally engage in these stories about the lives of others while our very own life stories are unfolding right before us? Perhaps it is to escape. Perhaps it's because those characters have something that we don't, but desire ourselves.  Or maybe even perhaps we watch to learn their lessons without ever really having to learn those lessons for ourselves.   

While I most definitely can relate to the human curiosity of others' lives, I have always believed in taking the same kinds of risks they do, rolling the dice, and learning those lessons for myself. For me, this was a way of feeling alive; life had so much to offer and I wanted to taste every option available. But lessons are hard... Sometimes they come at a great cost and great loss, while others just gently whisper their wisdom and quietly dissolve away without insult or injury.  I can't tell you how many times I've done something "for the story" and more times than not, look like quite a fool.  

However, people constantly tell me that they want their own "Dara Story." They also want to throw caution to the wind and embark on an adventure - something exciting but unconventional, reckless, and sometimes even perhaps dangerous. But living that way comes with a risk, and at times, you will fall down and it will hurt. In order to live that way, you have learn how to take the bad with the good, and it's not always easy. Nevertheless, I've always truly believed in taking the road less travelled, and even the times I've found myself lost on the path or hit a roadblock, I always somehow seem to find my way out, discovering a beautiful detour that leads me to some new friend, opportunity, adventure or lesson. Many of the lessons that I learned along the way were tough, and at times, recovery seemed impossible. But in the end, those lessons, those stories, those gambles, and those adventures… they are what I will remember someday as I tell my grandchildren the story of my life. I will tell them how I how I pursued every dream I had and how I never held back my true feelings for anyone. About how I loved with all my heart and always kept it open and vulnerable. How I traveled the world and met some of the most fascinating people by just "talking to a stranger." How I never followed the "traditional path." How I never turned down an opportunity, no matter how outrageous or silly it seemed. How every trial, tribulation and heartbreak taught me an important lesson, and how my belief in taking risks always paid off in their own way.  I will tell them that I always fought for what I wanted and believed in. That I allowed myself to make many mistakes, all the while with an open heart and a daring soul. 

This blog's purpose is to share those stories and lessons. Just like any other character, there will be times that you may like me. Other times, you may curse me and vow to never read my words again. Maybe you'll roll you eyes at my naive idealism or cringe at my jaded cynicism. Maybe you'll cry with me, laugh with me, empathize with me, celebrate my success or sympathize my failure. But I hope that at the end of the day, you enjoy the stories and learn something as I did. That you take something out of these stories and maybe even laugh a little along the way. I have been so blessed in my life. I've experienced so much success, failure, heartache and love, which I guess is what life is all about. People have been telling me for years that I should write a book or a blog, but I was always so busy in my real life that taking the time to do this was just impossible. Now, thanks to things like Facebook, Timeline, and a strong memory nurtured by a high fish diet, I am able to recall those memories and experiences with the wonderful perspective of hindsight. Sometimes I will share with you what is happening in the present, while other times I will go retroactive - waxing sentimental and reliving painful moments. But all in all, I hope it will serve as an inspiration to those who desire the adventure, but never really feel ready to make the jump. Remember that no one is ever truly ready; you have to just close your eyes, jump, and hope for the best. But the sweet isn't as sweet without the sour and through it all, what I've learned is this: Sometimes you will fly, and others you will fall... but no matter what happens or how much pain you feel, you can't regret taking that chance; it's what makes life worth living.  

So here is my story. Here are my lessons. Here are the moments that took my breath away, and the moments that broke my heart. Theses are the experiences that brought me exactly to where I am right now. And perhaps for me, the most beautiful part of this life is that throughout the whole journey, I've always done things my way: in an Ivy League of My Own.