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.