A tale of priorities, reminders of our worth, and how to eat raw oysters… but also some pretty important self-realizations + where I’ll be this fall.

I’m a hopeless romantic. I cry during commercials, I tear up seeing older couples walking hand-in-hand, and I even get emotional in the greeting card aisle at my local Walgreens. I’m a sucker for a great romantic comedy and will watch When Harry Met Sally as many times as the Universe allows.

One time, during a flight back to Los Angeles from Seattle last September, after wrapping up a wedding weekend with my ex and having a major panic attack in a Seattle Airbnb (more on this another time, I guess. Yay, transparency!), I watched When Harry Met Sally and wept openly on a Delta aircraft. It was a full-on sob session, because their love and friendship is so strong and so messy, and, in that moment, I understood it. I felt it. And, despite it being complex and taking forever to come to fruition, I wanted it.

I’ve been in love a couple of times before. I like to think I fall in love everyday. Perhaps it’s with a person I meet in passing at a coffee shop who cracks a really good joke, maybe it’s with an art print I see somewhere in the city, more than likely it’s with something sugary and delicious, because I love food. But something that’s been happening lately — and something that I think we all need more moments of — is that I’ve been falling in love with myself.

About a month ago, while on a third date with a guy named Ron Swanson (woodworker, bourbon-drinker, cures his own meat — there’s a Parks and Rec episode for that, right?), I fell in love many, many times. At first, I fell in love with walking to dinner with “road beers” (a.k.a. a beer you take with you for the road, because, in New Orleans, we need to drink ALL OF THE TIME). I then fell in love with eating oysters and getting to know the oyster shucker, Uptown T. I fell in love with New Orleans and how proud I was of myself for getting reacquainted with my hometown after so much time away, and how proud I was for putting myself out there and meeting new people. I even fell in love with the idea of having a person in my life with whom I can walk to dinner with, drink beer, and pile Saltines sky-high with oysters and Crystal and lemon juice.

And though I wasn’t falling in love with Ron, I did have a few moments of wondering if I could get used to this.

And then, in the middle of dinner, I received an email.

Back in July 2018 when I first arrived in California, I spent my days reading acting books that my ex had gifted to me the Christmas before. One of them was Jenna Fischer’s book, The Actor’s Life: A Survival Guide, which I devoured in two days. Jenna talked about her early years as a new actor in Los Angeles, the temp jobs she had to take to pay her bills, and how her parents weren’t always the most supportive of her path. But she pursued it anyway. She mentioned various classes she had taken, and referenced an acting coach she studied with in Los Angeles and how he completely changed the game for her. The class was focused on auditioning for the camera, which, as you can imagine, is a very crucial part to landing a job in Hollywood. Jenna took the course over a span of six weeks, and she credits this class and coach to her confidence in auditioning for, and booking, The Office, which transformed and kickstarted her incredible career.

So, I Googled him.

Also, assume I Google everything, because I do.

So, I Googled this acting coach and found his website. After reading a couple of testimonials, I give him a call and get his voicemail. I leave my name, number, and mention I’m interested in signing up for his on-camera audition class. I had absolutely nothing to lose. I was fresh to California and still living in temporary on-base housing at Edwards with my ex. I was shooting my shot.

The next day, the acting coach calls back and adds me to his waitlist, which is thirty-six months long. Thirty-six months. That’s longer than an African bush elephant’s gestation period (I Googled this).

“Wow, that’s awhile,” I said.

“It is. The class is of high demand. Sometimes we have availability earlier, however,” he said.

So, I get added to the waitlist. Why not? What else do I have going on? Aside from reading books and watching Chopped marathons on Food Network, absolutely nothing at that point. With each passing week, I crossed my fingers that he’d email saying a spot miraculously opened up for me.

But it never happened.

And then my then-boyfriend and I broke up, and my seven-month stint in California came and went.

And no email.

A few months ago, I was sitting at my kitchen table in New Orleans working on my novel, and my phone pings. I can see that it was an email, but I figured it was just a notification saying my Amazon shipped, because there is always something from Amazon being shipped. It’s a problem, I know! I’m working on it. So, I ignore the email and keep writing.

Later that day, I check my email and find that the message from earlier was from the coach. I felt my heart rate quicken as I opened the email. It stated that a space would be opening up in the next couple of months to take his six-week on-camera audition class. I read it once, read it again, panicked, and immediately texted my friend Erin who lives in Los Angeles.

“Erin, the acting coach whose class I signed up for last July emailed me and said a spot will be open in the next couple of months.”

“OH MY GOD. COME TO L.A. STAY WITH ME.”

I had three thoughts:

1. I love my friends.

2. I do miss California.

3. It’ll never happen.

I saw the email, processed the email, allowed myself to feel a little excited about the possibility of taking the class and living in Los Angeles for six weeks, and then I carried on with my life and forgot about it completely.

And, then, on a sweltering Thursday evening in New Orleans, while I was eating oysters and drinking NOLA Blonde, my phone dinged.

My Amazon order had shipped.

Just kidding!

It was from the acting coach.

And the email stated that there was availability in his upcoming fall course beginning October 17.

I read the email once, took two giant sips of my beer, looked over at Ron who was chatting away with Uptown T, read the email again, and immediately texted Erin a screenshot of the email, along with these texts:

For those who have followed my numerology journey on Instagram (also, I know this sounds woo woo, but please don’t check out yet!), you’ve seen me post and talk about the numbers 7 and 11 constantly. They follow me around everywhere, and they’ve been my lucky numbers since I was a child. I happened to have moved back to New Orleans on January 17 (1/17), which I took as a reassuring sign that I was supposed to go back home, and since being home, I’ve been confronted with these numbers during times of wondering which direction to take in my career. Perhaps I pause the television at 7 minutes and 11 seconds, or I check the time to find it’s 7:17 (this just happened as I was typing this, by the way), or maybe I stop the microwave at :17 seconds or drive by multiple vehicles in a row with the numbers 17 or 117 in the license plate. And then I get this email, an email that I have been waiting over a year for, that a spot is available for a class beginning October 17 (10/17).

I had many, many thoughts during this quick exchange with Erin in the middle of my date. My first thought was that oysters really aren’t so bad when they’re slathered with horseradish and Crystal on top of a Saltine (thanks for the tip, Ron Swanson). My second thought was that I have been, once again, placing very crucial parts of my energies into extra-curricular activities (re: dating) that might not necessarily be setting me up for the future that I long for.

Boom.

Mic drop.

Curve. Ball.

Ron Swanson is a New Orleanian who may never leave New Orleans, and why should he if he doesn’t want to? He was born and raised here, his family and friends are here, his job and his business are here, and he’s in the process of buying a house. Good for him. Good for Ron. But is that compatible with the life I want to lead?

No. No, it is not. Not right now.

because The life I want to lead doesn’t confine me to one place.

Perhaps I live in New Orleans most of the time. Perhaps that’s something that I do, so when work is done elsewhere, I can come back home to the city that hugs me tightly and find rest and rejuvenation (and oysters on Saltines shucked by Uptown T).

The life I want to lead requires me to not be tethered — not to a person, not to a place, not to anything. So, as much as I enjoyed spending time with Ron Swanson, in that moment, when I felt one-hundred times more excited for an email than I did at the possibility of a fourth date, I knew that my priorities weren’t where they should be, and I, once again, needed to check myself and realign myself with my hopes and goals and dreams.

And my hopes and goals and dreams have never consisted of finding a man, getting married, having babies, and living in New Orleans forever.

Not that these hopes and goals and dreams aren’t valid ones and don’t belong to someone. They just don’t belong to me, and that’s okay.

My hopes and goals and dreams have been to act in film and television, write novels, memoirs, and scripts, and be known for making people laugh. And, if I’m lucky, all of these things would merge into one career that pays my bills, introduces me to wonderful people, gives me a platform to use my voice for good, and nurtures every part of my soul that aches for an embrace. And if the excitement I felt at receiving an email is any indication of how I would feel pursuing my wildest dreams, then I have no choice but to go for it again, right? Just like I went for it after graduation and just like I went for it when I moved with my ex to California last July.

The difference this time is that it’s on my terms.

And how powerful is that?

This time, I choose what I get to do and what I want to do.

This time, I choose me.

And, after my break up, I told myself that I will always choose me.

So, that’s what I will do.

The life I dream of living when I lay my head on my pillow every single night… the production meetings I attend, the auditions I go on, the improv shows I perform in, the classes that I take, the planes that I hop, the red carpets that I walk… I deserve that. I deserve to at least try to achieve it, too.

As for Ron Swanson? Well, I’m thankful I said yes to the third date with him. It was a ton of fun, as usual. He’s a pretty great guy. And, although it didn’t result in discovering he’s my one true love who will sweep me off my feet to live my wildest life, it did lead me to discovering that the thing I’ve been searching for in another person has been within me all along. It lead me to discovering that I can sweep myself off my own feet, I can lead myself to live my wildest life, I am my one true love.

So, I choose me.

And I will always, always choose me.

Every single time. Over and over again.

And as for Los Angeles, well, I’ll be seeing you in October.

And this time I have a really, really good feeling about it, because, this time, it’s on my terms.

And how powerful is that?