Unveiling the Path

A (Slightly Scared, Very Curious) Journey Through Central America

Image via Invisibilia podcast.

James Baldwin once said, “Many people are curious about life, but few venture out to truly experience it.” That line’s been echoing in my head as I pack up my life and prepare to leave the home I’ve loved for the past seven years. The entertainment industry is on strike, and suddenly, the timing feels... right. Or, at least, inevitable. A window has opened. Central America is calling.

Over the next few months, I’ll be sharing stories from the road—traveling with my partner (and yes, our dog), figuring out how to live lighter, freer, and maybe even braver. This isn’t just a trip. It’s an experiment in letting go. An attempt to answer that tug inside me that says: There’s more life to live if I’m willing to leave the map behind.

The Questions That Keep Me Up at Night

But what about my acting career? Can I really leave for five months? After years of auditions and building relationships with agents and casting directors, it feels risky. What about my dance community? The classes that have made me stronger, freer, more fluid—those instructors are irreplaceable. What about my friends? We’ve finally built something solid. Some are new parents. I want to be there.

And, let’s be real—I’m 39. The world keeps reminding me what that should mean. I should be producing something (anything!) of value. Preferably children. And if not children, then at least a personal brand.

In the immortal words of Tina Fey: this might be my “last fuckable year.” If you haven’t seen the SNL skit with her, Amy Schumer, and Patricia Arquette celebrating Julia Louis-Dreyfus’ “Last F*ckable Day,” please, go watch it. Comedy as truth-telling.

And what if I come back heavier? What if my business stalls? I just launched my hypnotherapy practice after leaving a stable job of seven years. Do I really want to gamble with everything I’ve worked for?’

The Spirit (and Slight Delusion) of Adventure

Still, a vision keeps returning: me, windblown on a beach, offering hypnotherapy to strangers. I picture sledding down a volcano in Nicaragua, surfboard under arm, black rocks flying behind me like something out of Ichy Boots’ YouTube channel. I imagine saying yes to every dance invitation, every mango, every ocean wave—even though I’m scared of sharks (thanks, JAWS).

What if this trip unhooks me from everything I think I need? What if it rewires my fear of flying, of bugs, of unfamiliar beds and accidental death-by-zipline? What if it doesn’t break me—but actually builds me?

I picture morning sun salutations on Costa Rica’s beaches, learning to surf, sweating through my first salsa class in El Salvador, eating fresh food and living simply. I imagine hiking jungles, discovering waterfalls, hearing birds and howler monkeys instead of traffic and to-do lists.

Panama City, Casco Viejo, Oct. 2023

I want to dance in Panama’s clubs until my feet ache. I want to speak Spanish badly, then better. I want to lose myself in Granada’s cobblestone streets and find story ideas in every cafe in León. I want to sweat, stretch, trip over my own feet, and laugh my way through it all.

Embracing the Discomfort

I’d love to say this is a spiritual quest. But, it’s more of a ‘can I do this without falling apart?’ situation. Truthfully, I had resistance to this trip. A lot of it. So, I did what any self-respecting hypnotherapist-in-training would do: I booked a session with a classmate.

Turns out, most of my resistance was about leaving the structures I’ve worked hard to build: routines, community, a sense of purpose. I’ve spent most of my life managing social anxiety—so disrupting the systems that support my mental health felt… well, threatening. But in hypnosis, I saw something clearly: I don’t have to leave those structures behind. I can bring some of them with me—my writing, my movement practice, my curiosity.

So I made a promise: I’ll dance in every country we visit. I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep creating connection. And I’ll keep facing what scares me.

(Also, yes—I’m buying a mosquito net. I grew up in the Yukon. I know the drill.)

The Big (Messy) Letting Go

We’re letting go of almost everything. Downsizing into one storage locker. We gave away our couch, dumped kitchen tools and clothing racks at the dump. I couldn’t bring myself to list them on Facebook Marketplace—time is short, and the emotional bandwidth even shorter.

I’ve been shocked at how hard it is to say goodbye to inanimate objects. My desk? My friend. We studied hypnotherapy together. I passed my certification exam with coffee stains and sticker-filled notebooks in that drawer. And now? Goodbye, desk. Goodbye, books I never read. Goodbye, tennis skirts, bracelets, and the ghosts attached to them.

Letting go has become its own theraputic practice. A question I keep asking: Who am I without this thing?

So far, I’m still standing.

I’m trying to travel with one medium-sized bag. It’s comical. I keep weighing the value of vitamins vs. face products vs. needing space for impulsively purchased handmade sandals. I’m failing at packing light—but I’m committed to trying.

Fight Club said it best: “The things you own end up owning you. It’s only after you lose everything that you’re free to do anything.” Thanks, Chuck Palahniuk.

A Love Story, Too

Oh, also? My partner and I are getting married one year from today. After 13 years together, this feels less like an ending and more like a beginning. This trip feels like our call to adventure. If you’re into Joseph Campbell, you’ll get it. If not, just picture a couple, a dog, and a big, messy, hopeful leap into the unknown.

We’ve been learning Spanish together with the Pimsleur app. In the mornings, we practice greetings. In the evenings, we watch travel vlogs. I like to think of it as romantic language immersion—with subtitles and snacks.

What I Know Now

I don’t know how this will go. I might come back broke and bug-bitten. I might come back stronger. Probably both. What I do know is this: when life opens a door, even a crack—you either step through or you don’t.

Rumi said, “As you start to walk on the way, the way appears.” That feels true. And terrifying. And deeply exciting.

So we’re going. We’re stepping into the unknown. With too much luggage, not enough Spanish, and hearts cracked wide open.

If there’s anything I’ve learned so far, it’s this: fear will always whisper, Don’t. But sometimes, the bigger voice is the one that says, Go anyway.