The life of an actor, whether it be that of the theater stage or film set, can be both an exciting, but also a lonely life – punctuated, of course, by moments of sheer panic and self-loathing when trying to make a decent wage following what is one’s dream. 

Actually, it often reminds me of the time when I was a competitive swimmer.  You train numerous hours, both alone, and in a group, only to wait countless hours for your big moment when you get on a platform and spring into action for what, in the end, is really only a couple of minutes, seconds even.  Months of work all summed up in one exhilaratingly spectacular, or disappointingly dull, moment in time.

Still, when that moment is truly seized – there are very few things in life that bring such intense emotion, human connection and physical accomplishment.  It feels like life, truly lived… every moment of those accumulated seconds toward intellectual and creative expression.

Even now, as I write this, I sit in my picture car in Manhattan at 9 p.m. on a Friday night, miles away from my family, on the set of Spider Man, working as a Screen Actors Guild background actor, trying to earn extra money to make ends meet in between bigger acting and production gigs.  It is a small part of the big plan of working my way slowly up the ladder.

Do I have moments of intense self-doubt as to what I’m doing in this industry and is it a waste of time and passion?  Absolutely. 

And yet, as with the film Her Telling Heart, the short, Gothic thriller adaptation of Edgar Allan Poe’s short story, “The Tell-tale Heart,” which I wrote, produced through my company, Personae Entertainment, directed and acted in, I do see progress toward realizing my career goals and personal/professional passion.

Above all, I see myself as blessed that I am in touch with my dreams and, moreover, able to pursue them.  This is something that I often think, in these times, we take for granted.  In reality, it is a luxury.

So, you see, sitting on the set of Spider Man for a wrinkle in time to pay the bills is really not so bad.  I am a small part of a bigger picture on this one.  – And, during waiting times like right now, I am able to do one of my favorite things in the world: write.

Back to America

I just returned to Muenster, Germany, from a major trip across France, through Paris, Versailles, Bergerac, Mont St. Michel, and Chatelaillon-Plage, as well as in Brugge, Belgium.

Having been there before ten years ago, I'm an absolute fan of Mont St. Michel, with it's mystical mountaintop cathedral and movie-set like village and Deauville-Trouville, with their seafood shops, beach bungalows, and, of course, the American Deauville Film Festival!! (and who can forget Paris or Versailles),but I have to say that the absolute hit stops were in Bergerac and Bruges.

Bergerac, the fabled home of Cyrano de Bergerac, is a beautiful city with intricate cobblestoned street paths weaving in and out the beautiful, old buildings.

Bruges, an extremely well-preserved medieval town, with two town squares, canals and bridges throughout, as well as the best chocolate and diamonds that Europe has to offer, has become one of my favorite cities to visit.

The crazy thing is, we discovered it completely by accident.

Hoping to make the entire 600-km trip by car, but leaving Deauville a bit later than planned (I was procrastinating in hopes of staying long enough for the festival next weekend), we ran into an unexpected traffic jam that had us sitting in Rouen for nearly an hour-and-a-half.

"We'll just drive by night and get into Muenster by 1 a.m.," we concluded. Nothing doing. By 10:30 p.m., my eyes were drooping and, so, we decided, we'd have to find a place to stay.

We drove from one city to the next, through the industrial port of Calais in the north, to the Belgium border, where not a single light was to been seen lit in the windows at 11 p.m. -- not a single soul walking around! Every hotel, a local pension or BB-style guest-house, shut down for the night, the foyers dark and desks empty. We found nothing.

"I can't believe this," I said, "it's too creepy; it's as if all the world has disappeared and we're left to wander the streets in search of life."

Finally, at 12 a.m., nearing the city of Bruges, I asked my husband to make one last attempt. I can only say that GPS in cars is one of the best inventions out, as we were able to locate a list of hotels, including contact information, nearby and make a reservation.

And, thus, at 1 a.m., tired and resigned to wasting a night in a dingy hotel somewhere in some unknown backskirt of Belgium, we drove down the empty cobblestone streets, through what appeared to be the back-end of the city, to the Novotel -- a sort of mod and hip Holiday Inn in Europe -- to find a bed and lie down our weary heads.

The next morning, we awoke to sunshine and the most glorious, alive European city, full of quaint shops, great cafe's and restaurants, horses and carriages trotting about, and chocolate -- glorious chocolate. That day, we decided to slow down our frantic pace, stroll around, and enjoy all of the sights. There's nothing like eating French fries in the land that helped to establish their good name!

I learned, as a result of this unexpectedly beautiful city on an unexpectedly gorgeous day, that the best things in life can pass your way when you least expect them -- and when the world seems lonely, dark, desolate and gray, all you have to do is "sleep on it," and, sometimes, the next morning's sunshine is enough to walz all your troubles and doubts away.

Now, onto the next adventure -- this Sunday, our trip back to New York and the good, old (although not as old as Europe) U.S. of A.