Just like a good Santa Fean, I like to go gallery hopping occasionally.  It’s a great way for me to run into friends, make new friends and of course, to see (and maybe buy!) fabulous art.  The other evening I ran into a friend of mine and we were doing our usual chit chatting.  If you know me at all, you will know that I’m not a very good chit chatter. I like to go to bigger, more profound conversations right away.  I can’t help it. It’s my nature!

I dove right in with my friend. I asked him a big question. I was wearing my high heels after all, feeling confident: “Can I ask you something personal?”  “Honey, of course!” he responded as he looked at me intently, yet with an open smile.

“How old were you when you realized you were gay?”  I asked.  I’ve always been curious about that, not just about him specifically.  Such a definitive thing about oneself that requires sudden disclosure to those who love you, your own self included.  “Oh!  I knew since I was a little boy.”  My mind immediately constructed an image of my friend, now in his mid-sixties, as this cute, little, sandy blond haired five-year old looking in the mirror with a profound understanding of himself.

He continued to narrate to me part of his childhood and young adulthood.  “You could make a movie out of my life, Guadalupe.” He proceeded to describe to me what his parents were like and what life was like amongst them. Although he had my complete attention, we kept being interrupted by excited hellos from other friends. Our conversation was perfectly intimate and he was perfectly generous to open up to me like that… He shared with me just enough information, just enough description, that I could see the reel of his movie playing in front of my mind’s eye.  We separated ways and continued our social  (art) crawl.

That same night I decided to go to La Boca for dinner, my absolute favorite. On the corner of Washington and Marcy Street there was a man on the street corner playing a smooth saxophone sound.  My attention was captured his music as I walked past him. He noticed he had me. I was like a fish that took the bait.  He watched me walk and started serenading me with his beautiful music- directing his saxophone toward me. A woman and two children were playing near him. They were homeless and this was his family.  How could someone so musically talented be in that kind of predicament? I know that an amazing movie could be made about his life.

We all have a movie waiting to be made about ourselves.  I wonder if we are all the main character in our movie or do we give the lead acting role to someone else in our life.  Did they deserve that Oscar?  If they did, how lucky you are.  If they didn’t… if you’re reading this, there’s time to change that.

I know you get what I’m saying.

Write me!