Few decisions are irrevocable. Most are inconsequential. Some —
a precious few — shape our identities in incomprehensible ways.

Here are three of my most important decisions —
a cellular realignment, a sophomore epiphany, and one pivotal NO that served as my protection.

May this trio of stories inspire you to be decisive, deliberate & discerning.
And let the ‘better angels of your nature’ do the choosing.

Reframing my OCD.

As a teenager, a well-intentioned & no doubt highly astute doctor diagnosed me with Obsessive-compulsive disorder. It was a complicated and tremulous time (I was starving myself to death, among other things)…but I refused to accept the idea that I needed drugs to flatten my brain’s intrinsic impulses. And, like, arranging magazines in a perfectly symmetrical fan & double-triple-quadruple-checking to see that your flat-iron is turned off is a BAD thing?

For some people, medication is quite literally a lifesaver. I chose another path — reframing my OCD as a powerful creative tool. Rather than labeling myself as ‘disordered’, I chose a different set of identifiers: I’m blessed with an encyclopedic memory. I have a meticulous eye for detail. I’ve got a monk-like minimalist aesthetic — and quite commendable hygiene. And one thing’s for damn sure — my house will never burn down due to a neglected oven burner. For this, I am proud.

Dropping out of college.

I didn’t want to go to college at all. I wanted to live in Burbank with my high-school boyfriend and be a massage therapist. But societal pressures (and a flattering scholarship) carried me into a liberal arts whirlwind, with my dwindling consent. I loathed my dormitory. I barely tolerated my classes. I found my escape in AM talk radio programs about extraterrestrial sightings, while cruising down the 110 freeway at 4 in the morning, with nowhere to be, and nothing to feel. And yet, I received straight-A’s and a paid research grant opportunity. Sigh. Whatever. Ennui, ascendant.

One morning, I whimsically ordered a double-shot mocha with whipped cream at Swork Coffee (I’m a pure espresso kinda gal — the winds of change were already a-flutter). I sat down, with twenty minutes before my 8am class, and cracked open a book. Not a textbook. Not a prescribed summer reading assignment. Simply a book I wanted to read. It was about Justinian & Theodora — two of the smuttiest, saltiest rulers of the Roman Empire. The California sun warmed my arms, chest and face as it rose higher in the sky. I was entranced. I was captivated. I was…happy.

And I realized, in one choir-of-angels-on-high burst of insight, that if I wanted it — and designed my life accordingly — I could be happy, virtually all the time.

I didn’t make it to my 8am class. Or my 9am class. Or any class, for the next two years. And while I eventually found myself completing a Bachelors in English at a 143-year old university in southern New Zealand, those ‘gap years’ were amongst the most formative, stimulating & identity-shaping years of my life. I am who I am, because I dropped out, spiraled open & yielded to the most powerful question of all: What if…?

Not doing porn.

I was once offered the opportunity to appear in a high-gloss, high-glam erotic photography session, directed by an award-winning adult filmmaker. It was all very chic, euro-glam, West Hollywood decadence. He had a special set of gothic ballet slippers designed to fit my freakishly large feet.
The pay was $3,000. Dark, rebellious…alluring.

Except, I said NO. Because, you know, I might want to be President one day. Or a nun. Or a Food Network personality, with a family-friendly weekly spot called “Fricassée with Franzen!” For example.

My views on pornography are as complex as the industry itself – porn can be empowering, thrilling, and sublimely stimulating, or it can be demeaning, gruesome, and hateful. I’ve known adult entertainers with advanced degrees & rich, fulfilling, well-traveled lives — and I’ve known some who’ve found solace in narcotics, living out of suitcases in airport motels.

But I digress. I said NO — because I didn’t know who I was becoming, and I didn’t want an irrevocable ink blot on the tabula rasa of my life.

We only get one sacred road trip in this body, you know.
And not every rule yearns to be broken.

“It is only in our decisions that we are important.”

—Jean-Paul Sartre

Artwork by :: Kate Banazi. Incredible, no?