Who knew that I would become a nomad, flying to far-off countries on one-way tickets with no reservations? Especially since I had grown up in the heartland of Indiana and was expected to stay, teaching language and literature. It happened in Paris. Supposedly studying French at the Summer School of the Sorbonne, I was seduced by Van Gogh, Rodin and Monet.

Veering outside of familial expectations, I became an artist. I broke my fingernails working with metalsmiths to create large-scale sculptures for shopping malls from Florida to Seattle and persevered through the night to meet deadlines set by architects and developers. My mixed-media sculpture and photography have been exhibited in regional and national shows. To keep bread on the table between commissions, I sashayed into schools as the Visiting Artist, teaching students to create hand painted banners or metal bas-reliefs for the lobby or the cafeteria. And yes, it was risky. I was jumping from one artistic ice floe to another in a sea of financial uncertainty.

“When are you going to get a real job or go back to teaching?” asked my family.

I ignored them. Whenever there were a few extra bucks in my bank account, I bought a plane ticket. Traveling solo from Pittsburgh to Paris, Bukittinggi to Borneo, I collected photographs and stories as inspiration for my art. After 9/11, the art world crashed.

“To keep being an artist is simply Unrealistic,” warned my family…

“There must be other people doing what they love, leading unrealistic lives,” I thought. “I have to find them…” By following the path with heart, I encountered tango maestros who taught and performed around the world, two women photographing the tribes of Africa, a BlackAmerican writer who canoed solo down the Mississippi, and more. Inspired, I recorded their stories

In 2009 I announced to my friends and family that I was going to sell everything to live near an ocean. “What ocean?” they said.

“I’ll let you know when I find it.”

I said goodbye to my house and studio, stored my art, and flew to Buenos Aires (once again with no reservations!) where I danced the tango, before exploring ten countries in South and Central America. Now I live in Puerto Vallarta where the sea shimmers below me as I edit the stories of people who are doing what they love without getting a Real Job for my book, An Unrealistic Life.

In my spare time I dance the tango, practicing my pivots in the kitchen, while dreaming of kicking up my heels at a milonga in Argentina or Paris.