The woman who rerouted my life (and took me to a ping pong show in Bangkok)
Love, Art and the wild detour that led me to my true calling.
*Disclaimer: I messed up the scanning and image size for these. My bad.*
There are people who walk into your life, rearrange all the furniture, and leave you wondering how you ever lived the old way. KL was one of those people.
If you’ve been around here long enough, you might remember that I once mentioned three people who fundamentally changed the trajectory of my life. KL was one of them. We met one night at the sushi joint where I was waiting tables. If you’re new here, you might want to read this insert link for some context.
I never really knew what I wanted to do with my life, but I knew it had to be something creative. I wasn’t particularly strong in one form over another—drawing, writing, painting, or interpretative dancing (you know, the kind where you're supposed to express yourself by flailing around like a confused windmill) (thankfully, for everyone But I knew my future had to be in the arts, somehow, someway.
KL was a woman—not just another girl I was casually dating. I was 23; she was 30. She had a career and her shit together—or at least, from my 23-year-old perspective, she seemed like she was on a whole different level. She worked in the film industry, mostly in commercial and music video production as an art director (or maybe an assistant to one—I was never quite sure, and honestly, it didn’t matter; she was effortlessly cool). She would send me Polaroids from her shoots, little glimpses into a world I never knew existed, and I was mesmerized.
She was from Australia but living in L.A. She’d come up to Santa Barbara when she wasn’t working, and for someone like me—who had a tendency to emotionally bolt at the first sign of permanence—this arrangement was ideal. When we weren’t together, she’d send me letters, postcards, and random little treasures she’d find, proving that even people with their shit together could still be weird and love quirky things. Up until then, I thought adulthood meant abandoning creativity in favor of filing cabinets and reasonable bedtimes. Now, thirty years later, I’m still collecting weird shit. Thanks for that one, KL.
My feelings for her ran deep—deeper than anything I’d known before. After about a year of dating, she took me to Thailand for my first international trip. I can still remember that flight. Back then, you could still smoke on airplanes, and we were seated at the very back of the plane near the restroom where you could smoke. Imagine that now—18 hours trapped in a flying ashtray. Santa Barbara is so smoke-free now, you can’t even light up in your own backyard, even if you’re paying $30K a year in property taxes. (Seriously, not even on your own property. The birds are judging.)
Before Thailand, I took KL to Wisconsin to meet my grandparents. She flew in, and we picked her up in their classic blue Buick. She must’ve been thinking, "What the hell have I gotten myself into?" It was fall in the Midwest, and neither of us were prepared for the cold. We had to borrow jackets and gloves from my grandparents just to survive. For fun, we helped rake leaves in their yard—because apparently, nothing says “romantic getaway” like manual labor in 50-degree weather. I wish I could’ve tapped into her thoughts in that moment.
On that trip, I told my grandparents that KL and I were going to Thailand—and that she was paying for it. I think their brains short-circuited. Later, I found a letter they had written to me, full of disappointment and confusion about how I could just take off to a foreign country like that. We had an argument about my refusal to follow the typical script—college, stable career, marriage, kids (whom I would inevitably traumatize, of course).
But then we went to Thailand, and my entire worldview cracked open like a coconut at a beachfront bar. Growing up in Wisconsin and then moving to California had already shifted my perception, but stepping into a completely different culture in a developing country? That was next level.
Here’s the highlight reel:
Stayed in Bangkok for three days.
Ate food that made me question everything I thought I knew about flavor.
Experienced humidity so intense it felt like walking through soup.
Smelled things I’ll never forget (for better or worse).
Visited Soi Cowboy.
Witnessed women launch ping pong balls and shoot darts with parts of their bodies that should never be weaponized. (Some memories stay with you.)
Stood on some of the most stunningly blue beaches I’d ever seen.
Fully grasped that the world was vast, and I was just a small-town kid who had seen nothing yet.
That trip—and my relationship with KL—defined who I would become.
With her age and experience, KL taught me the nuances of intimacy—the difference between making love, having sex, and just fucking. She opened my world, showing me that it wasn’t just a one-sided experience. She taught me how to truly be with someone, not just physically but emotionally.
KL also introduced me to the Art Center College of Design. In her world of production, she had noticed a trend: the most creative, successful directors and artists she knew had gone there. She helped me realize that storytelling and directing were my paths, that all my artistic passions could coalesce into this one thing.
I didn’t even know that was an option. I thought you just kind of fell into careers like people fall into bad tattoos—accidentally and with a lot of regret. Turns out, you could actually choose a path. Who knew?
So, I made a short film with my friends. (We’ll get to that later.) I applied to ten schools. Only one accepted me.
Art Center College of Design.
Some people aren’t just part of your past. They become part of your foundation. And no matter how far you go, you carry them with you—woven into the person you’ve become, in ways both loud and quiet, in every step forward you take.
Love & Light
MM
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