The first clue

I was going through this little self-help phase that every woman approaching 40 seems to go through – reading everything from the Dalai Lama to Deepak Chopra to “The Secret”. I never learned what The Secret was, but one point I kept coming across was that coincidences aren’t merely coincidences. That if you pay attention, you’ll see that the Universe is really just trying to send you a message. That said, I’d like to thank the Universe for not giving up on me. Even after several attempts on the Big U’s part, I failed to connect the dots. But now that I get it, I must congratulate the Universe for its clever devices.

The first message came by way of Anthony Bourdain, host of “No Reservations”, a Travel Channel show in which Bourdain goes from country to country trying different dishes, imbibing freely amongst locals, and reciting his prose in his signature dead-pan way. He also resembles my mom’s ex-boyfriend, which is what compelled me to end my channel surfing on his show.
On this particular episode, he was in the Philippines trying to find the answer to his one burning question: What is Filipino food? I don’t think he ever got the answer – even as he filled his international belly with lechon (roasted whole pig), papaet (goat innards stewed in bile, yes, bile), sisig (chopped pig cheeks with onions, peppers and spices), sinigang (meat and vegetable soup with a sour tamarind base) and of course numerous bottles of San Miguel beer.

Every time he asked someone how they defined Filipino food, the answer only created more questions. Mainly: “Huh?” So while the show left me a little more enlightened about the many cultures that have influenced our cuisine, I didn’t have a sense of closure.

But that’s because the Universe wasn’t done with me yet.

Don't call me a flack

Three years ago, my first book was released. I was basking in the afterglow of an editorial series I had worked on for the San Francisco Chronicle. I created an account on blogspot.com and began writing about my experiences as I embarked upon my book tour.

And then ... nothing. Silence. Squat. The proverbial writer's block.

I can probably hide behind the fact that the newspaper industry, which I was proudly a part of for 15 years, had begun imploding -- and along with it, the careers of many far more talented writers than me. Like many other journalists, I became what many of us in the newsroom had turned up our pristine noses to -- a flack. "That's Communications Director," I now say. Not that I'm a complete sell-out. My first transitional job out of the newsroom was Media Advocacy Director for the American Cancer Society, where I found myself in familiar territory: writing opinion pieces calling for legislative change, calling out the bad guys (Big Tobacco) and demanding that lawmakers create laws to save lives. The only difference now was that when I wrote something, I never knew if it would be published. That totally sucked.

I was reminded of all the commentaries I had to read through as an editor, one by one, scoffing at some of the submissions, pointing out the absurdities to my colleagues, reading them aloud in animated voices -- absolutely drunk with power. And then I'd picture some editor printing out my submission doing the exact thing.

Yeah, payback is a bitch.

But it was too soon. I was still getting over my bad break-up with journalism. And sadly, this was my rebound job, my "in-between". So I moved on to yet another worthy cause -- saving humanity and our dying planet. I'm now the Communications Director -- yes, Communications Director -- for an international think-tank that calculates the Ecological Footprint of nations, cities, corporations. What does that mean? Well, I'm working on that, but trust me, it's good.

I can't say that I've completely gotten over my on-again-off-again relationship journalism. I miss the immediacy and the impact of it all. I miss feeling that what I'm writing about is gong to mean something to somebody, and maybe even bring about some change. But then again, journalism isn't what it used to be, neither are readers. And that's the real heartbreak.

I do have a plan, however. Not so much for the newspaper industry, but for my next project. I've been waiting for something to inspire me and oddly, the inspiration has come from several sources. Here are some hints: Anthony Bourdain, a former colleague's going-away party, my brother's upcoming wedding, "Julie and Julia" and weight gain.

Give up? Stay tuned...