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I watch his face in Vienna, Lima, Rio, Bogotá, Kansas, and Austin. He’s as charismatic as I know him to be, but his eyes don’t translate. He’s so comfortable sitting with strangers and with himself. I grab a camp chair off the back porch and set it up in the front yard. Wifi is better near the house. I push play on my laptop again. Ben and Court are knee deep in renovations, but they’re going slowly because Ben has to build furniture for some key clients after he built out Colin’s bar, he’s rather busy.

Five episodes in and I begin to grumble. Eating and exploring the world with ease and joy. The sixth episode brings on a raging jealousy. Then the seventh episode, about some Tuscan winemaking region, and I’ve seen enough. I slam my laptop and head inside to find Court’s candy stash. Ben keeps throwing her junk food away but I know my sister. She can’t be far from a snack cake.

I mutter as I step onto the porch, “He isn’t being fair to the rest of us. I’m sure he works hard. But why has he been to these places, and I haven’t? His job is to travel and rake in cash from his parents. I’ve enabled him to have his Viennese Sachertorte and eat it too. Meanwhile, I have nothing but Ring Dings. Granted I love Ring Dings but still! Fuck that.”

I reach for the doorknob and a voice in a kind of Southern, kind of New York accent spins me around.

“Fuck what, there ma’am? Hi. Is Ms. Courtney around?”

He’s kind of gorgeous but he doesn’t do it for me because I’m seething at the Squire of Sardonic quips in my head. The man in front of me has sandy blond hair straight and longish and the sweetest dark puppy dog eyes.

“My life and the fact that I’ve seen nothing! And don’t ma’am me please”

“I was trying to be respectful, ma’am.”

I point to him. “Are you Shep?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He holds his hands up. “Miss?”

“Kat. Let me know if you need anything.”

“I didn’t want you to be alarmed when you saw my feet sticking out from under Skipper.”

“Fine. Do you mind if I’m out here? The backyard has too many flowers with butterflies.”

“You have a problem with butterflies?”

“Yes. They’re arrogant, with their beauty, flitting around wherever they please. No accountability at all. Disgusting flitting around colorful mother fuckers with everyone fawning over them. But ironically, they’re my favorite gummi candy. That’s all I’ve got in life right now. Hating butterflies and loving candy.”

“Good to meet you. Seems like you have some things to work out. Maybe figure out what your soul needs.”

I point at the man, “That! I’m doing that.”

I head inside and wash my face with the powder room hand soap that unfortunately smells like Hawaii. I easily find her stash in a pink toolbox marked, “Crayons.” I fill up a bowl with mini Snickers, gummi worms, and strawberry zingers.

I grab a can of Diet Coke and a straw. There are tarps and tools all over their first floor. The only place to sit down is in the little breakfast area or in the den off to the side that has a sheet of plastic over the archway.

What does my soul need? I tap my fingers on my mouth. There’s a wall on the far side of the room that’s coming down to open up the dining and living rooms. It has a yellow X on it in spray paint. I stare at the X.

Is he going to do something good with the money after his show is picked up? We didn’t discuss that. Why the fuck am I able to watch HGTV on an airplane in real time, and we can’t cure cancer? He should give the money to cancer research. I tip some rum into my Diet Coke. Maybe that’s what my soul needs. Or I could hand over my 401k money after I figure out what’s next. Help cure cancer. Or stop tipping rum into my lunch time Diet Coke.

If I had his opportunities, I’d be a force for good in the world. I’d build a school and dig wells in Africa. Or feed kids in South America. Feed them here in Dutchess County. How about save monuments or vaccinate kids in India or cure things? I don’t know what the world needs, I haven’t seen it, but Zane has, and he’s decided to keep the cash.

I stub my toe on my backpack full of vision journals. In that moment of annoying pain, it’s clear. I’m pissed I don’t get to be Zane.

On my one real day of holistic guidance, the Shamans told me I should write my desires somewhere I can see them. Only place essential things directly in front of you. Only then will you make them happen. Since I have no other goals, suddenly seeing the world seems pretty fucking important.

I’ve spent my life writing things I have to do. I have notebooks and day planners full of plans, appointments, needs, and reminders. I’ve never written down something I want to do. Watching Zane live the life he wants makes me ragey and judgy. I don’t miss him as much as I want to be him. I want to follow the path of my chimera, my damn vision quest. Trust in the signposts. Trust Shaman Greg.

I do wish he had a more shamanic name, like Avrum or Jagdish.

I find a can of red spray paint. I get up on a chair because I need a lot of room. I start desecrating the wall that’s coming down at some point. No editing, no censoring, just listing places I’m going. Places I’ll photograph, tell their stories while finding my own. Places I know Zane’s about to visit.

Dhaka, Jaipur, Seychelles, Prague, Cardiff, Copenhagen, Marseille, Venice, Barcelona, Athens, Vienna

(insert graphic of the wall)

That’s all I can remember but it’s a start. I step back and admire the list feeling like I’m finally making valuable use of my time.