New Zealand & Australia
Glaciers and Gut Wrenching Goodbyes
This was a wild ride. We're talking inspiration, close calls on glacier experiences, cosmic breadcrumbs, and one hell of a karmic plot twist. Let me weave this wild little web of how my 30th birthday, a helicopter, and some emotional baggage led me halfway across the world—and right back home, to exactly where I needed to be.
The turning point? A decision to hike the legendary Tongariro Alpine Crossing.
If you’re unfamiliar, let me paint the picture: this isn’t just a walk in the park—it’s a 12-mile trek through an ancient volcanic wonderland in the heart of New Zealand. Tongariro National Park, the country’s oldest and a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is home to some of the most otherworldly terrain I’ve ever set foot on. Think emerald crater lakes, active volcanoes, lunar landscapes, and mountains with moods of their own—specifically, Ngauruhoe, Tongariro, and Ruapehu.
It's consistently ranked among the top ten single-day hikes on the planet, and once you’re on it, you understand why. Every step feels like a portal to something deeper—both on the land and within yourself.
Glaciers & Gut Instincts
Rewind.
So picture this: I'm painting a touring set for Nickelodeon, approaching my 30th birthday, and I decide—you know what? I'm giving myself the ultimate gift: a ticket to New Zealand and Australia. They are so close how can I say yes to one and not the other? And because what screams “Happy Birthday” louder than glaciers, solo hikes, and accidental spiritual awakenings?
I was smart and chose to hit up Australia first—because if I had gone to New Zealand first, I would’ve been like, “Australia, who?” Not to be mean, Oz is gorgeous, obviously. But New Zealand? New Zealand felt like Earth’s apology letter for everything else. It was breathtaking. Like, I-need-to-sit-down-and-rethink-my-life levels of beautiful.
I didn’t exactly spin a globe and land on New Zealand. A few years earlier, I was in a bookstore paging through a photo book and saw a picture of New Zealand I would never get out of my mind. I had to see it in person, so it made my list of places to see.
Ironically, around that same time, I made a connection that ended up meaning more than I expected. What started as simple curiosity about a place quickly deepened as I got to know someone who called it home. Part of me was drawn to their world—but in the end, the journey gave me something even more valuable: closure.
Scene One: Helicopter Hysteria on a Glacier
Because what’s a spiritual journey without a little danger?
So there I am, in a frickin’ helicopter flying over a glacier in New Zealand (as one does), and this woman who’s part of our group—doesn’t speak a any English. We land, and the pilot is shouting over the blades, “Do NOT go near that crevasse.” And this woman? She starts wandering right toward it like she’s going shopping at Target.
I’m frantically motioning for her to come back, like No ma’am, we are NOT doing a spontaneous disappearance act today into the middle of the earth. But let’s be honest—I wasn’t about to become two missing persons on a glacier. My oxygen mask was going on first, thankyouverymuch. The whole thing was a mini panic attack wrapped in snow and adrenaline. But it stuck with me. That tension. That weird knowing. That moment of “Oh shit, something’s going down and I can’t stop it.”
Before I could go into complete panic mode, the pilot waved us back to the helicopter and she, smiling like the tourist she was, came hopping back to the helicopter.
She had no idea how close she was to death, but, me, I did. And I am pretty sure the other four people there did, too.
Right now, I imagine her telling this story very differently to her friends. She' probably recounts it as one of the most beautiful moments of her life.
Scene Two: Hiking With a Sherpa from Mount Everest
Apparently, my version of a vacation involves risking my life for wisdom. Or it might be a “when in Rome” scenario.
My friend and I decide to go hike another glacier. (Because clearly, one death-defying adventure isn’t enough.) And who’s guiding us? A literal Sherpa from Mount Everest. I wish I were making this up. This man has seen things, okay?
At one point, we’re halfway up this icy slope and he turns to me and goes, “See those rocks up there?” I’m like, “Yeah?” And he goes, “If they start to fall, turn around and run.” He was dead serious.
That was the moment when I realized I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. And yet—I kept going. I didn’t know the risks, the terrain, or the safety protocols. But I trusted. I followed. Clearly, I lived to tell the tale.
And also get some good photos.
Deep Dive: Ignorance, Intuition, and the Universe’s Wild Timing
What struck me in all of this wasn’t just the adventure—it was the unspoken trust.
That woman on the glacier didn’t understand the words, but she understood the energy. I didn’t speak the language of mountain climbing, but I understood when to trust someone who did. And somehow, despite not knowing all the rules, I was exactly where I needed to be.
And I didn’t die. #stillwinning
I’ve always believed that the universe conspires in our favor—even when we’re clueless. Especially when we’re clueless, sometimes inspiration shows up like a whisper. Other times, it drops you on a glacier and dares you to listen.
Full Circle: The Trip That Brought Me Home
Now here’s where the plot thickens…
That trip to New Zealand? It was fueled by the desire to understand someone else’s world—but I ended up finding my own. I went there to close a chapter, to reconcile something unresolved, and unknowingly started a new one. I talk about this in my podcast this week (drops tomorrow).
When I returned to the States, I landed back in Pittsburgh. And the very first film I worked on when I got home? The Homecoming. I mean—come on. You can’t make this stuff up.
A few days later, I started a new gig. And on that job? I met the man I would eventually marry. Full stop. That entire timeline—the heartbreak, the healing, the helicopter—led me straight to him.
And below is the artwork that came out of it all. The grief. The growth. The release. All of it.
All nine of these paintings are a visual representation of the pain I had to process through paint. I had to visually work my way through the pain of what I thought I was losing. This is what it felt like to me.
The second line is a visual representation of the healing that was taking place inside of me as I allowed the pain to be processed.
The last three paintings are the freedom I found in allowing myself to return to who I was without the pain.
Final Thoughts: When Wonder Leads the Way
Wonder doesn’t always show up with answers. Sometimes, it shows up as a question you can’t stop asking, a place you can’t stop dreaming about, or a person who sparks something you can’t quite name.
It might look like a one-way ticket, a glacier, a goodbye you didn’t expect, or a version of yourself you’re not quite ready to let go of.
Sometimes, wonder leads you straight into the unknown—into chaos, closure, and clarity, all wrapped in one unpredictable itinerary.
And what you thought was a detour? Might just be the most direct path home.
Trust me—when wonder leads the way, you may not know where you’re going… but you’ll end up exactly where you’re meant to be.
Until next time…