If My Life Were a Movie: Casting My Desert Epic

Opening Scene: The High Desert Backdrop
Picture this: a sweeping shot of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains bathed in golden-hour light. Rust-red cliffs, a lone coyote in the distance, and me—curled up on the porch of my parents’ adobe home, sketchbook in hand, surrounded by the aroma of green chile stew wafting from the kitchen. If my life were a movie, it would be a love letter to Santa Fe, equal parts art house and rom-com. Think “Eat Pray Love,” but with less pasta and more turquoise jewelry.

Where does the romance come in? Oh, it’s there. Sometimes in wild, sweeping gestures. Other times, in the awkwardness of first dates or the unspoken moments of quiet connection. My movie wouldn’t skip over the heartbreak either. Because let’s be real—life isn’t all sun-dappled mesas and perfectly timed meet-cutes. It’s also about weathering the occasional New Mexico monsoon.

So, grab some popcorn, because I’m rolling the credits and casting the role of a lifetime: me.

Me, Played By... a Softer Brie Larson
Here’s the thing about casting yourself in a movie—you want someone who gets you. Brie Larson nails that blend of introspection and quiet sarcasm that defines my inner monologue. But in this hypothetical film, we’d soften her just a touch. Less Marvel, more indie darling. She’d need to master the art of putting on earrings made by a local silversmith and spacing out while gazing at purple-blue desert skies.

Think “post-breakup montage”: Brie sits on the roof of my childhood home, cradling a mug of coffee (black, because what is cream if not an emotional weakness?). Seagulls are for coastal girls; Brie’s soundtrack includes the faint echo of Native American drumming from the nearby pueblo. It's artsy, it’s contemplative, and luckily, hair frizz doesn’t exist in cinematic universe humidity control.

The Love Interest: Taika Waititi in a Flannel Shirt
Now, I’ve dated some characters—truthfully, a mixed bag of the good, the bad, and the “how did I get here?” types. But for movie magic, I need someone magnetic, quirky, and just the right amount of rugged. Enter Taika Waititi.

Picture him strolling into my family’s gallery during a summer monsoon, rain-soaked but still charming. He’s wearing a slightly faded flannel shirt and immediately comments on the angles in a painting displayed near the door. This is a man who cares about landscapes—and souls. He’s funny in a way that sneaks up on you, like when someone compares life to an Etch A Sketch and suddenly you’re crying but laughing too.

Sure, Taika might occasionally forget to text back, lost in some whimsical daydream. But isn’t that part of the fun? For every deep talk under the stars, there’s a random afternoon spent arguing over whether Georgia O’Keeffe’s cow skulls are feminist commentary or just, you know… skulls.

The Best Friend: Awkwafina, Obviously
No good movie is complete without a ride-or-die best friend. For my epic, that’s Awkwafina, effortlessly stealing scenes and delivering hard truths. She’d be the one dragging me out of my post-breakup cave to dance under lantern lights during Santa Fe’s summer festivals.

Our banter would be lightning-quick:
Me: “I think he ghosted me.”
Awkwafina: “Girl, you’ve got better things to do than worry about someone who can’t commit to punctuation.”
Cue a shot of me laughing so hard I spit my margarita, the kind of laugh that feels like it stitches your heart back together just a little. Awkwafina’s the glue that keeps my movie from veering completely into arthouse territory. (Someone has to drag me to karaoke when I’m otherwise feeling too reflective.)

The Setting: A Love Affair with Santa Fe
One of the biggest stars in my movie? Santa Fe itself. The city is dressed to the nines in vibrant adobe, sun-soaked courtyards, and an occasional dusting of snow. My daily life has included everything from gallery openings under pink-paintbrush sunsets to late-night taquitos with friends at divey roadside diners.

The romantic moments practically write themselves. A sunrise hike up Atalaya Mountain turns into an impromptu brunch at a corner café where the waiter knows your order before you sit down. Or walking through the Railyard Arts District in the spring, pausing to listen as a street musician strums a Spanish guitar. Santa Fe would be less of a backdrop and more of the movie’s heartbeat—a reminder that connection sometimes happens when we stop looking for it.

Supporting Cast: Exes, Flings, and the Ghosts of Dudes Past
Of course, what’s a movie without a few detours into romantic misadventures? There’s the ex who decided two months into dating that he needed to “find himself” in a yurt outside Taos. (Spoiler: I checked Instagram; he found Wi-Fi first.) Or the date who spent an hour explaining crypto to me without once noticing my politely glazed expression.

Every one of them left me with a story... and more importantly, a lesson:

  • The yurt guy? Sometimes, their need for “space” doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you.
  • Mr. Crypto? If they can’t ask you a single question about your passions, then it’s okay to end things before dessert.

The movie wouldn’t paint them as villains, just chapters in the story—necessary moments of discovery along the way, like stumbling into an odd little gallery that surprises you with one piece you love.

Final Act: The Moment It All Clicks
The closing scene of my life-movie? It’s not necessarily the grand romantic payoff Hollywood loves. Sure, a big kiss under the Santa Fe sky, surrounded by papel picado banners and distant thunder, would be lovely. But what I really want the audience to take away is this: fulfillment isn’t a destination—it’s an evolving landscape.

Some days, it’s laughter with friends; other times, it’s quiet moments alone. And the best connections? They aren’t just found—they’re built. Like my parents nurturing decades of artistic connections in their gallery, or a local weaver working strands of turquoise into a rug. Relationships are the art we create together, little by little.

The End... Or To Be Continued?
If my life were a movie, I’d want you leaving the theater feeling empowered. Maybe you’re ready to cast yourself in your own lead role—to embrace the quirks that make your story yours. Don’t wait for some director to yell “action.” Take the reins, rewrite the script, and don’t be afraid to improvise.

Because whether you’re flirting your way into your next chapter, cozying up for the long haul, or just basking in the beauty of your own company, the credits haven’t rolled yet. Your movie? It’s got Oscar potential.