I met my fellow Lost Girls for a film screening at the fancy Tribeca Grand Hotel. Looking around at the crowd of well-dressed New Yorkers sipping martinis made me realize how easy it is to get sucked back into my old life of working and hitting the party scene. I want to have fun, but I donít want to forget the lessons I learned from my travels.
I want to remember that thereís a whole world of people out there living a completely different reality than what Iím accustomed to in the Big Apple: There are the smiling Balinese who make daily offerings to the gods, or the orphans I worked with in Kenya who sleep in Spartan huts without electricity, or the Peruvian porters who carry packs bigger than their bodies up the Andes Mountains for less than $10 a day.
Until the book is written, I wonít have much time to channel into The Lost Girls charity foundation that we hope to create. But if we do get a book advance, Iím going to try to give something back by sponsoring Ester, the orphan I fell in love with at the volunteer program in Kenya. I know itís not much, but maybe even a small move will make a difference. At least it might for Ester.