From a Right Wrong Turn to a Perfect Right Turn

Turning that corner after a really bad right turn I had made, I found myself crying like María Magdalena on a park bench near my house in Quito. To get to that park I’d had to make a right turn. I stormed out of my house in tears of anger — furious at myself for feeling small, wishing I had the body of Hulk Hogan so I could fight fair and square with my opponent: a skinny man who looked like Snoopy’s brother, Spike.

In our neighborhood, everyone knows him as el pendejo — but to me, he will always look like Spike, Snoopy’s scruffy desert brother.

Sometimes leaving a bad situation is the wisest thing you can do. I refused to give that cartoon the honor of being the main character of my story. He was just a stupid guy who made me cry because I realized I was too strong and too smart to waste my energy on him. It takes guts and dignity not to get pulled into the pendulum of someone else’s drama.

So, I walked away, tears still hot on my face, and sat on the first bench I saw. Feeling sorry for myself, my head spinning with plans to get out of that city, I suddenly saw the sunlight — and it wasn’t the sun. It was my brother’s childhood best friend, Alex. He became my ray of light on that awful, cloudy afternoon. He saw me in distress and, like my brother, immediately crossed the street to check on me.

I told him what had happened. Without hesitation, he pulled his house keys from his pocket and said, “If you need a place to stay, go to my apartment. I won’t be home — I’ll be on tour — but for your safety, please go.” His words felt like they came from the heavens; in that moment I believed my brother had sent him. It was a Sunday — that part of the city was dead — and he appeared out of nowhere. I will never forget his kindness.

Still, I decided not to leave my house. I wasn’t going to be kicked out by el hermano pendejo de Snoopy. In the end, it was him who left that night — on the last flight out of Quito.

That day, I learned that even the worst turns can lead you toward grace — that sometimes the right turn comes disguised as a wrong one, and the universe sends you a ray of light just when you need it most.