This is why I’m here, chauffeuring around Shelby’s dad before the sun rises, trying to absorb as much know-how as I can before filming. The thing is, I know I can fake it. I could very easily pretend I’m a knowledgeable contractor with years of cabinetry experience. And even the most skilled builders aren’t experts in every aspect. That’s why there are a dozen different people on a site at any given time. Inspectors and mudders and electricians and plumbers and designers … everyone has a place in the renovations and I’m not expected to know everything.

But Shelby has her specialty and I want to contribute. I don’t want to only be the comic relief. That’s part of the fun, and what sells, but I want her respect. I want to take this seriously. I want to be taken seriously.

But that would mean staying here, committing to this place and this life. Could I give up being a nomad? Could I leave the rat race behind?

What if I could be a master of this?

If it means following Daniel house to house, scribbling notes and growing hard callouses over blisters and enduring the snide remarks from the good old boys about my Hollywood history, I’ll do it.

Whatever it takes.

“I wish you’d settle down,” my dad used to say. “Just pick something and give your whole self over to it. Instead of flying around God’s green earth, chasing mirages.”

Is this another mirage? It doesn’t feel that way. I think the extreme level of terrified I’m-gonna-fuck-this-up-itis keeping me up at night means I’m headed in the right direction. After years of swimming with the current, letting it lead me wherever, I’m finally striking out against it and it’s exhausting.

But I like the look of the shore in this direction. I’m trying not to let that scare me. I have no less than four pitches from Nat Geo about potential projects in my inbox, and I can’t bring myself to open them for fear that I’ll grasp on to the easy out they offer.

That way lies the path of least resistance, but this way might lead to something real.

The days run together in a blur of binge-building apprenticeship. I can’t tell if it’s all sinking in, but I’m memorizing the jargon much the same as I used to memorize a script. The irony isn’t lost on me, but I can confidently play a builder on TV. I won’t know if I can pull off the rest until the camera rolls on Monday morning. This is probably why I’m sitting alone in the dark on a Saturday night, nursing a six-pack of beer at the Caroline Street house.