"Will the Real Brett Goldstein Please Stand Up?" Part 2

In the Spirit of All Great Sequels

In our last episode, Francisca awoke to two Instagram notifications.

One said, "Brett Goldstein started following you."

The other? "Brett Goldstein sent you a message."

Cue the theme music from whatever show makes you feel alive—mine was Cheers.

I chose the theme song from Cheers because, let's be honest:

"Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got.

Taking a break from all your worries sure would help a lot."

And how can you not feel good after hearing that tune?

Black Coffee in Bed

I decided the only way to make sense of the events already unfolding—before 9 a.m., mind you—was with a strong cup of java.

Preferably black… until I drown it in enough creamer to qualify as dessert,

ideally in my favorite Muppets mug. That combo, right there. It can get you through just about anything.

I took a sip and glanced at the glowing notification again, hesitant but curious.

What did this message have in store for me?

My dream about Brett was still lingering, so I let myself lean into the realm of possibility.

No matter how irrational it sounded in my head, I opened the message.

"Hello Francisca,

Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Brett Goldstein. We have never met, but I had this incredible dream last night, and you were in it."

(Bonus points if you can guess what movie that last line is from.)

"I think I may be falling in love with you."

Alright… maybe it didn't happen exactly like that.

The real message said:

"Hello Francisca,

I wanted to thank you for your undying support as a fan. I created this account as a way to communicate with my fans."

My first thought? Bummer.

Followed by: Okay… definitely a scam.

I mean—"undying support as a fan"? Really? Who says that?

The Word "Fan"

When I read the words "undying fan," I had a moment.

That word—fan—always trips me up. I can be a fan of your work.

But the whole "I am your fan" thing? That's always felt like building a pedestal neither of us asked for.

Celebrities are people, just like you and me…

The only difference? The absurd and unfair amount of wealth and power they have compared to most people in the world.

Yeah. I said it.

Social commentary made. Now, back to the story.

The Interrogation

Now I had a choice:

Do I delete the message without a second thought?

Report the account?

Or do I ask this person a series of questions only Brett Goldstein would know how to answer?

The issue?

I didn't know anything about Brett Goldstein.

So I decided to keep it real.

I asked my new IG friend when he realized he wanted to be Brett Goldstein.

They were taken aback. I assured them it was a judgment-free zone—I was genuinely curious.

They said, "at birth," then dropped an email address, asking me to message them there.

So I did.

The Clone Wars Begin

I know what you're thinking: Why would you email him?

Honestly? I was bored.

And maybe there was a story in it.

I wasn't traveling or doing makeup for big events anymore. Creatively, I felt stuck.

The last time I felt truly alive in that realm was when I was writing my piece for Voyage Dallas.

So I played along—half-curious, half-hopeful that I could get Mr. Frett Foldstein (yes, I named him that, because, come on…) to admit he was a farce and maybe even explain what led him down this strange path.

Spoiler alert: He didn't.

After continuously asking Foldstein questions, I'd Google the actual answers and correct him.

(I mean… if you're going to impersonate someone, do your research, man.)

Eventually, I think he got tired and cut to the chase by asking if I'd donate to one of his philanthropy charities.

I told him our time had passed, reported the account, and hung up my Peter Parker hat.

My vigilante days were over.

The Question Still Lingered

I still wondered:

Was there something behind the bizarre, coincidental timing of the dream and the message?

I didn't have an answer.

So I paused. Reflected. Shook it off and moved on.

"Do the Thing"

A couple of months later, Brett showed up in my dreams again.

This time, we were sitting side by side in a movie theater.

I don't remember what we were watching, but we were locked in.

Totally present.

He turned to me, smiled, and said:

"Do the Thing."

Then I woke up.

A few days later…

Another Brett Goldstein account slid into my DMs.

"Hello, I am Brett Goldstein. I wanted to reach out and thank you for…"

Yada yada yada.

At this point, I had a signature reply:

"When did you realize you wanted to be Brett Goldstein?"

They dodged the question. I blocked and reported them.

Again.

Now I wasn't just annoyed—I was mystified,

By the impersonators, by the dreams, by the pull.

The Breadcrumb

At some point, I needed to know: Who the hell is this man?

A man I had never met. Who hadn't crossed my mind unless I was watching Ted Lasso.

Who was this man appearing in my dreams and dropping by with messages?

So I did some research.

And I discovered Brett had a podcast.

I love stumbling onto new shows, and this one felt like the right way to get a sense of his energy.

So I picked a random episode.

Enter: "Do the Thing" (Again)

In the episode, Brett and his guest discussed Doing the Thing.

And suddenly, I was all ears.

The Thing—as it turns out—is whatever it is you've been putting off.

Your art. Your passion. Your purpose.

The Thing you want to try, but haven't yet, because you are afraid of how it will land.

The takeaway?

Don't worry if it's good or bad.

Don't obsess over how it will be received.

Just do the Thing.

And that… landed.

It made perfect sense.

The idea of quieting the noise, pushing fear aside, and going for it—I hadn't been able to reconnect with that mindset in years.

After my divorce…

After the pandemic wiped out my career…

After everything…

I had felt frozen.

Writing scared me.

But when I did it—when I wrote about deeply personal, often painful things—people responded.

They felt it.

They saw themselves in it.

That spark lit something I couldn't ignore.

And clearly, the universe would not let me ignore it either.

So… I didn't.

"Films to Be Buried With"

Podcast or Portal?

If you're unfamiliar with Films to Be Buried With, let me just say—

I highly recommend it.

It's a podcast about films, death, the afterlife, and all the unexpected soul-stirring layers in between.

It was nothing like I expected and exactly what I needed.

Honestly?

I'd call it more of a portal than a podcast.

It became a kind of spiritual GPS—mapping everything I was experiencing in the 5D, as it began bleeding into the 3D.

I know how that sounds.

Trust me, I wouldn't have understood either if someone else had said it.

But I wasn't just hearing the messages—I was living them.

Every episode felt like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

Another message waiting to be revealed on my Orphan Annie secret decoder.

Except the message wasn't "Drink your Ovaltine."

It was something deeper. Much deeper.

I learned Brett believed in the Pixar Soul theory—an idea that completely aligned with my views on the afterlife.

And I learned that the one Thing that brought me joy and peace as a child—the Muppets—also happened to be one of his great loves.

It became clear:

Brett wasn't a random pick from the universe.

They chose someone who could speak to my soul.

In a way that my soul could recognize and understand.

Six Degrees of Brett Goldstein

Meanwhile... as life was lifing, I had decided I would try my hand at writing a blog.

The idea of writing a book felt completely overwhelming. A blog sounded like a good way to test the waters.

I was also starting to work again in the makeup industry as a freelance artist.

Seeing where everyone in my artist community landed during COVID was interesting.

Some were forced to leave the industry altogether.

Some were able to hang on and make their way through it.

One of those people was a former colleague I had worked with during my MAC days.

If you've read my blogs, you know I don't use people's real names.

We will call her Regina Phalange.

Regina had moved from Texas to California to attend a makeup design school.

After completing her training, she eventually made her way into set makeup.

One of the things I love about the artists in my community is that we cheer each other on.

When one rises, it feels like we all rise.

Regina and I often exchanged comments on IG about the fun projects she was working on.

Without oversharing the surreal dream saga, I once told her:

"If you ever end up working with Brett Goldstein, you have to tell me."

I framed it like a harmless little crush—

Which wasn't a total lie, just not the whole cosmic enchilada.

Explaining that part?

Yeah, not exactly something you casually drop into an Instagram comment.

Whenever she posted a new project with a new actor or actress, we'd play our version of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.

Only we called it: Six Degrees of Brett Goldstein.

It was entertaining. It gave us a chuckle.

And in the midst of missing the world I once knew, it made me feel a little more connected.

Makeup was my passion. I was committed to finding my way back to it.

But in the meantime, writing gave me a new kind of outlet—

One that allowed me to explore, express, and process everything I'd been carrying.

The Flow

Something shifted once I stopped trying to make sense of everything and just let myself move with it.

I didn't realize it at the time, but I had entered the flow—a space where inspiration and intuition started working together.

The dreams kept coming.

And with every dream, a new story surfaced.

Writing became less about structure and more about channeling.

It was as if something had been waiting for me to stop resisting, so it could begin pouring through.

And oh… did it ever.

Stella was getting her groove back—and then some.

Some things you can't fully explain.

But you can absolutely be grateful to be part of them.

I started seeing number synchronicities everywhere. All day. Every day.

Animals began showing up like messengers, particularly vultures.

Album Cover: The Stranger (1977), Billy Joel. Columbia Records

Music is a Universal Language 

The five-year-old little girl who used to burst into uncontrollable tears every time Roberta Flack's "Killing Me Softly" played?

That's the best way I can describe the impact music has always had on my soul.

Music is my first language.

English is my second.

So it only makes sense that the spiritual realm has always spoken to me through music.

I believe we have spiritual guides who walk with us throughout our lives—

the Clarences to our inner George Baileys.

Whether they show up in dreams or walk with us unseen.

They lift us up, quietly shake their heads when we try the same things, expecting different results,

and sometimes they send messages through music.

One of my guides is my stepfather.

One night, I sat down to meditate. I felt brave enough to ask him directly,

"Are you one of my guides?"

The air was still. My bedroom window was cracked.

The moment I asked, a sudden gust of wind blew in, rattling the window frame.

And then, a giant moth flew into the room.

(Go ahead, look up the spiritual meaning of moths.)

I figured I was tapped in. So I asked the following question—the one that had been echoing through me for the last year:

"Does this whole Brett Goldstein thing actually mean something?

Or have I finally lost my damn mind?"

At that exact moment, I had earbuds in. I was going to listen to meditation music.

But my dad clearly had other ideas.

Out of nowhere, Billy Joel started playing.

"Piano Man," to be exact.

It was a song rooted in a strangely tender memory.

I was five. My parents had been arguing that morning, and my dad decided he would be the one to pick me up from ballet class that afternoon.

He took me to a little neighborhood Italian restaurant—one we used to go to often.

I still remember the red-and-white checkered tablecloths, the old wine bottles that had been turned into candle holders…

A real Lady and the Tramp vibe was going on.

That afternoon, we sat at the bar.

He drank beer. I was handed Shirley Temples.

Piano Man started playing on the jukebox.

And I remember sitting there, scanning the restaurant,

trying to match the characters in the song to the people around me.

Playing a quiet game of concentration in my head.

My father was an alcoholic and a deeply tortured soul.

But he loved me dearly.

He also introduced me to one of the greatest albums ever made—Billy Joel's The Stranger.

I knew every word to every track on that album by the time I was seven.

My dad passed away 25 years ago.

To this day, if I ask the universe a question,

I often get a Billy Joel song as my answer.

My guides like to mix it up—sometimes it's Stevie Wonder, sometimes it's a Muppets soundtrack drop.

But I've come to recognize their patterns. Their humor. Their presence.

And somewhere along the way, I heard Brett mention his love for Billy Joel.

Specifically… The Stranger.

It felt like another breadcrumb.

One more thread pulling me deeper into the surreal space between memory and meaning.

And then, just days later…

I had the dream.

"The Red Balloon"

Now, in a growing series of vivid dreams, I was about to have the dream of all dreams.

Imagine the most beautiful place your soul could conjure. 

That is where this dream took place.

We were at a restaurant perched on the edge of a sea cliff, yet somehow still grounded—its tables surrounded by gently lapping water.

The sky was a soft blue, kissed with coastal overcast.

You could smell the ocean air.

People strolled by with strollers and dogs.

Children flew kites in the distance.

It was the perfect "Easy Like Sunday Morning" scene.

Honestly?

I imagine this is what my version of heaven might look like.

I was surrounded by the people I love most in this world—

and a few new faces, too.

They felt like future soul tribe members, people I hadn't met yet but somehow already knew.

I remember thinking:

I could live in this moment forever.

Brett was there, too—smiling, relaxed, with a couple of his friends nearby.

He had started a movie trivia game (shocker, right?).

And at one point, he turned to my son and asked:

"What's your favorite memory of watching a movie?"

My son replied without hesitation:

"When I watched The Red Balloon with my mom when I was little.

It's one of my favorite memories."

Brett stood across the table from us, taking it in.

Then he looked over at me and gave that smile.

One of those soul-softening, signature Brett smiles—

the kind that could close out a movie, fade to black, and leave you sitting in the credits with tears in your eyes.

And just like that, I began to wake up.

As my eyes opened, my phone lit up.

"Brett Goldstein sent you a message."

I knew it wasn't real.

I knew the person behind it wasn't actually Brett Goldstein.

I knew I'd have to report and block the account again.

It felt like a ritual at this point.

A weird cosmic glitch.

Groundhog Day with a touch of surrealism.

Only this time?

There was a twist coming.

"Six Degrees of Brett Goldstein Minus One" 

I had my Muppets coffee cup in hand when I decided to Google The Red Balloon.

Contrary to what my son said in the dream, we'd never actually watched that movie together.

In fact, I'd never even heard of it.

Turns out, there was a book and a thirty-four-minute short film.

I opted for the film.

The film is layered in symbolism—subtle, surreal, and emotional.

I'll let you look it up for yourself, because the takeaway will likely be different for everyone.

Take what resonates—and leave the rest.

I didn't know what to think at that point.

Which was fine, I needed to get on with my day anyway.

But first, a quick scroll through Instagram.

My friend Regina had posted a new story, so I tapped it.

It was a photo of her latest commercial work with a well-known actor.

I messaged her.

First and foremost, I complimented her beautiful work.

Then I joked:

"Looks like we're getting closer in our six degrees of Brett Goldstein."

I was not prepared for her reply.

She responded, casually—like she hadn't just cracked the sky open:

"I'm starting work on set with Brett next week."

What?!

All I could think was:

Should I do it? Should I really do this? Am I actually doing this?

Do what, you ask?

Should I give her the thank-you letter I wrote to Brett?

The one I never thought he'd see, let alone read.

The letter I wrote from my soul to his—

Thanking him for helping me rediscover parts of myself I had forgotten,

pushing me to Do the Thing.

And guiding me through a time when I felt completely directionless.

I have always believed that if someone has had a positive impact on your life,

You should tell them.

You should thank them.

Because gratitude is a ripple effect.

Maybe he already knew.

Maybe he's seen me in his dreams.

Maybe there's some kind of soul recognition.

Or maybe—he has no idea at all.

But what I knew, in that moment,

was that I was being handed something sacred—

The chance to close the loop, to send love back through the thread that had pulled me forward.

So I sent her the letter.

Not for a reply.

Not for recognition.

Just to honor the journey.

I sent her the letter to give to him.

To be continued…

When nothing is certain, anything is possible.

-Margaret Drabble

 .—Margaret

Behind the Music

What a ride. And it's not even over.

I know there will be people out there who think I'm full of "woo woo."

And honestly? That's perfectly okay.

I didn't share this story to convince anyone of anything.

I shared it to plant the idea of possibility.

I know life can feel easier to digest when it is viewed in black and white.

But the universe is far too vast for that, and human beings?

We're far too layered.

And if I ever doubted that?

Let me just say… I never imagined I would write a blog about a man I met in the dream realm.

Sure, plenty of us have had dreams about mysterious, faceless men popping up.

But those usually fall into a very different genre—and definitely a whole other type of blog. [insert raised eyebrow energy]

This was different.

This experience wasn't about Brett Goldstein.

It was about faith.

Faith in myself.

Faith in something bigger.

Faith in the strange, sacred language of synchronicity.

It was about learning to trust my instincts—

to embrace my gifts instead of hiding from them.

It was about realizing that the very things we thought would break us…

might actually be the things aligning us with our purpose.

This blog is now in the process of becoming a manuscript for a publishing company.

Maybe that was always the plan.

Who knows?

What I do know is that I have learned to embrace the unknown.

To take chances on myself.

To believe that I can create

Something miraculous.

"Everybody has a dream / And this is my dream, my own."

-Billy Joel, Everybody Has a Dream

.—Margaret