Forced Career Recalibration
One of the sad moments in my career was losing a job because of the economy. In my first real-career job out of college I worked as television promotion producer and shortly following the September 11 attacks the economy tanked and local businesses stopped advertising on television, causing the station to pull the plug on my position. This moment was one of the driving forces for me to embark on new and exciting paths towards becoming a creative professional.
I registered for unemployment, which needed a couple weeks to process the claim, cashed my severance paycheck, and then headed back to the airport. I bought a ticket back to Cancun, Mexico. All I had with me was a backpack, a change of clothes, and a notebook with a few pens for a short return back to the Caribbean Sea.
My emotions ran strong. I felt powerless with the current method of earning a living, needing a television station to do my work. My bitterness of locally losing my trade had me wanting to diversify those skills. I decided that if I could write for magazines or perhaps become an author, I would rid myself of the need of having so much overhead to do my craft. All I would need is a laptop and a story.
When I boarded the plane, I was on a new mission and focus. To go back to the area where I have just visited and collect names, streets, conversations and adventure, gathering a content for a storyline. Maybe a fiction novel? Or perhaps a non-fiction travel book. I had a plan to document everything, collecting notes and experiences that would help me write and publish a book while looking for work.
It felt great to be back in Cancun, smelling the humid and salty air, but it was awkward. I quickly got double takes from a few people who were working in the airport and the shuttle service staff who seemed to remember me from a few days prior. Their facial expressions seems to ask, “Why was that gringo back here?”
I got to work immediately after checking into a room back in Playa Del Carmen. Something came over me when I was preparing my notebook and walking alone down the festive street. I felt a sense of liberation and adventure, reminding me of my days in Asia when in the military. When I would set foot on land in a new country I jumped into a taxi, alone, and paid the driver for a one-way trip worth $20. The taxis would take me deep into the country then I would walk back, absorbing the surroundings and culture. All I had to do is find the ocean to find my way back home to the ship. I wrote THIS SONG about a bad experience that occurred during those years.
When you travel alone you are almost forced to begin new conversations with other people. Unlike my trip earlier with my friend where we were comfortable just talking to each other and not others. I’d talk to tourists and learn about their trips. My second night, one person suggested that I go to Belize to visit the keys and the Blue Hole. It sounded like a perfect idea, and the next day I checked out of my room and headed to the bus station.
The bus took us to the border, and I followed a group of English-speaking people to the other side, walking freely through the gate. It was much lighter security than the TSA security measures in play at the United States. Too easy, I thought.
My time in Belize was a wild ride. I didn’t have any plans or destinations in mind, deciding to take a bus to Belize City where I ended up staying at a hostel. There I learned about the keys, and how to travel to them aboard water taxis. I bounced from one key to the next, talking with the locals and tourists.
I was living in a dream when realizing that I should make my way back to Mexico. I boarded a plane in San Pedro (you may recognize that name from Madonna’s song). When I made it back to the border, I was stopped by security. I had forgotten to get my passport stamped when I entered, mistakenly following the crowd of people who I thought were US citizens, but were Belizeans not needing their passport stamped.
The officer was preparing to book me as an illegal immigrant. I told him that I would like to call NBC News in New York, fibbing that I was on assignment and they would be looking for me. He unhand cuffed me and told me to “get the hell out of my country.”
I spent the rest of my days in Mexico collecting stories and formulating a plot for my book.