Tulum – Douchebag mecca or victim of it’s own success?

If one were to magically procure Admin rights to Istragram and was able eliminate all post from Tulum, I’m fairly certain that’d reduce total content on the platform by at roughly 30 percent.  Why is that?  What makes makes Tulum the ideal backdrop for the willfuly self-obsessed narcissists weirdly expending a great deal of energy to convince strangers they are “living their best” lives?  Is it Tulum’s fault, or is this once sleepy beach town in Quintana Roo the victim of the creeping, malignant douchery that has infected global culture since the invention of social media?  Sit back and relax, dear reader, as your fearless correspondent attempts to “downward dog” in this particular minefield.

But first, full disclosure:  Your scribe is of a certain age, so what follows is a bit of the ol’ obligatory “things were much better in my day”.  Sure, but bear with me, there is a reason for it.  In any event, I’m not unfamiliar with Mexico, but let’s face it, I am still very much a gringo.  I claim no deep cultureal knowledge of Mexico and only a slightly better understanding of issues in the Yucatan and Quintana Roo states.  My Spanish, once half-way decent, has atrophied by many years in Europe.  Suffice it to say, however, that my first travels in that area were decades ago, roughly around the time (or perhaps before) most of the IG influencers in question were born.  I had just resigned from my  job and was taking an extended, hyper low budget backpacking trip with Guatemala, Belize and Mexico.  We had crossed the border from Belize into Chetumal and were looking for cool, but above all, cheap places to visit.  In those days internet technically existed but it was not the tool it is now.  There was no social media or forums where one could get travel tips.  There were, however, travel guides such as Lonely Planet and, of course, word of mouth.  Once you were “on the circuit” with other young backpackers, people exchange information and “humble brag” about the places they’ve visited.  The modus operandi of this form of travel involved taking cheap buses to whereever you wanted to go and then, once onsite, immediatly hitting cheap guest hostels that you had heard about to procure a room, bunk or hammock.  As an interesting cultural aside, in 7 weeks of travelling like this I ran into very, very few Americans or Canadians.  My fellow travellers were almost entirely European, Aussies, Kiwis and Israelis.   For one, Yanks and Canucks have very little vacation time in general so to take such a trip would be (as was my case) an exception.  “Gap years” is not a thing in North American culture.

In any event, as we made our way up the coast we made plans to stop in Tulum to see what sounded pretty cool – a pyramid on the beach!  At that time Tulum was a little bit out of the way and from what we heard, a bit of a gamble in regards to lodging.  We had heard there wasn’t much, so the concern was if we got there too late we wouldn’t find a cheap room, or whatever, and would be stuck because there weren’t lots of buses on a daily basis.  We made it, however, and were able to score lodging.  Tulum was really, really basic back then, what I remember most about it (away from the beach part) was the dust.  It was pretty hot but that’s to be expected in the Yucatan in August.  The pyramid was definitely worth the trip, though, for the setting as well as wildlife surrounding and/or in it.  There were some hippy dippy, cheap new agey backpacker type hostels and cafes that were a fixture of this whole “circuit” but they were relatively few.   Most of what you see now in Tulum, whether in the town itself or on the “fabulous” beach zone, didn’t exist yet.  There were no high end boutique hotels, no condos, and no real fanfare about the place.  I remember thinking, indeed, this place is cool but not really great for an extended stay unless you had a car (and could visit the surrounding area which as many interesting things) or was a hardcore beach lover.

Anyway, we eventually made our way to Playa del Carmen which back then was going through it’s “Tulum” moment, although much more under the radar as the whole “hype” machine was not as efficient back then.  It was the anti-Cancun.  Small, affordable, laid-back village that was still “identifiably” Mexican.  None of the silly adult Disneyland vibes.  It was just a big village on the coast with really, really nice beaches.  At that time there were these big palapas on the beach and you could rent hammocks for roughly 2 bucks US a night.  It was bigger than Tulum, for sure, but still very manageable.  There was no city vibe at all.  Yes, there were  the same hippy, new agey backpacker establishments that we’d seen in other places.  I don’t remember any high end hotels and certainly nothing over 2 or 3 stories.  It reminds of Progresso as it is now, only the town was less grubby and the beaches much, much nicer.  Kilometers/miles of unspoiled beaches and a really special vibe.  Mexico was and still is a pretty socially conservative culture yet, for some reason, a pretty permissive feeling reigned over Playa del Carmen.  At this time, topless sunbathing was still a norm in much of Europe and therefore, due to the high concentration of European backpackers, it was tolerated in PdC.  I thought I had died and gone to heaven.  Sleeping on a hammock on the beach, grabbing cheap beer and food from taquerias and surrounded by scads of attractive, scantily clad eurobabes.  I remember taking a long walk on the unbelievably beautiful beach ( no sargasso seaweed back then) one day and stumbling accross a nude photo shoot.  It wasn’t close to the action, sure, but it was not that far.  It was a professional affair with the requisite photography paraphenalia and 2 two breathtaking, butt nekkid models.  However, no gawkers or weirdos… people would might stop to look briefly but it would have been deeply uncool to sit there and drool.  Was this an example of cultural and economic imperialism?  Yep, it probably was.  Nonetheless, it was cool vibe without descending in some of the tackier and dodgy “druggy” vibes that you often encountered in backpacker “towns”.

Fast foward a few years, I was installed in Europe and had convinced some European and US friends to meet me in PdC for a 2 week holiday.  My first impression, not surprisingly, was that travelling to Mexico all the way from Europe is a big, long deal.  It’s perhaps even easier to go Asia from here than go to Mexico.  When I arrived in Playa, the town had grown to, I guess, a small city but it was still recognizable as the place I had seen before.  A few more hotels, cafes and bars, but still not Cancun-like by any means.  I remember looking for the palapa where I had rented the hammock, and I think it was gone.  The vibe was a little less “backpacker” counterculture than it was previously, but it was fine.  Restaurants, bars and clubs were cool but without the “exclusive”  vibe or preciousness that would later install itself in Tulum.  One day I rented a jeep so my friends and I could go Sian K’aan and check out Tulum on the way back.  However, when the day came my friends were all sleeping off hangovers.  I had one too, but since I had reserved the jeep I felt obligated to go.  It was a really cool trip, at one point I was on a single track road in the jungle near (but outside of) Sian K’aan and I was just surrounded by thousands upon thousands on butterflies.  On the way back I stopped in Tulum.  It had grown, but it still was still small-scale.  It reminded of PdC when I first visited.  In fact, I thought to myself that it’d be cooler to stay here now but we were locked-in hotel wise and besides some of my friends were not fans of the backpacker hostel on a jungle beach thing.  (Two of them fruitlessly searched for any place that served Champagne in PdC and couldn’t find any.  Oh, how things have changed…).

Years pass, I now have a family and am back in Mexico visiting some family and friends who live there.  They tell me how Playa del Carmen has exploded and indeed has become the fastest growing city in Mexico.  I couldn’t really conceive of this, but, I said to myself, I guess it was only a matter of time.  Even over multiple trips to Mexico during this period I didn’t make it to the “Mayan Riveria” right away.  I did land in Cancun each time though, and I’d note that the sign posting on the highway  for PdC and Tulum(!) which I noted with interest.  Anyway, roughly 7 years ago I went to a very secluded bunch of beach huts in Sian K’aan with some family and friends.  As the crow flies, the beach huts are not that far from the Tulum but given the state of the road it was good, bumpy 2 hour drive.  Anyway, on my way from Cancun airport I stopped at the PdC ADO bus station to pick up a friend…my brain was literally wrecked.  I could not equate the place I knew before with this big sprawling city.  As we continuted on, we inevitably arrived in Tulum.  Yes, it had grown, but not like Playa del Carmen.  To get access the Sian K’aan road you must past through the Tulum beach hotel zone.  It had changed, it was more upscale in design and no doubt pricewise, but it retained the jungle beach feel.  The clientele seemed to be mostly youngish, as before, but not of the backpacker sort.  There were lots of tanned, ripped Abs gay dudes cruisiing around (in both senses of the word) on fat-tired beachcruiser bikes, and lots of quite frankly really hot, bodied up yoga bunnies trailed inevitably by straight dudes who seemed to be feverishly dreaming of strategies of relieving said yoga bunnies of their Lululemons.  Man-buns, pork-pie hats, signs for yoga retreats and fucking pretentious locavore organic restaurants chef’d by gringos were everywhere.  Tulum was still cool and the natural setting still beautiful, certainly, but the vibe had become more”exclusive” and therefore douche-ier.

Nonetheless, it was fun to chuckle and play hipster bingo during our visits to Tulum every few days for supplies.  One day, I even went to Tulum with a friend in an attempt to “go out” for an evening.  We tried, we really did, to hit the beach hotel zone first to get a drink and then dinner.  And, yes, it’s very pretty and there is, to paraphrase 10,000 IG posts, a sort of special energy that is perhaps a product of the natural setting and, if you want to get more “woo-woo”, maybe even the pyramid a few kilometers away.  But holy shit, the clientele, that has changed.  Not everyone, but a significant minority, acts as if they are being trailed by invisible camera crew that are documenting the utter fabulousness of their lives.  There is energy, for sure, but some of it seems forced now.  Instagram, let’s be honest, is used for presenting an airbrushed, photoshopped versions of most people’s lives.  Hanging out in beach zone was like inhabiting a surreal IG live-feed.  And I get why so many people were and are posting almost obligatory pics from Tulum.  It’s cool, it’s hipster, it’s the anti-Cancun.  The subtext, which is not very subtle, is  that I’m not one of those obese, infantile lobster red masses wallowing in low brow massed tourism.  But there is now an strong undercurrent of “trying too hard” that would have frowned upon before.  We just couldn’t hack all of the fabulousness and forced smiles so we went into Tulum town for some beers and seafood – and had a grand old time.

Another reason Tulum is THE grand-daddy of all IG tourist spots is an absolutely brilliant marketing strategy which I think was discovered accidently but is now being overtly executed.  If you are easily trigged by non-PC truths, dear reader, please skip this paragraph.  In any event, because of it’s setting and probably also a well developed new agey scene in Mexico itself, Tulum slowly started to attract yogis, massage therapists and other sort of new agey types. Yoga, massages, organic food, crystal therapies, visits to cenotes to vibe with “positive energy” etc, is the sort of stuff that attracts straight women and a certain type of gay man.  A byproduct of all that yoga and well-being are a clientele that are relatively fit.  In short, Tulum became known as a destination filled with yoga MILFs and their gay equivalent hotties.  And that, my friends, attracted the dudes (straight, gay or whatever).  Which leads to more “peacocking” and and exclusiveness as said dudes feel the need to compete.  And, yes, also some of the women are shallow as well and require “cute, trendy cafes and shops”, etc.  Shallow, yes, simplistic, yep.  But true, yeah, it is.  Take a look a most of the leading establishments in Tulum.  The marketing strategies are exclusively targetting yoga yummy mummy and IG hottie demographic.  For real, read the promotional drivel and ask yourself if somewhere there is a straight 30something man going “wow, that sounds like exactly what I’m looking for”.  No, the establishments attract the women.  Some of these women are IG , ahem, influencers.  They post a few butt pics from the beach to score IG credibility points and/or because of a promotional deal with a hotel.  IG puts it out there that this place is filled eye candy.  The hotels and other establishments don’t need to market to guys.  If they attract the flowers, the bees will come.  Kudos and a golf clap to all those involved.

So, the final question, has Tulum jumped the shark?  I havent been there in 4 years or so but it seems to have achieved terminal saturation on IG.  Reports of Tulum’s demise have been heralded repeatedly for the last few years but it’s still a contender and still hasn’t gone “Playa del Carmen” although the reasons for that are both encouraging and discouraging (It’d take another post to explain).  At some point soon, people will move onto some place “less discovered” and therefore cooler in the IG-sphere.  And there are indeeds spots like those, a few hours drive from Tulum.  The saving grace is that represents, unlike Tulum, a longish trip by car or bus from Cancun airport.  But inevitably those spots will go the same route of Tulum.  If it brings much needed money and infrastructure to local (most Mayan) populace, then I’m all for it.

 

The Mythical Land of Oz

 

I was born in The Land Down Under.  While it wasn’t exactly an accident of birth (heck, I was even conceived in Oz) my birthplace is not one of my more salient facts.  If you met me today absolutely nothing about me screams, or even whispers, Australian.  I am relatively unsullied by and downright ignorant of things Oz-related.  The closest I’ve to Australia in the past few decades has been in travelling SE Asia and, culturally speaking, attending a Midnight Oil gig at the Paradise in Boston way back in the day.   (Oh, yeah, and I read The Fatal Shore  some years back)  You see, my parents were expatriates at the time and we left Oz when I was still a wee sprog.  Realistically, I’ve not really been there…and yet, in a rather important sense, I have.

It’s funny how seemingly insignificant facts can influence one’s life.  I feel like the Mariner in Coleridge’s poem The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Australia is the Albatross around my neck. It’s a fact that I’m not allowed to forget and that I am required to explain the circumstances of ad infinitum.  This is no slight on Australia, by all accounts I hear it’s a lovely place and the Australians I’ve met, without exception, were good craic.  You’d be surprised how many official and professional documents require to list your birthplace.  Often these documents assume your birthplace=your nationality which always requires further explanation for people like me.  For some reason, this singles me out for extra questioning at Customs/passport control without fail in Anglophone countries.  “Let’s see, you were born in Australia, you are X nationality, you’ve traveled widely and you live in Y country”.  So you’re obliged to give the whole spiel about who you are.  Interestingly, Customs agents in non-English speaking countries don’t bat an eyelid – never question it.  I wonder, when I do eventually visit Australia,  if Australian Customs will even notice.  It’d be hysterical if they didn’t.

A few years back I found myself in a fairly stressful situation.  I was being interviewed by a committee and they had my dossier.  The forms in my dossier asked for my place of birth but not my nationality.  I should note that this interview was not in English so while I have a slight Anglophone accent, it’d be rather hard to judge my nationality.  Anyway, they lit up like Christmas trees when they saw the word Australia and people started to wax melodic about Sydney, the Outback, Barossa Valley, etc.  I just smiled and made non-commital comments, neither denying nor confirming my Aussie-tude.  The rest of interview went swimmingly, better than I can could have imagined.  Cheers, Australia.

Those of us of a certain age will remember things Australian were hugely trendy in the 80s – at least in North America.  This was largely due to a God-awful movie called Crocodile Dundee, a film that has not aged well at all.  Honestly, try watching it now, it’s painfully bad.  People at that time just couldn’t get enough of Australian accents – it was a veritable strine-mania.  I remember briefly thinking they were cool without giving it too much thought.  I do watch Australian TV shows (via Netflix and UK-based TV) these days and I can’t help wondering why Australian accents were considered cool.  They’re just as horrid as any other accent, but that’s not necessarily a pejorative.  It means they’ve got character.  I lived in Boston for 12 years and during that time I had a complicated relationship with the real Bawstin accent, theah.  It grated on me after a while.  Now, when I hear a real honest to goodness Boston accent, I can’t help but smile, I love it.  The Boston accent has character, it’s like no other US accent you’ll hear.  It’s also a reflection of the culture, it’s an unapologetic, unique mindset of its own.  People from Mass can be loud, brash, bordering on the obnoxious sometimes but also funny and really good-hearted.

So I am thinking of finally visiting Australia next year.  Mostly sticking to Sydney and Melbourne but I’m open to suggestions.  I will also probably visit, for the complete heck of it, the city of my birth as it’s between Sydney and Melbourne.   Also looking to visit the best powerlifting gyms I can find in those locations. If anybody has suggestions about what to do in Australia in general or powerlifting gyms in particular, I’d be much obliged.

 

Been down so long looks like up to me

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To those of you who started reading this post because you are fans of Richard Farina – my apologies.  This post will not discuss his seminal novel of the same name/title (see above).  For some reason when I sat down to ponder reverse culture shock this phrase/title literally popped into my head.  Score one for the subconscious, that industrious bastard is always cooking up something on the down low.  I think maybe the title came to me because (forgive me, it’s been maybe 30 years since I read the novel) on a broader sense the novel is about shifting paradigms, of examining the familiar from a different critical perspective.  Or maybe it’s just a really cool title.  Perhaps a little of both.

Anyway, I have been pondering this phenomenon of late.  Is it a real thing?  The short answer is “yes”.  Has technology muddied the waters?  Oh hell yes.  (“Muddied the waters”, man, the ol’ subconcious is working overtime today.  I just realized that the title of this post( and Richard Farina’s book) originally comes from an old Blues song.  Muddy Waters didn’t sing it, but you see where I’m going with this…)  Technology, and how it affects acculturation, is a subject fit for a book, not just a blog post.  Suffice it to say that when I was a kid, living outside of my “passport” country, my only real links to that culture were my parents and books.  Powerful forces, to be sure, but add satellite dishes and the internet and you have a very effective layer of insulation between you and the host culture.  This phenomenon is, of course, a very sharp double-edged sword.

Let’s assume, hopefully, that one has adapted in a healthy way to their new host country.  After living there for a number of years you should have learned the language and culture mores, made friends/social acquaintances of different nationalities and feel comfortable, “at home”,  in your host country.   Granted, you have increased ties to your “homeland” thanks to technology, but let’s not forget that those ties are “virtual” at best.  Let’s assume that distance (and maybe inclination) precludes you from visiting your home country often.  At what point does “reverse” culture shock kick in?  2 months, 1 year, 15 years?  And what is reverse culture shock anyway?  A sense of anomie in one’s own country?  This short article from Investopedia (of all sources) describes it fairly well: https://www.investopedia.com/terms/r/reverse-culture-shock.asp

To add some personal perspective to the issue, I will say that nothing is weirder than experiencing culture shock in your own culture.  By now, I have lived outside of my home culture country the majority of my life.  I do make it back there, albeit very infrequently.  The first few days are always a complete head-wrecker.  No joke, I sometimes lean on friends and family in certain situations to tell me what to do or add context, as if they’re cultural Sherpas or something.  It’s faintly ridiculous, of course, so it’s best to recognize the humor and roll with it.  To answer the question above, all the TV and YouTube videos in the world cannot (re)acclimate you sufficiently to a culture.  You need to live in that culture.  While reverse culture shock is indeed a thing, it’s not that big a deal.  You’ve got all the tools you need: family, friends, language, etc.  Reverse culture shock just means that your mastery of the culture has become a bit fuzzy and needs some fine-tuning, like trying to improve the focus of a local UHF TV channel back in the day.  (For you young’uns who don’t get that reference, look it up on the interwebs).

 

 

 

 

Ain’t no half reppin’

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Something miraculous happened on Friday night.  I got out of work late so I went to big Globo gym because, well,  its nearby.  Say what you will about this gym, it does have 8 power racks and plentiful benches.  I’ve only had to wait for a bench once in 3 years and I’ve never had to wait for a power rack.   So you can imagine my surprise when I strolled out of the locker room and realized that all 8 power racks were taken.  Not only were they in use, they were all being used for squatting!

“What the hell”, I thought, “is there some new social media challenge craze?”.  To say this was anomalous behaviour for this gym is pure understatement.  Sure, there are a few lifters at this place that powerlift or Olympic lift, but we never all train at the same time.   I was training deadlifts so the lack of free power racks was no hinderance.  A bigger issue was that I forgot my chalk.  Globo gyms don’t do chalk so I was sh*t out of luck, grip-wise.

As I warmed up I took a gander at the power racks.  2 of the racks were being used by these Oly lifting guys who were doing front squats.  The other 6 racks, however, were being used by gangs of youngish dudes, not really teenagers but let’s say they aren’t pushing 30 either.  And these guys were making every rookie error possible save one.  J hooks set way too high, backing up blind to re-rack the bar, using the silly foam bar pad, wearing gloves, using too much weight, knees way forward and, it goes without saying, not squatting to depth.  I’m not talking missing depth by a little bit, more like quarter squats.  So I didn’t see “knees caving in” because nobody was squatting deep enough to make that error apparent.

While it’s easy to lampoon a bunch of foam pad using young guys who quarter squat not terribly heavy weight and enthusiastically high-five each other, let he who is without sin throw the first wrist-wrap.  Honestly, I thought it was cool, but remain slightly baffled as to why the sudden popularity.  In an earlier post, I discussed the taboo of giving advice in Globo gyms.  At a rack right next to where I was deadlifting these 2 guys set the J hooks noticeably higher than their shoulders (!) and had wrapped a towel around the bar as there were no more foam bar pads(cringe).  The first guy who un-racked narrowly missed dumping the bar in my direction so I felt it was OK to point out that putting the J hook far lower and not using the towel would make for an easier, more stable lift.  Didn’t say a word re: form, though I was dying to do so.  Squats are not exactly enjoyable at first.  If you compound that with doing the lift wrong, you’ll probably quit after a few weeks.  Time will tell, I guess, if there are legs to this squat craze.

Without chalk, my deadlifts didn’t exactly go as planned.  My grip strength is a weak point, and my deadlift form tends to go to hell when I feel the bar slipping from my hands.  So instead of working up to heavy weight, I stuck to sets at 70% for volume and then did accessory work.  Note to self – keep some chalk in the car as well, and maybe get used to lifting straps or hook grip.

Good to see all those guys giving it a go in the squat rack.  I’m more than a little jealous since it’s been 3 months now since I’ve done a low bar squat.  My rotator cuff is not getting better so I have yet another ultra-sound scheduled for next week.  My physical therapist, sports friendly though he is, would freak out if he knew I still bench and deadlift heavy.  I’m 8 weeks out from the next competition.  I had registered for classic powerlifting as well as stand alone bench, but it’s fairly apparent now that I’ll only be able to do bench.  The record for for this federation in my age/weight class is 10 kgs heaver than my best competition bench, however I have bench pressed that weight “touch and go”, and can now bench within 5kgs with strict competition form.  I’m certainly going to give it a shot.

 

Coming to America…and then leaving.

In the mid-80s I was finishing my somewhat checkered high-school career in a 3rd, no, scratch that, 4th world country somewhere in Latin America.  I lived with my mother who is a highly educated, brilliant woman who, nevertheless, was not paid very much at that point in her career.  Anybody familiar with 3rd world countries knows that scratching out a living is a challenge.  If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere – forget NYC, which is a cakewalk in comparison.

Anyway, we had a standard of living that you might call middle-class for that country (whose middle-class was very small indeed) but would probably be considered poverty level in the US or Europe.  I should add that as blonde-haired, blue-eyed young man I rather stuck out in the neighborhood.  (NB:  I am American born to US parents, I just wasn’t born nor spent most of my formative years there).   Without straying too far into the minefield of political correctness, suffice it to say that without money in a place like this you are powerless.  I learned early on that many people of who have any sort of power love to see desperate people squirm.  I had a very hard time with that dynamic, it stuck in my throat.

It wasn’t all bad.  I wouldn’t have swapped growing up there, at the time that I did, in the way that I did, for anything.  It’s an amazing country, culturally vibrant, amazing beaches and blessed with a very funny, welcoming populace.  I was an overwhelming minority, and people brought it to my attention all the time, but it was usually not mean-spirited. It was so much fun that, upon discovering partying and girls, I pretty much kissed my high school career goodbye.  In spite of outstanding SAT scores and potential, I barely graduated from high school.  2 weeks later my long-suffering mother wished me well and put me on a plane for States.  I was 18 years old, I had a few hundred dollars in my pocket and vague plans of either living with my sister (who was going to college) or some high school buds who were in very similar situation.  I hadn’t bothered to apply to any colleges because my grades and financial situation meant it wasn’t an option.

Given my level of maturity and proclivity for partying, I lasted roughly 3 weeks with my sister before she gave me the heave-ho.  I didn’t have any hard feelings then, nor do I now.  It was best for everyone that I go.  So I took the train a few hundred miles up the East coast to join up with my aforementioned pals.  The five of us managed to score a small studio that was leased to one of the guys’ older brother.  We had 2 twin beds and 3 additional mattresses on the floor.  We had to be very careful about not drawing attention to ourselves given we’d have been thrown out if the landlord found out 5 guys were living in 1 studio.

Failure was not an option and that realization clarified my goals and game-plan almost immediately.  I knew I was in for a few years of hard-slogging so I resolved to make the best of it.  Crappy, minimum wage dead-end jobs weren’t going to cut it as they were a waste of time and potential.  I took the best-paying jobs a mere high school graduate could hope to score, but also ones that would hopefully allow me to progress to better jobs.  I started working in high-end restaurants, first as a dishwasher, then bus-boy, waiter, apprentice baker and eventually as a commis.  Restaurant work was exhausting, but it was an education.  There were periods when I held down 2 jobs.  All the while I lived in series of horrible apartments in crappy neighborhoods with, of course, room-mates who were in similar situations.

I eventually scored a mail-room gig in a bank in the financial district.  I mean, this was straight up old school – I don’t think mail rooms even exist any more.  Basically I delivered mail, and written memos (common use of email – and networked PCs – where still a year or 2 down the road) as well as performed a number of odd-jobs.  I busted my butt and hustled on every single task because I knew it was the only way to get noticed.  I eventually was promoted into “Data Processing” (the IT department as it’s generally known now) and I was off to the races.  I began to acquire valuable skills that enabled me to find better paying jobs, pursue my college degree (while working full-time) and, some years later, finally get an apartment all to myself.  This was the Holy Grail, a studio in a trendy downtown neighborhood.  It was also strangely lonely at first, after so many years of living with friends.

I finally had my own apartment, a college degree, a less than impressive used car and a decent job that employed both my IT and language skills.  I traveled often to Latin American, Africa and Europe for work.  I’m happy to say that all of my pals from the “5 guys in a studio” days had similar trajectories.  So there came a point when we were victims of our own success in the sense that people began to move away to follow their careers.  I had just turned 30 and I didn’t have a whole lot of reasons to stay.  Many of my friends were moving away and I had just ended a serious relationship.

This was at the height of the “internet boom” of the 90s.  I realized that I had been working very hard over the last 12 years, often taking, at best, a week of vacation per year.  I figured that I could probably find another job pretty easily.  So I quit my job to go backpacking for a few months through Guatemala, Belize and Mexico with these French girls I knew.  I have never, before or since, taken off that much time just to do my own thing.  For those of you who know Mexico, at the time Playa del Carmen was a village where we rented hammocks on the beach for 3 dollars a day (i.e. you slept in them) and there was virtually nothing in Tulum.  Hanging at the beach all day and sleeping under these huge palapas, surrounded by legions of hot euro-babes, I though I had died and gone to heaven.  Not to mention the cheap tacos, ceviche and beer.

When I got back to the US, I found out that I had scored a 2 year contract in Europe was welcome news as I was short of funds and I was itching to move.  So I did, and I’ve been here ever since.  I’ve only been back a few times given most of my family is living elsewhere.

I often wonder if my trajectory would be possible for a young guy starting out now.  I sincerely doubt it.  Firstly, I did not have to deal with globalization so I was competing for jobs on a national, not international level.  I was at the tail-end of the last generation when it possible to pull yourself out of the muck without impeccable academic credentials.  Also, by going to a very good state university (partially subsidized by my job) I graduated without crippling debt.  In my generation, having any college degree on your CV was good enough to get your foot in the door.   From what I hear and read in the US media, that is not the case any more.

As a father and somebody who interacts a fair amount with younger people, I always try to stress that excelling academically is actually the best way, to “hack” the system.   If you’re a young person blessed with the common sense to not go off the rails academically AND have a good idea of what you want to do in life, you have an enormous advantage.  I was able to find a reasonable level of success, but I worked extremely hard to do so.  Young people these day do not have the luxury my generation had of going to college to “find themselves” or earn less than practical degrees.  In the age of outsourcing, you best choose your academic path extremely wisely and pursue that career to the best of your ability.