Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
that, though life might look rosy on the outside—health, wealth, and friends—things were
feeling pretty murky within.
It's been a few years now since I suffered the “Big Kahuna” of existential crises. You
see, I used to be someone else. I was living in London working as a successful broker in
a family-run business. I was completely uninspired, deeply depressed, and however hard it
is to admit, at my darkest times, suicidal. I had little hope for myself, and even less for the
world I called home. Then it happened. I stumbled across the film
The Motorcycle Diaries
,
which chronicled the inspirational journey of Che Guevara as he crossed South America
relying solely on the kindness of strangers. His story lit up my mundane existence.
Here was a romanticized version of the legendary revolutionary connecting with people.
Living. Exploring. I wasn't quite ready to overthrow the Cuban government, but I did want
to start a revolution of sorts. I wanted to revolt against the predetermined structure of my
own life. In Che, I saw a man who was living his dream, a fully realized,
absolutely free
hu-
man being. Someone I wished to be. In the moments after the credits of the film had rolled
into the ether, I knew something inside me had irrevocably changed. Che was
my
proof that
there was more to this little trip on planet Earth. Much more.
Over the next few weeks I found the courage to rise from my slumber. I gave up my
comfortable life to travel the world. The apex of those travels was walking across Amer-
ica with only $5 in my pocket and the generosity of strangers making up for the rest. This
ultimately led to my first TV show and book
Amazing Adventures of a Nobody
. I left the
cold dreary streets of London and moved to Los Angeles: the city of dreams. And to a cer-
tain extent, I
was
living my dream. Or at least more than I had been before—I had a lovely
girlfriend (Lina), a very friendly dog (Winston), and a job that most days kept me busy. I
thought my existential crisis had been resolved, but maybe it had only taken on a different
face.
Though I had gone out into the world, changed my life, and brought back some stories,
there was still something within me that felt trapped. I felt like I was waking up every
morning to live someone else's life, to do someone else's job. I was once again wearing an
old familiar mask.
I had a collection of those masks. We all do. Whether you're a young mother in a Bel-
izean jungle or a businessman on the streets of Manhattan, we each have some precon-
ceived notion about what kind of life we think we're supposed to live, and then we be-
come trapped in that perception. We give up on a childhood dream, or we exchange it for
something that feels safer, more grown up. I was no different. But even after I shook off
