Travel Fibs
When people ask, "...and what do YOU do?" it invariably
means, "How do you make a living?" I was deriving too much
identity from my career, without acknowledging other facets of
myself, as an artist, and as a singer/songwriter. So, for a
week in Cancun, I made a pledge to myself to tell everyone I was
an artist, or a singer. It almost got me in trouble:
After dining at El Pescador, the restaurateur took us around the
corner to a local bar. Guy on stool played an acoustic guitar
version of the song, "Esta Tarde Vi Llover", a classic Spanish
song like "My Way" that I had learned 20 years earlier as a
teen. I was tipsy enough to waltz up to the mike and sing
it -- in Spanish -- to Spanish speaking people! Charro, inside-
out. Too much Tequila made my voice NOT its melodious self,
apparently, which I learned the next morning:
The restaurateur took us on a yacht, he and I were on the roof,
sunbathing face down, so not looking at each other (thank
heaven), he asked, "...and what do YOU do?" to which I
replied, "I'm a singer." He laughed and laughed. I thought
he'd roll off the roof. Then he asked, "No, what do you REALLY
do?"
"I'm an artist."
"OK, that's better," he replied, knowing that made more sense.
Jan
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