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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.



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