Before I talk about where the above picture of me next to Hemingway took place…
let’s begin with a fact about me that I’m sure has not gone un-noticed by my nearest and dearest;
I have questionable impulse control.
What do I mean by this? A variety of things. When I see a sale or some sort of deal my brain reacts it in one of two ways. The first way is fairly normal; I take the time to consider the deal or purchase carefully. I make time to seek out more information- to research said deal- inspecting more than Harrison Ford inspected the last Indiana Jones film. After the research has concluded, I’ll either decide to go through with it, or decide that whatever it was wasn’t worth the effort- then move on with my life only slightly embittered (like Harrison Ford after the last Indiana Jones film).
The second way I react is far less productive, yet far more predictable.
I panic and act without thinking.
Let’s say, hypothetically, I find a fantastic deal on milk. Specifically, chocolate milk. Let’s then say that upon closer inspection the hypothetically 25 cent chocolate milk is going to expire in 24 hours. Within this entirely hypothetical situation (of which I will never publicly admit to) I would, perhaps, buy a liter of milk and drink it within the hour. Why? Perhaps I was subconsciously terrified that if I didn’t drink it ALL. AT. ONCE. it would some how magically curdle overnight, only to rise up and rebel against me the next morning with a sour taste and dairy clumps (which would have by then coagulated into into a carton of sludge). Maybe I was just overly enthusiastic about chocolate milk.
All of this is hypothetical, of course.
In either case, the decisions I make can go either belly up, or… belly down.
All of this is to say I went to Cuba in August.
That’s right- yours truly and my truly(?) went international. Dillan (the man in the lovely hat above) told me that he was able to book off a week in August. He told me this one lovely day in July…
We were booked for a flight to Varadero by the end of the day.
Due to the rush, I forgot to tell some of my family members where I was going until I had already gone- my brother was informed of the trip via Snapchat from the hotel of the destination. Honestly, the confusion on his face made the price worth it.
They say that you need to leave your country to discover what it means to live there.
If that is true, I have learnt that to be Canadian is to not melt in the relentless, tropical sun whilst a strange man halts your progression on a tour of the country’s capitol to draw odd caricatures of you and your loved one.
If you’re wondering, I did not ask for this photo. I was, by the same man who pointed to Dillan’s nose and smiled ‘Pinocchio’ while drawing a ‘mafia beard’, ordered me to take the picture. At least he gave me freckles as he praised my ‘natural’ chest?
My impulsive decision-making doesn’t always end in hypothetical stomach-aches.
Sometimes they end with heat stroke and stories that will last a lifetime.