Life’s a journey, not a destination…

Joe Perry and Steven Tyler

Since this blog is about life and life is about stories, I thought it might be interesting to share a few personal and impactful ones.

The following certainly qualifies…

There’s one thing for sure…I’m a hard-headed SOB.

I tend to hang on…scratching to stay alive, as the song quoted above goes on to say.

Here’s a story of one of those times.

My flight from San Jose (Costa Rica) to Charlotte, North Carolina landed around noon. I always left my car at an airport hotel that let me park there for free as a benefit of being a frequent guest. I took their shuttle from the airport and upon arrival, threw my bags in the back and headed for home…

Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.

This was a special day. It was December 5, 2003 to be exact. Forty-three years prior to that day, at Cone Hospital in Greensboro, North Carolina, I got my start in this world.

But today was special for another reason as well. It was, hopefully, going to be the culmination of the last two years of scratching.

For the three weeks prior to this fateful day I had been in Costa Rica holding the hand of my client as the final stages of our deal played out.

That client was the Costa Rican founder and president of Universidad Interamericana, a private for-profit university with campuses in Heredia, Costa Rica and Panama City, Panama.

I’d spent the previous two years orchestrating a deal by which this school would be sold to a large public company in the U.S.

And this day was supposedly going to be the big day…pay day.

Those last three weeks had been fraught with anxiety for both him and me. A last-minute glitch in the deal had prompted an escrow of the entire purchase price until it could be resolved.

Well, a few days earlier it apparently had been and now the only thing left to do was wait. I had vowed to myself that I would not leave Costa Rica empty-handed this time. I had worked too hard and taken too much risk.

But my wife had grown impatient waiting for me to return…it was time to come home. So I scheduled an early flight for the next day, my birthday.

And I hadn’t been paid…yet.

As I drove the long and monotonous superhighway that led me home I couldn’t help to obsess about all the things that could go wrong (after all over the course of the prior two years, about everything had).

Would William (my client) just refuse to pay me? He could do that you know. And if he did what could I do about it? Sue him for sure, but with what money? And how long would that take?

Not long after I crossed the border and arrived at a small town where a branch office of my bank was located I decided that I must put this to rest. I entered as nervous and fidgety as a first-time bank robber and made a b-line to the customer service desk.

“Could I help you?” the pretty young southern-belle sitting behind it drawled.

“I would like to know if there has been an international wire into my account today, please?”

She peered into her computer and after a few moments of punching keys looked up at me with a sheepish grin and asked,

“Would it perhaps be possible for you to give me a loan?”

At that moment I felt as if I’d levitated a few feet off the ground.

The rest of the day was spent floating on this cushy cloud of accomplishment.

I had done it!

I called my wife, my dad, my mom and my employees and let them know that “the eagle had landed.”

Everyone was happy for me, especially those in line to now, finally, be paid.

As I sat in my office the next day and stared at the number in my bank account, a number I had certainly never seen before, the idea of making a fast get away back to my personal paradise of Costa Rica with all that loot…just sort of disappearing…dawned upon me.

Then I came to my senses.

I decided to do what was right and start paying. By the time I was finished that number had diminished to one far less impressive.

What I had accomplished did display tenacity. I had hung on for dear life, perhaps longer than I should have.

I tend to do that.

Why?

The cushy cloud I referred to above evaporated and I fell back to earth with a thud. That great sense of accomplishment was replaced with a feeling of…

“okay, so now what?”

And isn’t that usually the case? Especially when the end of your game is all about you.

Why had I worked so hard and for so long?

What was “this” really all about?

In a word…ME.

I had been driven by ego more than anything else. I had to prove my worth to the world and closing this deal had become the means to that end.

It certainly had not cured any financial problems, but only created even bigger ones.

And in the wake of two years of this singular obsession, I had some serious personal issues in tow.

I had operated for those two years wearing “impact blinders” that only allowed me to see one narrow way…

my way.

I do believe that everything happens for a reason. Maybe that reason was for me to be able to write this. Write about the error of my ways.

Perhaps to help others not to make similar ones.

The title to this post is “the day I thought I had made it.”

However, the destination did not turn out to be nearly worth the trouble.