Had it not been for erectile dysfunction, I wouldn’t have been able to escape the madness of Kathmandu to go rent my own personal tuk-tuk for a month down in Sri Lanka.

 

A month prior—in the schism I had in Pokhara that we’ll soon get into—I bought a membership to a website called Backstage, an online talent agency of sorts, in hopes of picking up some voiceover work. Within a week, I had a producer named Kir who emailed me.

 

“Would you do a 2-minute video for my health app?” he wrote.

 

Desperate for money, I told him, “Sure,” and asked him to send me the script so I could figure out the tone and voice.

 

“No, I meant to be the person on-camera,” he wrote back.

 

This struck me as a bit strange, seeing how I hadn’t been auditioning for anything in front of the lens, but, considering I had just resigned from my job of six years and would soon be gambling that my writing could feed me, I said, “Yes.”

 

It wasn’t until after we agreed and signed a contract that he sent me the lines I needed to learn. The app is called Dr. Kegel, and I was to be a medical expert talking about how exercising one’s unmentionables could, well… save men a lot of embarrassment.

 

And so I did it.

 

But that’s not even the most ridiculous part of this whole thing.

 

See, a few weeks back, right before I signed up for that website, I had suddenly realized that—having put down a deposit on renting a tuk-tuk in order to see as much of Sri Lanka as possible, a country I’d been trying to get to for more than 15 years—I was going to be $500 short.

 

This amount was double and triple-checked.

 

$15 a day in Nepal for the next month? Doable.

$20 a day in Sri Lanka? Doable.

No more drinking? Shockingly doable.

 

But I’d still be $500 short. And I had no idea where I was going to find it.

 

And then, out of the blue, a male enhancement gig comes my way without me even having looked for it.

 

Seven long studio hours and numerous mispronunciations of ischiocavernosus and bulbospongiosus later, I was paid.

 

The amount? You guessed it. $500.

 

If ever there was a sign I was supposed to be doing this, writing this, going in this new direction, that was it. You can’t get any more random, perfect, and absurd than that—you just can’t. And it came not only at the perfect financial time, but also in terms of my own self-confidence, and the worry that I’ve worn out my welcome.

 

Look, I’ve tried everything. If you’re reading this, then you probably know that.

 

Podcasts, fundraisers, my own travel platform, Turkish towels, Turkish knives, lemonade from a sailboat, magazines, teaching your kids, letters… I’m sure there’s more, but if I continue I’ll probably not want to write this book.

 

But from the first time I—while nearly out of money in Syria—sold prints of my photos in order to be able to afford to get down to Africa, I’ve done everything I could think of to continue traveling.

 

And while it’s not a source of embarrassment, at least not anymore, there is a growing concern of being a nuisance to my friends. That, and just becoming a complete parody—a crazy old uncle whose family and peers have to employ so he can live out in the woods and self-publish his books and remind everyone he once worked for National Geographic.

 

It’s the fear of what once was applause, envy, and respect being replaced with eye rolls, unfollows, and annoyance.

 

But that’s the chance I have to take. In fact, at the risk of sounding overdramatic, I’ve come to realize I don’t have a choice.

 

I mean, I do—but the alternative is unhappiness, and even worse, not doing what I was put here to do.

 

And so, it’s a second book, as well as becoming a self-named, employed, and possibly delusional documentary filmmaker.

 

I have no idea if it’ll work, but I’m also not going to let that stop me. I’d copy and paste a few quotes on the matter, but I don’t want this to come across as some inspirational pillow you found on Pinterest.

 

And sure, I’d also like to get a few meaningful things—be they written, recorded, or filmed—put down for posterity, if for no other reason than to possibly help the next poor kid from Oklahoma escape their reality for a few hours.

 

Anyway. Shall we?

 

It’s almost lunchtime here in Kathmandu, so I should find a snack and have a walk around.

 

I’ll come back tomorrow and, well, I guess we’ll get going.

 

Thanks for being here.

 

Aric