In Cali On My New Drug of Choice

“I say I’m exploring—but I might just be running.”

CALI, COLOMBIA

The block is HOT in Cali. In all senses of the word.

The weather. The sketch level. The women. The salsa.

Tropical, Latin vibes normally reserved for islands, right here in the Andes mountains.

What a place.

Usually I’d keep it zipped about a place like this to prevent it from becoming a gringofied playground, but the danger and rumors do the work for me…

My response when people ask me what Cali’s like:

You seen Narcos?

Instead of the export from the nearby Pacific ports, where armed groups fight to the death for control…

I’m on a different drug.

Check this out…

My drug of choice is:

• Substance-free and leaves no trace

• Is not only accepted socially, but celebrated

• Can always be justified by innocuous motives

It turns out travel gives us a shit ton of dopamine. [Fuck, at this point I’m thinkin’ everything does…]

Our reward circuitry is wired for adventure—motivating early humans to seek new land with more resources.

Brains wired for a once-scarce world are now overloaded with excessive abundance.

Food addictions fueled by fast food on every corner. Alcohol, by bars. Porn, by unlimited access in the pocket of every boy. Pills, by over-prescription and black markets.

I’m addicted to travel. And the world is my dealer.

Novelty = Dopa

You heard the term “post-travel depression”?

That shit is real—returning to a stable life after an explorative period brings a dopa deficit just like halting cocaine use does.

Constantly seeing new things, meeting new people, and haciendo el amor to new women is… quite invigorating.

In contrast, returning home to weekly Costco trips, stale-faced neighbors, and your coworker’s college glory-day tales is… not.

Just the act of thinking about travel—planning a trip, for example—can give us a shit ton of dopa. Arguably more than the trip itself.

Well that’s a mind fuck.

Reason being…

Dopamine rewards what drives action—not necessarily the action itself.

Think about it. Do you recall a time when:

• The burger sounded better when you ordered it than when you got it

• The sex was better in your head than when you did it

• The goal was more fun to achieve mentally than in reality

The Million Dollar Question

“When you move to these new places, are you seeking something, or running from something?”

Here’s where shit gets interesting. Just as traditional drug habits form from an attempt to escape pain, so did mine.

This question (one of those hard-hitting ones that makes you stop and rethink everything) was asked by Danny, the co-founder of a men’s group we’re launching.

He asked after I’d casually rattled off a few cities I’d recently rapidly rifled through.

(Alliteration out the ass, I ain’t fucking around with this pen game, boi ✒️.)

“Just got to Bogotá, ‘bout to head to Cali. Be there a month.”

I decided to arm myself with said pen and dive into his question.

What I found was… troubling.

Travel: Exploration AND Escapism

The Pure Reasons for Travel

At its core, travel is still a net positive that I use for:

• Exploration and adventure

• Expanded perspective

• Cultural immersion

• Language learning

• Meeting new people

• Self-discovery and mastery

As I’ve said before, I believe we’re innately wired to seek exploration, and deprived of it, we suffer.

BUT… We can take it too far, or do it for the wrong reasons.

(I always take shit too far 🤦‍♂️)

The Dodgy Reasons for Travel

On top of an outright addiction to novelty (friends and girlfriends become disposable; novel sexual partners become required)…

I use travel to run away.

From what? I identified five key things:

• Abandonment: “If ***** (I originally included her name but for legal purposes have censored it) doesn’t fuck with me, I’ll go to Bogotá where I know some girls who looove me.” This logic is no different than the common mid-life divorcee finding refuge in Colombia, a land that promises women’s love.
  

• My family: “At least if I’m busy fucking off exploring the world, I have a justified reason for never seeing and rarely talking to my family, and avoiding addressing our less-than-ideal relationships.”
  

• Grief, Shame, and Inadequacy: “If I’m constantly in a new, exotic environment, I can forget the old, the lost. I can build a sense of worth founded on my adventurousness, boldness, and edge.”
  

• Blurred Definitions of Masculinity: Following a life of unclear rules of engagement and shame as a boy and man… “I’ll build an identity around risk-taking and exploration… that way I know I’m a big man, if I’m doing those things.”
  

• Fear of Dependence and Confinement: “If I distance myself and become hyper-independent, I’ll be safe, because relying on others leads to pain and disappointment. I can always dip if someone gets too close.”

Shit real in the field, playboy…

Upon plunging into travel, I quickly learned that I could short-circuit my old self, my shadow, and my pain.

Imagine someone living in Boston their whole life, then deciding to move to San Diego.

They romanticize it—they’ll find happiness, find their tribe, start over, renew who they are, and fill emotional voids.

I do that, but every fucking month.

It’s the classic male response of seeking to manage our internal state through external means.

Except, instead of modulating my internal environment through the use of alcohol, drugs, porn, social media, gaming, or Netflix…

I choose travel.

The digital nomad is a dangerous mix of adventurous in its pure form, and escapist in a subtle way—he or she can always fall back on the excuse of “exploring, living life, being young,” etc.

I thought I was distancing myself physically to be able to work through those 5 things, but perhaps I was enabling them instead.

So What Da F*ck Do We Do Den?

Stop? Well that ain’t no fun…

I could hide behind my profound self-awareness and let people pat me on the back for at least being aware that I am a delinquent.

But self-awareness is only half the battle. It’s merely stepping into the ring, albeit, a move most never make, operating entirely unconsciously.

But awareness followed by difficult action is required to win the fight.

That said, I shall go one by one down the list, step into said ring, and slug it out in an ugly, bloody brawl with self.

The type where each fighter is gassed, swinging ugly ass punches with what’s left of their depleted energy while hanging over the other, lacerated faces in need of reconstructive surgery…

• Addressing the underlying abandonment wound. Sit in, sit in, sit in…

• Addressing familial relationships I avoid, knowing rejection or disappointment is possible.

• Allowing others to give to me, allow myself to rely on someone, leaning into the shame and fear it creates.

• Building an identity of masculinity based in service, purpose, and compassion, over risk-taking and adventure as the sole base.

And through the SHIT feelings of rejection, fear, shame, frustration, anxiety, and abandonment I will inevitably feel ripping my stomach apart…

I’ll sit in it.

Will that result in me settling into suburbia? Probably not. But at least I’ll know I’m no longer acting unconsciously, governed by the past.

Will I actually do these things? We’ll see in the next edition…

Food for thought. Thanks for tapping in 🤝