What is the purpose of your visit?

I like to imagine that the next time a border official puts that standard question to me, I muster up the nerve to reply: “I’m so glad you asked, sir. The purpose of my visit is to find myself”. But I know better than to be glib with a guy wearing a uniform.

A dozen years ago, I had a serious dust up pre-clearing US customs at Vancouver International Airport. Before I could board an early morning flight to Texas, I was pulled aside and escorted to the ominous sounding ‘secondary inspection’.  Due to a character flaw of mine (I’m pathologically incapable of lying) I had answered truthfully when asked about the purpose of my journey: I was on my way to Houston to lecture and yes, I was being paid (a paltry honorarium, just to be clear). Wrong answer! I was refused entry to the US that day and only later learned being compensated is a no-no under the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA). Oops.

“Houston, we have a problem,” my husband informed my Texas hosts by phone later that day. At least somebody got a good line out of my hysteria.

Writers often travel to seek out fresh content. For example, on a business trip to Amsterdam many years ago, I arranged to have lunch with a British journalist, also named Robin Pascoe, who runs an English-language news site in Holland. That meeting resulted in this essay for Canada’s national newspaper.  And in late 2011, I went to Cambodia to build houses and wrote about it here. 

Like many writers, however, I have also traveled to learn more about my craft. Last year, as I mentioned in a previous post, I ventured to Santa Fe, New Mexico for a memoir writing retreat led by guru Natalie Goldberg.

I should have saved my money.

It’s not like a dozen stories didn’t emerge from the three-day event (which felt a lot longer). There were the painful participant confessions—read out loud—that kept me tossing and turning at night. Any one of those stories would have entertained readers but I felt there was a measure of unspoken confidentiality preventing me from sharing them.

There had also been the touchy-feely and silent ‘slow-walking’ in a nearby canyon, an exercise that was supposed to ground us. Until we stumbled upon a guy, buck naked, pressed up against a tree and oh yes, against a young girl, who was also naked.  Someone had to break the code of silence in order to alert our fearless workshop leader. Our single file procession quickly did an about face while I laughed, silently, of course.

Far from being an inspiring journey, I felt the Santa Fe retreat defeated its purpose. It completely de-motivated me. In fact, I didn’t write a word for months, full of regret and frankly, disappointment at meeting a long-standing hero of mine and discovering that I didn’t like her that much off the page. Worse, I didn’t learn anything new.

Is any journey ever a total waste of time? No. Even one cut short before I could reach the gate had a purpose. It taught me to read the NAFTA agreement!

I will keep on traveling as I still have so much to learn. More importantly, as a wise woman I admire once said to me: “As long as I’m on a learning curve, I know I am alive.”