Before the Last Page: Part 1

Turning 45 feels like standing at a crossroads, looking back at the roads you’ve traveled and forward to those yet unknown. This blog isn’t just a celebration of another birthday — it’s a reflection on a life lived on the move, a life that refuses the conventional, and a life that carries both the triumphs and the costs of freedom.

I’ve wandered through continents, experienced the beauty and brutality of the world firsthand, and built a life that is unconventional by most standards. Along the way, I’ve faced challenges, wrestled with guilt for missed moments with family, and asked myself the hard questions about impact, purpose, and legacy. I’ve learned that living fully requires both recklessness and responsibility, that freedom is precious, and that connection — to people, to places, and to oneself — is what gives life meaning.

This post is a letter to myself, a snapshot of where I am at 45: the wins, the lessons, the reflections, and the questions that keep me moving. It’s also for anyone who has ever felt the tension between chasing dreams and honouring obligations, between exploring the world and grounding themselves, between freedom and belonging.

I share it not to boast, but to invite reflection — to show that a life of movement, creativity, and conscious choices can be messy, beautiful, and full of possibility. And perhaps, in these words, others will find courage to ask themselves the questions that matter most, and to keep moving toward the life they truly want.

---

Dear Paul,

Soon, you turn 45. Forty-five years of relentless movement, of packing up and starting over more times than most could imagine. From the sun-soaked fun times in Greece to Asados and drinking Maté in Uruguay, from the emerald green of Ireland to the wild exciting culture and history in Mexico, your life has been a mosaic of places and moments stitched together by restless feet and a heart that refuses to be tethered. The boy you once were, staring into space and dreaming of the world, could never have imagined hiking jagged glaciers in the Alps, cycling through the Sierra de la Laguna at dawn, standing beneath the Colosseum as sunlight kissed its ancient stones, or feeling impossibly small against the terraces of Machu Picchu. You’ve celebrated New Year’s on Copacabana Beach, watched sunsets over oceans that seemed endless, and stood at mountain passes where the air was thin enough to take your breath away. Each view, each step, has been a lesson in awe, in humility, and in the simple truth that we are small, fleeting, and extraordinarily lucky to exist at all.

And yet, with every triumph of travel and freedom comes the weight of choice. The distance from your blood family has left its mark — a quiet guilt you wear like a scar. Not because you didn’t care, but because the path you chose could not allow you to be everywhere at once. Missed birthdays, unseen milestones, silent celebrations — these are the cost of the freedom you’ve claimed. Perhaps that guilt will never fully leave you, and perhaps it shouldn’t. It is part of the price for a life that refuses to be ordinary, for a heart that refuses to be contained. And so you ask yourself: Am I living the life I was meant to live, or the one dictated by others’ expectations? Am I giving enough attention, love, and presence to the people who matter most, or have I let movement replace meaning?

You’ve worn countless hats along the way — running a hostel for wandering souls, welded steel in factories, taught English to those seeking opportunity, been that face behind the bar late into the night, managed property that were never yours, volunteered in environmental cleanups, cared for animals in need, and taken on house-sitting duties that tethered you only briefly to places not your own. None of these were just jobs. They were tests of adaptability, courage, and humility. They shaped you, taught you resilience, and allowed you to meet the world on its terms, not yours. And through all of it, you’ve learned that true success isn’t measured by titles or permanence, but by the life you live, the freedom you protect, and the depth with which you engage with the people and the world around you. And yet, even here, deeper questions arise: Have I truly faced my fears, or have I been running from some of them in the guise of adventure? What does a life well-lived look like at 45, and am I defining it for myself or letting society define it?

You’ve achieved victories that deserve reverence. In November 2023, you gave up drinking — a choice that rewrote the way you meet the world. Six months later, you gave up coffee, and another six months after that, smoking. Sobriety, clean lungs, a calmer mind — these are transformations of body, mind, and spirit. Alongside them, you published your first book — raw, honest, deeply personal — a reflection of your philosophies and the lessons travel has taught you. Now, on the verge of publishing another, with three more planned in the years ahead, you stand as a man who dares to create, to express, and to leave a legacy that is unapologetically yours. And yet, the quiet questions persist: Have I given enough back to the world? Have I impacted lives beyond my own experiences? How do I measure the ripples I leave behind?

Love and desire have been wild, uncharted territories. You’ve known passionate flings that demanded nothing but presence, tenderness that lingered only briefly, and intimacy that etched itself onto your soul. There is no shame in these experiences — only honesty. You’ve reclaimed your body and heart from past hurts, celebrating the freedom to love on your own terms. Along the way, you’ve built a family of choice — friends who stand unwaveringly by you, companions who meet you where you are, and lovers who understand the restlessness pulsing through your veins. These connections are your roots, even if they do not grow in soil. But still you ask: Am I nurturing these bonds enough? Am I present when it truly counts, or is freedom masking neglect?

Looking back at the boy you once were, staring into space and dreaming, who would have thought you’d stand in so many corners of the world, feeling the smallness of yourself against the vastness of nature and history? Hiking glaciers, cycling desert trails, witnessing ancient cities, standing in awe at Machu Picchu — these experiences teach humility, gratitude, and the fleeting wonder of life. And yet, even with all you’ve seen, the question remains: what is the meaning of it all? How do I transform awe into action, curiosity into contribution, and freedom into legacy?

Now, as you have returned to Mexico once more, you carry a vision — Wandering Monkey — not merely a brand, but a living extension of your restless, creative soul. It is your voice, your canvas, your declaration that even amid constant movement, you are building something tangible, lasting, and meaningful. The next years may ask you to find balance: grounding without losing freedom, creating without compromising authenticity, inspiring while remaining inspired. The questions persist: What kind of legacy will I leave? Have I aligned my work, love, and exploration with the values I truly hold? Can I be both a wanderer and a steady force in the world?

The truth is, there are no perfect answers. Your life is messy, sacred, and full of contradictions: freedom paired with isolation, exploration paired with longing, joy paired with sacrifice.

Every step, every choice, every scar has brought you here — and here is exactly where you are meant to be and this story is far from over.

The man you are becoming is not bound by time, nor by expectation. He is yours alone to define.

Take care of yourself

Paul

---

Maybe that’s the paradox of a life spent on the road — you lose things, you miss things, and yet you gain something unshakable in return. The distance teaches you that love does not always require presence, that bonds can stretch oceans and still hold firm, and that guilt, though heavy, can be a reminder that you dared to live fully. It is not about having it all, but about choosing deeply, and then standing by those choices. For me, that choice has always been motion, exploration, the restless pursuit of the unknown. No Travel No Lifeᴿ — that has become not just a slogan, but the truth carved into my bones.

And this month, that truth will take a new form. My book 45 LAPS will be released at the end of the month — a collection of affirmations, stories, and hard-won reflections that speak to the journey of self-trust, resilience, and surrender. It is both a map and a mirror: a map for anyone searching for direction, and a mirror for those who dare to face themselves honestly. If this letter has stirred something in you — a memory, a longing, a quiet ache — then perhaps the book will carry you deeper into that same space, where freedom meets responsibility, and where the road, in all its beauty and brutality, teaches us who we are meant to become.

Sincerely

Paul