Bora Bora Part 2 - Fantasy Island

”Smiles everyone! Smiles!” Ricardo Montalban’s voice, preceded by Tattoo shouting. ”de Plane! de Plane!” went through my mind as we glided through impossibly blue green water toward the St Regis Bora Bora hotel.

By the age of 14, I read most of James Michener’s novels and (nerd that I was) was hooked. One book, Tales of the South Pacific, allured me with stories of beautiful islands and military men defending them, usually shirtless, from the Axis powers. I was also captivated by the fantasy shows my family and I would watch huddled around the only television in our house.

The Love Boat was followed by Fantasy Island every week with themes of glamorous ocean travel (complete with B-list guest stars) and mysterious possibilities on the island where dreams could come true. I drank in every episode. My sisters and I would talk about what fantasy trip we could take on a cruise ship, or a secret fantasy to be played out on Mr. Roarke’s island. My brother was a baby but would watch the shows with us, dreaming of what, I can’t say for sure. I kept my “fantasies” close to the vest, horrified that I was capable of thinking such sordid things, but usually involved shirtless men on a South Pacific island.

My less sordid fantasies were inspired by Wonder Woman, and having the power to spin around a few times, and suddenly transform into a bullet-deflecting badass capable of fighting evil and bad guys. Not sure why I was captivated by a female superhero, but I think it had to do with the fact that she was different, independent and unexpectedly powerful, morphing from a spectacled Diana Prince into the patriotically draped Wonder Woman who looked absolutely nothing like Miss Prince (Wonder Woman didn’t need glasses, duh).

My 14 year old straight boy friends, who gawked at the Amazon warrior’s physics- defying, tiny gold bustier magically holding Amazon-sized breasts in place (even while running) were likely not as drawn to Wonder Woman’s strength and brains as I was. But it gave us something to talk about after the show aired.

These TV shows sparked dreams that I, too, could someday travel to exotic places and become whomever I wanted - tiara and magic bracelets included. Fantasies of being someone else, somewhere else, sustained me through some dark, scary times as a teenager. I wanted an escape from my shame and secrets. Mentally, I needed a way out, a goal, even if unattainable, to focus on and dream about.

I stood on the deck of the St. Regis Bora Bora airport shuttle. Unlike the bone-rattling, pothole-hitting, crowded airport hotel shuttles I was used to, this shuttle was a three decked, fully crewed luxury yacht that glided over the placid lagoon. I learned there were very few roads on the motu - the coral islands surrounding the main volcano of Bora Bora. Everyone got around by boat. I couldn’t believe I was actually here.

The preceding years had worn me out; the pandemic, protecting my kids and parents from the virus, racial & political tensions in the US, losing my dad, sending my oldest off to college, losing my father-in-law. Each had hit me like sequential tsunamis. The rapidly changing world made every work day an unprecedented challenge. I fought to stay positive.

The problem was, emotionally, I was becoming hollowed out. Work was no longer fun. I battled a boss who wanted me to be everything he was and that sucked the energy out of me. I ate too much, probably drank too much, had high cholesterol and sky high blood pressure. When my dad got sick, we all did the best we could to care for him while he was in hospice. I juggled my job, my kids and caring for my dad, but the pressures at work only intensified. When my dad finally died, I felt it was an inconvenience to my manager. There was work to be done and they needed me, but I was gutted. There's no time for grief at work.

Seeing my father in his casket reminded me I was mortal, and that everyone dies. The way I was going, I could be next. The scary thing was that I wasn’t sure I actually cared. Conflicts at work continued. I was a bad match with my manager and I felt shackled working for someone I didn't trust, yet having the responsibilities of being the sole breadwinner. Apathy creeped in, and I tried to fight it, I felt like I was failing everybody.

Then one day, a moment of clarity sparked in my head like a cosmic whisper. “Bill, what the fuck are you doing to yourself?” I looked at my life - a dream to most who viewed it from the outside, but it felt like a prison. It took me some time to figure out that I was both the jailer and the executioner.

From that day forward, I began making changes. First, I bought a treadmill and started exercising every day. Almost immediately, I felt more in control, so I made my 45 minutes of exercise my daily priority. The pounds dropped off - first 5, then 15, 25 and eventually 50. People at work asked me if I was sick or dying, yet I felt more alive than I had in years.

This physical achievement gave me confidence to attempt something I didn’t know how to do: pump the brakes on my career. For three decades, I had been going one way, full throttle and up the ladder, never looking back. I wasn't sure I wanted to continue that climb.

Weeks went by. My professional "brand" was that I was a hard working, creative, authentic, passionate nice guy, but maybe too nice (whatever that means.) Ironically, the meat grinder I had been through the prior two years had given me an edgier, harder shell. I began saying no and cared less about what people thought of me. I voiced my opinion and challenged my boss on things I believed he was doing that were toxic and wrong. This came at a hefty price, but I couldn't put the genie back into the bottle. My energy and confidence grew. The stronger I felt, the faster the bullets flew. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. My bullet-proof bracelets were ready.

My evolution was not like a Hollywood movie, where the hero battles back from the brink of oblivion without one false step, and triumphs in the end. I made plenty of mistakes, believe me. It was not a linear improvement. On good days I felt energized, but there were more frequent bad days where I felt listless, adrift and uncomfortable with where I was.

I wasn't interested in becoming the person my boss wanted me to be, yet I mentally bargained with the universe for my old life back. I grieved my dad, my father in law, my widowed mom, my kids leaving home, the passage of time, the world falling apart, normalcy and my own mortality. While I craved to go back in time and do things differently, I knew I was facing something terrifying; the inevitable end of my career.

I didn't want to linger or be put out to pasture in a meaningless role, so I decided to leave the company I called home for most of my adult life. I negotiated my retirement from the company who was both generous and supportive of my new path. I spent four months transitioning my work to others, and my company arranged for a first class celebration of my career. Several executives, including the CEO, the COO, both of whom I respect immensely, said and wrote nice things that I will never forget. Others with whom I'd worked over the years, gave me accolades that made me blush. I reflected on all the amazing opportunities the company had given me and the amazing mentors I had throughout my time there. I was so grateful to have been part of a great corporate journey. People showed me more love and appreciation than I ever thought I deserved, and it felt like a succession of eulogies I was lucky enough to hear.

I started to doubt my decision. What was I doing? Am I making the biggest mistake of my life? Maybe, I thought. But like any transition, I knew it was a one way trip forward. I was happy, proud, sad, grateful, scared and confused, but I leapt into the void anyway.

And suddenly, I was retired. It was January. My mind and body had been going full steam for over 30 years and now it all stopped. I rearranged the silverware. Cleaned out my closet, but I was bored within days. It was cold outside. I needed something on which to focus. I started writing again; my second novel and short stories that eventually became this blog.

Then one day, while I was staring out the window as a blizzard raged, I reflected on those James Michener books and my unbridled teenage self that dreamed of big adventures.

Now, on the precipice of age 60, I thought, Fuck it, I’m going to Bora Bora.

I had been daydreaming and fighting jet lag as my mind jumped back to the present. The yacht turned toward the St Regis dock, I saw enthusiastic, waving employees in starched white uniforms ready to greet us. “Someone on this boat is going home in a coffin,” I joked with Joe, secretly hoping it wasn’t me. Bora Bora reminded me of an ultimate White Lotus location, where filthy rich vacationers doddle around doing dumb things while complaining about how rough their lives are and spending outrageous amounts of money. But for those who don’t know the show - there is always someone dead in the opening episode (no face or body shown), and you spend the next 8 episodes watching the drama unfold until the final reveal when the dead person is identified (before they actually die) and the whole story line comes full circle.

We were greeted with a welcome drink and a beautiful flowered lei, boarded a stretch golf cart and took off on a tour of the vast property. The St Regis Bora Bora resort was simply awe inspiring, natural and elegant. It was like a dream come to life. There were a lot of activities to do, or one could do nothing at all. As our butler (their term, not mine) drove the golf cart to our villa, I reminded myself that all of this was actually happening. I was here and I was walking into my overwater bungalow.

As we entered, I was shocked to see the size of it, over 1,800 square feet, with a hot tub, patio area and an immaculate interior. Walls were made of burnished teak and on top of the bungalow sat a tightly woven roof of thatched palm fronds. Beautiful artwork adorned the walls and there were several floor “portholes” that allowed guests to view the turquoise water (and any sea life) flowing beneath the bungalow. I was in paradise - Gilligan’s Island with first class decor, fine cotton sheets and air conditioning.

The St Regis staff were extremely attentive and knew about my upcoming 60th birthday and that we celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary in 2022. Seemed like a good opportunity/excuse to splurge.

The hotel left us a bottle of champagne as well as dessert treats. Joe and I toasted our first sunset there before we headed off to dinner at Lagoon by Jean-Georges, which was an amazing experience. Besides an exquisite dinner of local fish, the French wine was expertly paired with it. The bar made a special cocktail for me based upon my likes: salt, gin, lime, lemon, etc. After dinner, they brought out a very tasty, small birthday cake, which was a lovely, unexpected treat.

One of our observations was that each of the workers, male and female, could have been a supermodel. Coming from around the world; France, Spain, Mauritius, Reunion Island and French Polynesia, these young people were the creme de la creme: polite, classy, discerning, extremely helpful, charming and made us feel like we were the only guests there. From the hotel manager, to the cleaning staff, we were known as Mr Podojil and Mr Schlesinger. They knew our favorite drinks, what we liked to eat, when we liked to eat, where we were from and other details (besides our birthdays and anniversary.) Even though they addressed us formally, the workers at the St Regis could not have been more welcoming and friendly (and being drop-dead gorgeous must be a job requirement)

Joe and I went snorkeling in the resort’s Lagoonarium; a large enclosed extension of the ocean, with its own coral reef, filled with beautiful fish, corals and other marine life. All the scary things; sharks, rays and sea snakes were somehow kept out (I didn’t ask questions, I just believed what I was told.) We swam through the peaceful, meandering lagoon almost every day. We also took a snorkeling trip out into the real lagoon surrounding Bora Bora’s main island. We visited several spots that were filled with amazing fish, sharks, rays and massive coral formations.

On our way back from snorkeling, we sailed to a shallow sand bar where we were able to stand next to the boat and enjoy some cocktails the crew prepared for us. An unexpected squall of rain and wind swept over us, which was an experience I’ll never forget. We could see the purple, water-laden clouds quickly approach and then open up in a delightful, warm downpour that released impossible amounts of water on us before gently blowing out to sea. It was a typical day in tropical paradise - bright blue skies, drenching rain that lasts a few minutes, and then bright blue skies again.

We enjoyed the most life changing massage in their spa. Joe and I are both massage connoisseurs, but the spa and massage took that appreciation to a whole new level.

I can see why Bora Bora is considered the most beautiful island in the world. Besides the thousands of shades of blue water, everything from fish to plants was vibrant. Considering the large yachts/ships docked in the lagoon, others find it equally magical. One of these mega yachts was owned by James Cameron, the movie maker behind The Terminator, Alien, Titanic and Avatar. This photo is supposedly his yacht according to the locals. I never got an invitation so I have to take their word for it.

Our St Regis stay was 5 days and 4 nights, which was perfect. I was able to enjoy the island I’d wanted to visit since I was a teenager, in one of the most beautiful hotels in the world.

Bora Bora didn’t disappoint in the slightest, in fact, it was a wonderful place to launch the new me (whatever the hell that means, I’ll let you know when I find out!) The island will always be a reminder to take time to celebrate life and accomplishing your dreams. I reflected on what I had achieved, what I almost lost, and that I was a creative, tough, resilient bitch who achieves his goals, as impossible as they may have seemed 45 years ago. It also reminded me of how poorly I had treated my body and soul with the constant stress of a high-pressure job and a growing family.

For the first time in a long time, I put on my own oxygen mask first. I came to my Fantasy Island with an expectation of a certain outcome, but like in the show, I achieved a much more important lesson. During my time there, I felt as though I had changed, but I couldn’t articulate how. I accepted my baggage, threw away old tapes and vowed to replace bad habits with good ones. Most importantly, I learned to love and admire that 14 year old version of me, rather than laugh at him. I gained respect and admiration for him, as he was the one who dared to dream, big, crazy and impossible things, while fighting a monster nobody knew about.

Like the guests at the fictional White Lotus, I faced my angels and demons, and decided not to run away, nor depart in a pine box. Bora Bora left me changed, renewed and energized. For the first time in a very long time; I was excited for the future and whatever that entailed.

At the age of 60 I felt younger than I’d felt in years, forever bewitched by the most beautiful island in the world, smack dab in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, surrounded by the bluest water you can ever imagine.