The Years Between: From ICU to Reboot
After three powerful trips that stamped my passport and stirred my soul, life hit the throttle.
Hard.
From the outside, it looked like I was settling in. I started my first company in 1995. By 2002, I had a full crew, three kids, a house, and a toolbox of responsibilities that stretched from dawn to well past dusk.
International travel? That part of me went dormant. Not forgotten—but buried beneath payroll, school schedules, mortgage payments, and business meetings that ran longer than they should.
We moved to Florida in 2007 in search of something new, but the years before that were full of motion—just not the kind you take photos of.
Road trips up and down the East Coast. Long drives to see family. A quick jaunt to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls that technically required a passport, but barely scratched the itch.
And then came the fall of 2002.
A Pause I Didn’t Ask For
I had a hemorrhagic stroke. Aneurysm. No warning. One day I was juggling contracts and building plans, the next I was lying in the ICU, tubes and wires and beeping monitors giving me the look of a man much older than 30.
The thing about nearly dying is that it clears the fog real fast.
I spent most of the next year recovering—physically, mentally, and emotionally. But more than anything, I spent that time reevaluating. I realized that the life I’d built, while solid on paper, wasn’t taking me where I wanted to go.
Not even close.
Reinvention Is a Hell of a Climb
I got healthy again. Buckled down. And started drawing a new map.
I tried to change careers in my hometown, but people only saw who I’d always been—a carpenter, a construction guy, a dependable man with calloused hands and a sharp eye for straight lines. But I wasn’t that guy anymore.
So I did the unthinkable.
I convinced my (then) wife to move to Florida and start over.
It wasn’t instant. It wasn’t easy. But it was necessary. I went back to school while working full-time and raising three kids. I studied while packing lunches. I wrote papers on my lunch break and reviewed anatomy flashcards in the car line at school pickup.
And slowly, it worked.
A New Career, A New Kind of Travel
I transitioned into healthcare—a field I had no formal background in, but plenty of curiosity for. After my experience as a patient, I needed to understand the system from the inside. I climbed the ranks quickly. Learned fast. Got noticed.
Before long, I was speaking at medical conferences across the country—teaching others how to embrace new technologies and philosophies in their practices and facilities.
Every trip, I carved out time for myself.
A couple of extra days. A small detour. A local diner, a long walk, a sunrise in a city I’d never seen before.
These weren’t vacations. They were breadcrumbs—small but sacred reminders that the traveler in me was still alive. Still plotting. Still waiting for the next border to cross.
Why This Chapter Matters
A lot of people think travel stories only happen in airports and far-off lands. But sometimes, the biggest journeys happen in rehab rooms, late-night study sessions, and quiet moments of clarity when you realize the life you’re living isn’t the one you dreamed of.
This decade—between my last stamp and the next one—was about becoming the man who could travel again.
The one who would.
CL
About Cpt CLRogerson
Father. Licensed captain. Former carpenter turned healthcare exec turned travel consultant. Today, Cpt CLRogerson helps others design a life of movement, meaning, and second chances—whether on land, sea, or somewhere in between.
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