It’s funny how your whole life can change in a flash. One minute you feel like a boss and the next you’re down for the count. At least that’s how it was for me.

It was November 22, 2012, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and I was on top of the world, heading to the airport to catch a first class Delta flight back to Minneapolis after a business trip in Atlanta. I’d gone to ATL to meet with some investors interested in my new software company, Catena Inc., which was going to revolutionize the way refrigerated cargo was tracked and monitored while in transit.

My meetings had gone well; investors were willing to put a lot of money on the line to work with somebody like me. For more than a decade, I’d been making a name for myself as a leader and innovator with a gift for strategic global partnerships. I’d been recognized by Forbes magazine, featured as a key speaker at 3Ms Global Innovation Conference, and others. 

On the plane, I put my monogrammed Tumi carry on and matching garment bag in the overhead bin and settled into my seat as we readied for takeoff.

“Can I get you something to drink?”, the flight attendant asked, leaning over me with a smile. I could feel her hand on my shoulder, and I smiled back. I asked for a vodka and orange juice and sank back into my chair.  Maybe in anticipation of the holiday weekend, or maybe because she liked the way I looked, the flight attendant was particularly friendly. She kept refilling my glass and stopping by to chit chat and share a laugh. Of course, this wasn’t the first time a flight attendant had flirted with me. But I wasn’t stupid; I knew a tall black man suited up in a crisp Thomas Pink cufflink shirt and Brooks Brothers tie was intriguing.

I felt the same way when I was coming up and I’d see a sharp-dressed brother. “How’d he make it?”, I’d wonder to myself. I’d been poor my whole life. Like government cheese, trailer park poor. Success had always been my goal and I worked hard for everything I had.

As the pilot announced we were preparing to land, the flight attendant handed me my sports coat and she slipped me her number. I slid it in the breast pocket of my jacket but knew I’d never call. I already had my beautiful and bright girlfriend waiting for me at the airport, ready to take me to her family’s place for Thanksgiving.

As the plane taxied down the runway and pulled to a stop in front of the gate, I unbuckled my seatbelt, stood up, and grabbed my bags. I was the first off the plane, striding through the jetway onto gate F12 with my head held high. I noticed the terminal was packed, filled with people going home for Thanksgiving weekend.

That’s when I saw them: standing right in front of the gate, two uniformed police officers and two detectives dressed in cheap rumpled suits like they’d walked straight off the set of Law and Order. My heart stopped in my chest. I knew they were there for me.

“Are you Alberto Marzan?” one of the detectives asked, stepping toward me as though to block my path in case I made a run for it.

“I am,” I said, trying to sound calm.

“Turn around, we’re putting you under arrest.”

You see, what you don't know from the pictures, the news is that while I was drinking vodka and OJ in first class, I was also scared that people would find out about my arrest.

I was arrested at the Minneapolis Saint Paul International Airport steps onto gate F12 for insurance fraud in 2012. That moment marked the beginning of the worst two years of my life. I thought I’d never find my way back to the life I worked so hard for. But sometimes you’ve got to hit rock bottom to really understand the lessons God has in store for you. The pride I'd get from my work had all been reduced to negative self-talk about the mistakes I made. Now I know the truth: That this journey I've been on for all these years is the hard work people say one needs to go through.

The diagram below is a fantastic visualization of this journey I’m talking about. I’m right before the realization stage.  

I plead guilty because I was. The judge gave me probation and STS for 30 days, which for someone who had never been in trouble in the past sucked, but I needed to own up to what I did. During this time I worked even harder and longer to rebuild myself emotionally. That's when the focus on physical really came in handy. It also taught me the hard lesson of "there are no shortcuts in this". No short cuts taken.  

Why write about this, you may ask? I write about it because sharing it is part of the healing process and part of where I am in my healing journey. Healing from shame, worry, and embarrassment to a powerful place in my life. I want you to see that no matter what we look like on pictures or on paper, we are able to grow from all experiences. I certainly have. Still, no shortcuts and forever no shortcuts.