This one hurts. It’s wild how we can feel like we know someone so well that we’ve never met. Anthony Bourdain has been one of the most influential people in my life over the past decade. He gave me courage and he gave me permission. He proved that you could
recreate yourself at 40. He demonstrated that just because you had hauled-ass down one path for a decade or so didn’t mean you couldn’t march off into the rough and find a shortcut. He had persistently found his voice through authenticity. He could tell a fucking story and his seemed to be one of redemption.
We shared passions. The dining experience, Rock N Roll, Jiu-Jitsu, and general irreverence to name a few. In the early 2000’s I was working as a waiter and a sommelier and I wrote a treatment for a travel show focusing on food, wine and fun activities to experience around the world. His first show came out shortly after. I knew right away he had nailed it. After reading Kitchen Confidential I was a forever fan.
When mom calls at 7:00 a.m., something is usually wrong. It was a rude awakening. Initially I was actually relieved. The sound of her voice made me think it was a family member. But in a way, he was. Mom and I have been watching Tony and comparing notes for years. We spent my 30th birthday on a classic Tour de Tony, eating and drinking our way through recommendations in his native Manhattan and did it again seven years later when we crossed a “Christmas in NYC” off her bucket list. I had been on so many of those tours, in so many places, sharing deliciousness, with so many people I love. Those memories along with all the heartfelt shares on social media brought waves of tears over the next few days. I knew how much he meant to me. I had no idea how many people felt the same. It’s a true testament to authenticity.
The thing that was the toughest to swallow, the thing that was my initial shock and became a point of deep contemplation over the next few days, was just how someone who was surrounded by SO MUCH beauty could be in so much pain. How someone with that much privilege could get so far away from grateful for another day on planet Earth. The food, the wine, the relationships, the creative outlets, the open-doors, the martial arts, the money, the fame and the girl…he really had it all. And it began to dawn on me. Maybe that’s just it. Maybe it’s way easier for us to turn the wheel outward and blame everyone for our dissatisfaction. Maybe once we have all we’ve ever wanted and still struggle with our existence the only thing to do is turn the wheel back in on ourselves.
I don’t know much about Tony’s spiritual life. My best guess, from what I could gather, is he is like so many of our greatest voices. He felt a lot. Artists tend to do that. It’s part of the process of reflecting humanity back to itself. It’s why so many choose the numbness of heavy drugs. Without a deep sense of trust in the divine, I think it can all start to feel pretty dark. I think we can start to carry the pain of the collective consciousness and I think that just having an outlet to express yourself isn’t enough. I think the fuckery that organized religion has been pulling for millennium has ruled that one out for free thinking radicals like Tony and Me. And I think for many of us, artists especially, the woo-woo, new age, always be in a good mood or I’ll send you a meme, movement can be too literal and too contrived. It sometimes denies what we are actually experiencing, and it lacks the subtly that we crave in that which is sacred to us. I feel very fortunate to have practices in my life that keep me in a state of awe and a desire for more. I pray that it is always that way.
Ultimately, Tony gave us permission. He gave us permission to eat the weird thing, to love the weird neighbor, and to say the weird thing on our mind. In this last act, he has given me permission to go to another weird, dark place. I have never suffered from serious depression or mental illness. I have had hardships and bad times and many days I did not want to get out of bed, but I have never experienced any of that for long periods of time. I have never in all those times considered taking my life. But in classic Tony fashion, I was able to see it differently. He took me on the ride in some way. And as recently as Robin Williams, I now realize, I still lacked some compassion. I still had a “well it was his choice and I just feel sorry for his family” sort of attitude. In the days that followed Tony's suicide I visualized it. I imagined it. What it must have been like, to be at that level of despair. What it may have felt like to be in so much pain and feel that there is no one to blame but yourself. What fame must be like where everyone is telling you that you are somehow different or special and you still feel unworthy of praise. It started to make more sense. And I realized that his parting gift to me was a very deep, deep sense of compassion for this epidemic of mental health. And for that, I am once again grateful to you Mr. Bourdain.
I was recently asked how I would want to be remembered when I die, and my answer was “…that the food tasted a little better when I was around”. The food tasted better for all of us when you were around Chef. Thanks for sharing your gifts with us. May your next trip around come with more peace.