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My tribute to Anthony Bourdain

What a sad day. What a sad week. Loss is a heavy, heavy thing. It demands to sit on shoulders. There is no asking permission. I guess permission would be useless—who would say yes? Grief is a crucial process to heal, after all. There should be no shame. Nothing to apologize for.

Anthony Bourdain was unapologetically himself, at least that’s the persona he shared with the world. I don’t dare presume to know what lived inside his heart, what dark forces gnawed and scratched from within. All I know is that I’m sad. I sat at my dining room table this morning with my journal in front of me, open and waiting for me to dump myself onto the page, like I do every day, and instead of writing I cried. It was a hearty cry. And I cried for Anthony Bourdain. I cried because he was in so much pain. I cried because he was just gone. There was no shame. Nothing to apologize for.

Anthony Bourdain, with his reliable authenticity, was an inspiration—to find beauty in the world, to be honest, to listen to our fellow man, to be daring with our joy, to eat and drink and laugh and travel and, and, and. There was no shame. Nothing to apologize for.

May you be in peace, Anthony. The world was absolutely a better place with you in it. The world will absolutely be less without you.

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