Goodbye, Anthony.

As of this writing, what remains of Anthony Bourdain rests in a small, makeshift urn heading back to the United States. A week ago, Bourdain was a living, breathing personification of our hopes and dreams for a life richly filled with great food and world travel. But on June 8, 2018, overcome and deeply mired in what friends would describe as several days' worth of an especially dark depression, Bourdain secured around his neck a bath robe belt from his French hotel room, snuffing out one of the world's brightest culinary rock stars.

Anthony Bourdain would have been the first to say that he never achieved fame from his cooking prowess; it was his witty, punchy, sardonic turn-of-phrase that put him on the proverbial map, beginning with an article his mom, a writer/copy editor for The New York Times, helped get published in The New Yorker.  While his early attempts at mystery writing had already yielded two not-so-best-selling novels in the 1990s, Bourdain's eloquent, almost scandalous 2500-word The New Yorker article was the piece that finally secured his special brand of provocative, rude infamy.

Having been spoon-fed comparatively saccharine TV cooking personalities like Alton Brown, Emeril Lagasse and Giada De Laurentiis, I was initially put off by Bourdain and his cocky, smug attitude. He often sauntered on TV down smoky dark streets, sporting a leather jacket and spouting off snarky diatribes against many of the very celebrities I had for years grown to enjoy.  

Thankfully, something about Bourdain's style and tone notably shifted around the mid-2000s. He became more introspective about himself and his role in the world. As he traveled to more exotic, often broken and war-torn countries, Bourdain's narrative became substantially more mellow and philosophical. His voice-overs still maintained his trademarked edge, but now there was a deeper sincerity folded into the mix, with a humble perspective and respect for other people and other cultures. No longer was the story about what Bourdain^TM thought of the world. Instead, his show focused on how food, culture and humanity are all intertwined,  each new filming locale peeling back another layer of understanding in our never-ending journey toward enlightenment.

It is that crucial shift in Anthony Bourdain's television persona that makes his untimely end seem all the more tragic and pointless. Here was a man knee-deep in worldly historical context, who'd broadened his horizons well beyond that which the average person's life affords. Yet, even armed with all that mind-blowing wealth spring of knowledge gathered throughout his travels, it wasn't enough to keep his personal demons at bay.

What's more tragic is that his suicide seems to somehow invalidate all the truths, all the inspirational, reflective tapestry of words he had used to soothe his listeners with assurances that, despite how bad life seems to you, the world generally remains a place full of wonder, that most people are, at their core, essentially good, or at least aspire to do the best they can.  

Anthony Bourdain's legacy will still be there:  we'll still be able to binge-watch his two decades' worth of world travel, but each episode will now forever be tinged with sadness, tainted by a sense of hopelessness, that no matter how far and wide one goes to acquire insight, there can never be true peace within.

Goodbye, Anthony