It’s been awhile since I have felt the draw to the pen. If I can be honest, and with you all I feel I must be, the reason is purely selfish. After the death of Anthony Bourdain, the voice in my head that moved these fingers so swiftly to scribe the wonderment of the world of beer has all but vanished. On the outside all is as it was and as it should be, but every day that I attempt to exist within the void I find myself deeper in the lost. To say that his death made me evaluate my own demons would be understated dangerously. But I fight. Through the tumbling outlook and heavy heart I try to make sense of it all, because if I can’t take the lessons of another’s misfortunes and better myself from them then that would mean I don’t really want to get past it. I would be solely, narcissistically baiting the hook for attention. That’s not me. I mean sure, who doesn’t appreciate being the center of someone’s world for a minute? But I want to make my way out of this cave with more to offer than a plea for help or a hug.

Everyone’s response to a rough day for me is to have a beer. My reputation precedes me. Maybe I ran with it. Maybe I can keep giving people what they want. Maybe the best way to battle these demons is to turn this finger Upright and find who I am, who I want to be. I admittedly lost who I was and he may be gone for good. That’s fine, I obviously never cared for him anyway. At the end of the day I hope I can find the simple things to be enough again. That would be a good start to reaching for something extraordinary, eventually. Until then, with a beer in my hand and my heart on my sleeve, I will be here, for anyone else struggling, for whoever needs a shoulder or an ear, to find the lost. Sometimes all we want to hear is this… it’ll all be okay. Cheers.