Why is everyone I idolize dead? I thought as I laid quietly in bed.
I had just finished Anthony Bourdain’s A Cook’s Tour and needed a moment to let it all sink in. The ending of a book is usually a moment of somber reflection for me. It’s a ritual that begins by reading the last page or paragraph twice, maybe three times, before closing it silently and falling into my thoughts. Each story is an emotional and mental investment and seeing it come to a close is like ending a relationship. You need some time to accept its conclusion and move on. Continue reading “On hope and endings”
I’ve been on a bit of hiatus from writing lately, albeit unintentional. Sometimes inspiration, or in my case just plain motivation, doesn’t come. In these instances I should force myself to but being the hedonist I am, I instead sink deeper under the covers and watch that next episode on Netflix. Continue reading “Hiatus”
I have been officially unemployed and living in Madrid for nine days now. Scorching hot days slip away to balmy nights, tables on terraces dotting the winding streets filled until the early hours. But despite these endless, spotlessly sunny days, I feel like I’m in a period of transition. Continue reading “Settling in”
At the end of May, I went to Madrid to do some research for a piece about Ernest Hemingway I’m working on. I use the term research lightly; I was going to drink in the bar he loved, sit at his table, glean what I could from the energy of the place. I’d have his favorite meal at his favorite restaurant (incidentally the oldest in the world), walk along the avenues he walked. Try to understand what it was and is about the city that keeps one coming back. Continue reading “Finding meaning in Hemingway’s Madrid”