Anthony Bourdain: The Loss of a Teacher

Anthony Bourdain was introduced to me as the man who ate raw seal eyeballs with a smile. I will never forget the image of him on one of my favorite shows "No Reservations", his mouth blood-smeared and grinning with gratefulness as he feasted with an Inuit family in Canada. 

Bourdain taught me that the words "gross", "bad", and "wrong" are simply off the table when exploring other cultures. Those words are too easy. To search for beauty in that which confuses us or even shocks us, although it might be challenging, is how we educate ourselves. He was a tattooed, cigarette-wielding poet who knew how to tell a damn good story. But perhaps more importantly, he knew how to shut up and listen. 

Tonight I lie on my bed in Berlin, wondering if I would even be here if it were not for my exposure to Bourdain at a young age. He sparked my love of travel, and readiness to look an absolute fool. To think a man who has seen and acknowledged so much brilliance in the world, and has nonetheless chosen to leave it, disturbs me deeply.