Bourdain & The Trouble With Being Alive

Why The Coolest Man In The Room Still Couldn’t Stay

If anyone seemed to have cracked the code of living, it was Bourdain. He had taste - not just in food, but in music, books, tattoos, people. He wore his demons like a leather jacket: not flaunted, not hidden. Just... there.

He wore his sadness like his tattoos - visible, permanent, but never the first thing you noticed. Anthony Bourdain moved through the world with the grace of a rock and roll samurai, part Hemingway, part Lou Reed, part kitchen pirate. He talked about life like it was a five-course meal served in a dive bar. And yet, with all that grit, wisdom, food, music, and connection-he still left us. And I haven’t stopped thinking about what that means. How can a man, with such a fruitful outlook on life, people, travel and the overall sense of life purpose still not have a reason to stay?

But here’s the thing that haunts me:
He saw everything. And still, it wasn’t enough.

What do you do with that?

How do you start to understand why a man who could speak so poetically about the perfect negroni or a homemade plate of food made by a stranger at a street stall? A man who seemed to always be in motion-how do you start to make sense of the silence he left behind?

Maybe the people who really get it, the beauty, the grit, the absurdity of it all are the ones who struggle the most to be here. Maybe insight doesn’t always come with peace, knowledge and all the self work a person can do - and don’t we all love that these days? The idea of self work being the foundations of what makes a whole human? Or ‘protecting our peace’ as the kids like to say it.

Bourdain taught me that culture is more than aesthetics. It’s how people survive. It’s what they sing when they’re hurting. It’s the rituals of joy in the middle of chaos. It’s rock shows and battered notebooks, food stalls and high art, leather jackets and hand-me-down wisdom.

But he also reminded me that being surrounded by all that richness doesn't save you from despair. Sometimes, it just sharpens the edge.

This post isn't really about Bourdain. It’s about what he opened up in me-and maybe in you, too.

This Substack is for the people who are chasing something that doesn’t always have a name. For the misfits, romantics, burned-out visionaries, and quiet rebels. For the ones who see the world as a collage of chaos and colour, heartbreak and noise.

We’ll talk about art and sound and style. About the legends and the lost. About the scenes that shaped us and the ones still waiting to be found. This isn’t nostalgia-it’s a kind of archaeology. A dig through the beauty and wreckage to figure out what matters now.

Bourdain didn’t have answers. But he had questions, and a killer soundtrack.

That’s more than enough to start with.

In honour of the restless ones.

See you next week x