Admittedly and shamefully, my first reaction to Bourdain’s suicide was anger and disappointment. How could he do this to his family, friends, production team, to us, to me?

If wasn’t about me or us or them. It was about pain so deep, so intense that it can’t be released except through the ending of the life that holds it.

Honestly, like most, I thought of his life and work as exotic, exciting, romantic, and fulfilling. I didn’t think much about the atrocities he saw while surrounded by cameras and a crew to meet his every need. What guilt he must have felt for being the privileged person he was. What hopelessness he must have felt for not being able to change the horrors in his path despite his influence and riches.

I believe the Trump train was the final straw for him. To see his own country racing toward ruin when he was so aware of the misery caused by despots and narcissistic leaders in other lands must have been overwhelming to him.

Sometimes it’s all too much.

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