Friday morning, Anthony Bourdain was found dead in his hotel room in France. Reports said the cause was suicide and that his close friend and fellow chef, Eric Ripert, was the one that found him. I won't lie, this has hit me really hard. I feel silly for being so upset about the death of someone who I didn't even know, but as my friend told me, "celebrities can be faces that represent principles we value", and he's right. Anthony Bourdain wasn't just a celebrity to me, he represented some of the things I hold closest like travel and food.

In high school, I wrote a letter to Anthony Bourdain as my Governor’s Scholars program essay, telling him why he should go on a cross country road trip with me. Today, I am writing him another letter, this time about the impact he has had on me and how I am struggling to digest the fact that he is gone. So without further ado:

Dear Tony,

As I woke up this morning, I had a flurry of text messages crowding my inbox with sad faces and links to articles with your name in the headline. Before I could even put my feet on the floor, I was reading these texts and articles as fast as I could to try to understand the words though they seemed incomprehensible. You were gone. Suicide. Found by a close friend. Only 61.

Before I even had time to process, I was in tears. I thought for a moment that maybe I was still dreaming since I had already woken up from a bad dream once earlier that night. But no, this was the horrible reality. Immediately I tried to think about what this meant, not only for me but for the world.

For me, I have looked up to you since I was 11 or 12 years old. When I would switch on No Reservations after dinner and my parents would make some quip about the fact that I was watching a show that had a parental disclaimer at the beginning warning of foul language. I loved it. I reveled in your raunch and readily consumed your sarcasm with giggles and gasps. But most of all, I LOVED the travel. And the people. You made me feel like I was there with you, far and wide, wherever you were, I felt as though I were there too. Like I was sitting at your table, having a conversation with old and new friends. You showed me how to travel and embrace the chaos. You taught me how to talk to people who were different from me with respect and openness. You taught me that there is so much we don’t know and that everyone we meet has a valid and important story to be told. And you showed me how to embrace differences and that uncomfortable feeling that goes along with not really knowing what you’re doing. You were an ethnographer, showing me the value in sharing a meal or an awkward experience with another person, and the way it could teach us how the world works and why.

For the world, you taught people how to connect with someone whom they may think it would be impossible to find common ground. You gave us the chance to see places we may never go or may never hear a word about. You broke down stereotypes and barriers and showed us that people are people, no matter where they are or what they do (or eat). You taught us to try new things, food, and experiences because if you don’t, it will only be a missed opportunity. You taught us to go outside our comfort zones and to be comfortable with the uncomfortable. You showed us what it meant to stand up for what we believe and to advocate for what truly moves us.

I still can’t believe it’s true. You probably don’t remember, but I met you once. It was at a show in Kentucky, and you signed my copy of Kitchen Confidential while I stood, starry-eyed trying to think of something, anything really, to say, even though I had thought of countless questions and comments I could ask or tell you in this moment. You signed my book, posed for a photo and I moved out of the way for the next in line to meet you. There are so many things I wish I would have told you or asked you in that few seconds, but my excitement was more than I could handle so unfortunately, those things will go unsaid. I’m still struggling to understand why and how you could have done this to yourself, but I know that none of us will ever really know. But I hope that you at least knew that you touched so many people’s lives, inspired so many people to travel and try new things and meet new people and we are all better for it. I pursued a career field that centers on travel and connecting people who think they are different, and you are partially to credit. I will miss you and your creations both on TV and in text, and I hope to continue traveling to make you proud, embracing the unplanned, respecting people, and eating tons of delicious street foods. Thanks for everything.

Sami

“Maybe that’s enlightenment enough: to know that there is no final resting place of the mind; no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom...is realizing how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go." - Anthony Bourdain