Within you there’s a vision of how life could be. Perhaps it’s the pursuit of what you loved as a kid. A unique curiosity or something as simple as a question, one like, why do these plants grow here?

Or how do you make clothes that look like that? Or what would make this taste better? Simple questions with answers complex enough to inspire a life.

The world will try to tell us what our dreams should be. What success should look like. A bigger house. Nicer car. More distractions. And maybe it takes getting those things to realize they won’t make us happy.

What will, if not make us happy, then instill our lives with meaning is following the path we know is ours. And how do we know? It’s hard to explain. It doesn’t make sense. It keeps us up at night. It won’t let go, this affinity.

But that affinity’s been blurred by the pressure of family, friends, society. It builds until the voice of them becomes the voice of us, and we, too, tell ourselves lies.

It’s childish, unrealistic, impossible.

We settle. And while our needs are met and on paper we’re successful and there’s even a smile on our face, there’s still that whisper that comes when we least expect. Removed from the routine or in the arms of nature, early in the morning or late at night, the whisper comes from our innermost being, two resounding words: what if?

It’s a scary thought. Naughty, even.

What if I said fuck it and entertained my childhood dream? What if I let go of the facade and focus on me, instead of what others think I should be? Is it possible? Why the hell not? It’s all a game, anyway. And while that’s true, time is something we don’t get back.

I’m getting to my thirties, and there’s a fear in me. Not that I won’t be successful, but that I’ll have to give in.

Recently I nearly did. I almost changed course and started down a different road that seemed more secure in the long run. I was considering the stability of school, knowing exactly what I’d have to do for the next three to five to ten years. And I admit, it felt like an exhale.

I can finally let go. I wouldn’t have to think about what to do with my life anymore. I’d be on a stable path.

It made sense, and the coursework sounded interesting — a master’s in psychology. I’d coach others dealing with chronic pain in the mind-body connection, as this is something I’ve grappled with for the entirety of my twenties that has made me grow unequivocally as a human being. I’d never stop writing, but coaching would be my anchor.

Yet while it was realistic, it wasn’t my audacious dream.

Days before embarking on that path, a friend gently woke me up. Think about if this is what you really want, he said. Didn’t you say you wanted to be the next Anthony Bourdain?

Damn. I did, didn’t I.

Anthony Bourdain is my hero. Has been since I was a kid. His show No Reservations kindled in me an enthusiasm for travel, a hunger for adventure, and a real love of food.

There’s his famed book Kitchen Confidential, which exposes the restaurant industry underbelly. But there are other books like The Bobby Gold Stories, his unashamedly witty X-rated fiction.

I related to the sensitive writer more than the bad boy chef. Most particularly, when I graduated from college I knew one thing only — I craved experiences.

In Kitchen Confidential, Bourdain takes us with him to Tokyo after being asked by one of his partners at Les Halles to consult a French chef at the restaurant’s Tokyo branch.

In the deluxe edition of the book with Bourdain’s notes in the margins, he writes about how the Tokyo chapter is the one that got the book made. It’s clear that Japan changed him fundamentally. I read that chapter on my first trip to Japan in 2019, a trip that affected me just as it did Bourdain.

I lay on the tatami floor of my Airbnb in the neighborhood of Koenji, reading about Bourdain’s fever dream in Tokyo. As I read, the sky outside was melancholic, the narrow streets below the apartment pristine and buzzing; inside of me an inkling of who I longed to be was burgeoning, as I wasn’t just reading a story of adventure anymore. I was living my own.

Moreover, this book showed me I could write my own.

Throughout my twenties, I thought that I wanted to be the next Anthony Bourdain. Somebody’s gotta fill his shoes, right? I thought. Why not me?

Well, I’ve realized that there will only ever be one Anthony Bourdain, just like there can only ever be one of me, and one of you. He didn’t leave shoes to fill. Rather, he opened the door. I could create in a way that inspires others just as Bourdain inspired me. But where to begin?

After college, my initial dream job was to work for the e-commerce lifestyle brand Huckberry. As someone passionate about the outdoors, wellness, style, traveling, and personal growth, I was eager to work with like-minded people who share my zest for adventure.

But I was timid. I didn’t attack my dream; without any sort of roadmap, I didn’t understand how. I was afraid. That’s okay. I’ve grown a lot in my twenties, and nearly changing paths made me realize I can either continue living in this sort of in-between, or I can burn the ship.

So I return to the beginning, back to my roots, my north star clear and shining. Although now, I’m not just a timid kid. I have experience, an undeniable stack of proof that says I am who I think I am.

For years I’ve been building my body of work, gardening experiences like teaching English in Japan and volunteering in Europe, producing things I love like my books and magazine and podcast, and all the while embracing the challenges and gifts I’ve been given.

I’m realizing that there’s a clear connection between my fascination with Bourdain and my desire to work for a brand like Huckberry.

Huckberry is making the sort of lifestyle media I’ve always adored, as it has its own adventure series, DIRT, which I recently came across. It’s beautiful and engaging and has a clear adventure narrative, hosted by former professional snowboarder Josh Rosen.

I’d be lying if I said I’m not a little envious.

But perhaps I’m not ready for that role. Maybe I’m not where I need to be in life—that I’m not yet the man with wisdom and experience and depth to realize my ambitions.

So rather than envious, I’m encouraged.

Because just by reading the comments for DIRT, it’s evident that the world yearns for the sort of media I long to create, not media to inform, but to inspire; not media that shows us what is wrong in the world, but what is possible in the world; not content that makes you want to stay at home and hide, but get out there and live.

This is my dream. Just knowing that is half the battle.

It feels like I’m back on course with a newfound belief in myself. It will take time. There will be steps along the road before getting where I hope to go. But I know everything has happened the way it’s meant to — the wins, the losses, the pain, the gifts. Everything.

I’ve been working on my own for years, but I’m ready to take it to the next level. I’m ready to work with a team on a real platform, one like Roads & Kingdoms, Huckberry, AFAR, and Time Out.

I can’t do this alone. I wouldn’t be here with my family and friends. But it’s time to get bold. I crave the wisdom of writers and editors and designers more experienced than me.

I want to pour my heart and soul into my work, not just for me anymore, but for a brand I believe in. I want to grow, and this is how. It’s scary, daunting, audacious even. That’s a telltale sign that we’re shooting for the stars.