On Anthony Bourdain, Kate Spade, Robin Williams, and the Tragedy of Fame

I've avoided a lot of social media today in the same way I avoided social media on August 11, 2014 (or, the day Robin Williams completed suicide).

Anthony Bourdain was more than a celebrity chef. His shows delved into the cultural richness of the areas he featured. It wasn't enough for him to sit in the kitchen of a five star resort restaurant in some exclusive city. He wanted you to see what other people experienced, to recognize your privilege while absorbing a society you may never get to visit.

And, he has my favorite quote: "I'm a total egg slut."

Me too, Tony. Me too.

We may never know what prompted Bourdain's suicide - and that's fine. Being in the public eye does not give us agency to know those deepest, darkest monsters. People are ridiculously complicated, fascinating beings. Maybe he didn't even know what prompted him to end his life. Maybe it was a spontaneous decision with permanent consequences. Monday (Friday?) morning quarterbacking doesn't make his daughter any less father-less. It doesn't make his friends less horrified. And it doesn't make us any less sorrowful.

But just like when Robin Williams died, the seemingly surprising suicide of a celebrity with gravitas leads us to a more personal conversation with ourselves and each other.

I see a lot of people posting the suicide hotline number; yes, that's important, a good start. We all want the people we love to stay with us in a corporal sense, as long as possible. But here's where those suicide lines hit a snag:

A lot of people with suicidal ideation may not want to take that first step. I know that when I was at my most depressed, being told to take the initiative at a time when I could hardly get my head off a pillow would have felt like an insurmountable task. And actually speaking to someone on the phone? Unpacking layers upon layers to a therapist, only to discover that we're not compatible?

It's like dating, with less orgasms.

Asking someone who is depressed to take on another task may be too much. 

Being wealthy, famous, all the strappings of success - it won't change the internal struggles. If anything, it may suppress them until all the Depression Hotline or Suicidal Ideation Text Hotlines couldn't possibly reach you at your darkest. We didn't expect Kate Spade to suddenly not be alive (and screw all these news reports giving gruesome details. We are so desensitized as a culture that we care more about the color of the scarf than the grief of her heart.)
Anthony Bourdain was a shock. And the next, and the next, until we're so anesthetized by our society that we don't even look up from our phones when someone plummets to their death.

So what's the answer?

Well, I'm no psych nurse (yet), but it starts by not putting the onus on a depressed person to reach out for help. It starts with sending a text saying, "I'm getting pad thai and bringing you an order," and making good on it.

Stock Footage? Yes. Appropriate? Also, yes

It starts with a call (that will most likely go to voicemail) saying, "I can come to your house to help you organize your books," or, "I know shit's rough for you right now, so I'm taking you on a hike."

It's taking the initiative. Carrying the load when you know someone can't carry it themselves.

And if you're struggling there in the deep end of the pool, know this: I see you. I see you and I'm swimming over.

Because if there's one thing that we should know in this week of celebrity suicides (what a dark phrase that is), it's that we all need to take turns with a flotation device.