On a crowded bar.

Doesn’t it always feel a little stupid? Visions of teetering, tumbling backward to the floor. But I had to get above the crowd, the sea of people in the bar all standing shoulder-to-shoulder.

It was a thrill to be surrounded by those who know making shit still matters—people who believe in art and ideas and sailing, too, I guess—and so I thought, well, if I fall on my ass, at least it’s another story.

[SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION ALERT] I was obviously delighted and honored to read at last week’s launch of the New England Review of Boats (where I did not completely eat it falling off a chair). If you haven’t gotten a copy yet, it fucking rules and I strongly suggest you do—and maybe snag a hat while you’re at it.