search.noResults

search.searching

note.createNoteMessage

search.noResults

search.searching

orderForm.title

orderForm.productCode
orderForm.description
orderForm.quantity
orderForm.itemPrice
orderForm.price
orderForm.totalPrice
orderForm.deliveryDetails.billingAddress
orderForm.deliveryDetails.deliveryAddress
orderForm.noItems
FOCUS: MEN’S THRIVABILITY


“Life is short, dude.” Letters from dad


My father talked about death a lot, but perhaps it was his way of nourishing the notion of impermanence and propel him to live a richer, fuller life.


by Dustin Grinnell A


t 33 years old, I realised I had become too clinical, too practical. I needed a quest, a


time for exploration. So, I quit my office job and withdrew $18,000 from savings to support a year off for thinking and writing. I spent the first six weeks in my hometown, cleaning out the closet. My first stop was a grave. It was


a chilly October morning when I passed the wooden sign for Kearsarge Cemetery in North Conway, New Hampshire. I walked the damp, narrow


24 SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2017


paths, brushing snow from headstones in search of my grandmother’s name: Martha Anne Burke. After a half-hour, I turned toward the exit and texted my mom that I had come up empty.


DAD’S EMPTY NEST Talking to her from my dad’s house an hour before, I had asked where her mother had been buried a decade ago. She gave me vague directions, unable to remember the exact location. While we were talking, I heard a loud thwack.


A bird had flown into a window beside me. It died instantly, the third one in as many weeks. My dad’s chalet is his own monastery.


It’s buried in the woods, tucked alongside a stream overlooking a pond. It’s the third house my dad, Greg, has built on the unpaved road in Eaton Village, New Hampshire, a picturesque town in the White Mountains with a population of roughly 400 people. It’s his empty nest, now that my brother and I are grown and living in Boston. He


Page 1  |  Page 2  |  Page 3  |  Page 4  |  Page 5  |  Page 6  |  Page 7  |  Page 8  |  Page 9  |  Page 10  |  Page 11  |  Page 12  |  Page 13  |  Page 14  |  Page 15  |  Page 16  |  Page 17  |  Page 18  |  Page 19  |  Page 20  |  Page 21  |  Page 22  |  Page 23  |  Page 24  |  Page 25  |  Page 26  |  Page 27  |  Page 28  |  Page 29  |  Page 30  |  Page 31  |  Page 32  |  Page 33  |  Page 34  |  Page 35  |  Page 36  |  Page 37  |  Page 38  |  Page 39  |  Page 40  |  Page 41  |  Page 42  |  Page 43  |  Page 44  |  Page 45  |  Page 46  |  Page 47  |  Page 48  |  Page 49  |  Page 50  |  Page 51  |  Page 52  |  Page 53  |  Page 54  |  Page 55  |  Page 56  |  Page 57  |  Page 58  |  Page 59  |  Page 60  |  Page 61  |  Page 62  |  Page 63  |  Page 64  |  Page 65  |  Page 66  |  Page 67  |  Page 68  |  Page 69  |  Page 70  |  Page 71  |  Page 72  |  Page 73  |  Page 74  |  Page 75  |  Page 76  |  Page 77  |  Page 78  |  Page 79  |  Page 80  |  Page 81  |  Page 82  |  Page 83  |  Page 84  |  Page 85  |  Page 86  |  Page 87  |  Page 88  |  Page 89  |  Page 90  |  Page 91  |  Page 92  |  Page 93  |  Page 94  |  Page 95  |  Page 96  |  Page 97  |  Page 98  |  Page 99  |  Page 100