It’s hard to believe, but this is my one-hundredth Man About Town essay. That amounts to more than 50,000 words of personal disclosure. Over the years I’ve written about everything from surviving a Disney Cruise, to turning fifty, to the indecency of hot tubs, to being mistaken for Jim Belushi. From the ups and downs of my romantic entanglements to my ridiculously codependent relationship with my mother. I’ve shared intimate stories involving my family and friends, some of whom are not all that thrilled to see their private moments memorialized in print. And I’ve repeatedly faced every writer’s worst fear—the stranger, or worse yet, friend, who says, “Hey, I’ve got a great idea for your next story.” But despite the variety of experiences I’ve chronicled in these pages, there is one common thread that runs through them—they are all true. If journaling is curative, then for me, Man About Town has been eight years of self-guided therapy.
The opportunity to write this column, as well as pen other articles for this magazine has been a blessing. In fact, working as a freelance writer for TOWN has been a form of enlightenment. When I first moved to downtown Greenville in the summer of 2012, I felt like a stranger in a strange land. It was light years away from the patchouli-scented air and sideshow atmosphere of downtown Asheville, where I’d been living as an antisocial recluse while trying to figure out what to do with my life. But the assignments I received from TOWN forced me to break out of my cocoon and knock on stranger’s doors. The work took me from the ornate mansions of wealthy philanthropists to the chaotic studios of starving artists. Over the years I’ve interviewed CEOs and attorneys, musicians and chefs, inventors and designers, bartenders and doctors. It’s been a remarkable way to learn about an area and develop a sense of community. And each interview and article has solidified Greenville as my home.
I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Blair Knobel, who is not only the editor in chief of this magazine, but also my drinking buddy and dear friend. How she and art director Paul Mehaffey produce this beautiful and thoughtful magazine each month, in the time I’m hard pressed to cobble together five hundred words, is a mystery to me. It’s why I refuse to enter the offices of Community Journals, for fear I might see how the sausage is made. But despite my detachment to the inner workings of this magazine, TOWN is a presence for which I am tremendously thankful. To date, it’s my longest lasting relationship.
