happy birthday, hemingway.

in fear of looters during the cuban revolution, hemingway kept a shotgun close to him often

on paper, ernest hemingway was a near-mythical man— from enlisting in the the military to join the italian front as an ambulance driver, to accompanying patton’s army as a journalist in the second world war, to surviving two consecutive plane crashes in 1954, the guy lived a life of genuine adventure which influenced his work that would go down as some of the greatest american literature ever written. the adventure is not what NECESSARILY made him who he was, so much as his ability to write these stories down on paper in a way that managed to capture the core of the human experience. his straightforward dialogue struck the hearts of the common man— making it easy to identify, and relate to his writings on love, war, and death.

he’s a cliche if you look at him in that light. the guy struggled with a lot throughout his life—depression, paranoia, ALCOHOLISM, divorce, and his untimely demise by suicide. the reason we’re able to romanticize this legacy is because that is real life stuff— combine that with his other wild experiences, and the result is a guy who might have some advice worth listening to.

he lived a life that most only dreamed of— he took risks, he lived on the edge, he wasn’t afraid to suffer the consequences of his decisions— he hunted wild game, he drank whiskey, and he smoked cigars. he was a real man— unafraid to throw a punch, and unafraid of the unknown. we could all take a lesson on what masculinity is from the dude, and we all should take a lesson on what masculinity is from him. the man taught us what it meant to love, to kill, to fight, and to die— and he left the earth far too soon.

happy birthday, mr. hemingway.