Tate Basildon

The “What If” Game and the Man Who Didn’t Know He Was Sick Yet

There was a version of me in 2002—forty years old, a working chef, exhausted in ways that made no logical sense, and listening to doctors insist that every alarming symptom was “stress.” Now that sarcoidosis is a familiar part of my vocabulary, looking back on that time feels like watching a movie where you want to yell at the character to turn around. Revisiting that moment made me rethink the “what if” game entirely and wonder how differently life looks when you finally know what your body was trying to tell you.

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What You Don’t See: A Chef’s Reflection on Living With Sarcoidosis

Living with sarcoidosis is like starring in a medical drama no one else can see—one where you look perfectly fine on the outside while your organs do the cha-cha backstage. Back in 2011, when all of this felt new and terrifying, I kept most of it to myself. Now, looking back from 2025, I can’t help but revisit how invisible everything looked… especially to everyone who insisted I “didn’t look sick.” There’s a lot more to the story, but you’ll have to come inside for the rest.

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Why I Hopped Off “The Last Train to Istanbul” Before Page 40: A Historical Fiction Book Review

Struggling with the translation and overstuffed details in Last Train to Istanbul, I gave it an honest shot—but tapped out by page 38. Here’s my take on why this historical fiction novel just didn’t work for me (and what might make it better).

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The Fart That Blew Across the River — Ego, Approval, and the Human Condition

There’s a wonderful (and hilariously humbling) Zen story I’ve always loved, and it popped back into my head recently when I caught myself fishing for praise. Not overtly. Just subtly leaving the room and lingering… waiting for the “Wow” I hoped would come. The story goes like this: Su Dongpo (also known as Su Shi) …

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Why I Walked Away From Support Groups (And Found My Voice Instead)

Living with sarcoidosis is already its own exhausting full-time job, so the idea of a support group sounded…promising. Or at least not disastrous. But back in the early 2010s, when my lungs and heart were misbehaving like rebellious teenagers, the search for “people like me” turned into something far stranger than comforting. I won’t spoil the whole story here, but let’s just say it involved Christmas ornaments, long train rides, and me realizing the person I actually needed to find was somewhere else entirely. Maybe someone like you.