Beautiful Things, Hunter Biden [good book recommendations .txt] 📗

well, since we were kids. I finally have the time and space—and sobriety—to explore it.

Now, I wake up with baby Beau, make a cup of coffee, and paint through the morning. Then Melissa makes us lunch. Sometimes we take a walk, sometimes we take a drive. Then I paint through the afternoon, my hands and forearms covered in blues and yellows and greens. I’m driven to create.

For all the art I’ve made since I was a kid—art that only you ever really saw—and the sketchbooks I’ve filled over the years, I feel like I’ve returned to my authentic self. Whether anybody likes it or not isn’t what drives to me to get up to paint. I paint no matter what. I paint because I want to. I paint because I have to. Our house is filled with paintings.

It’s all part of a new chapter, another step in the process. I still have a ton of work to do on myself, with my addiction, and clearing the wreckage of my past. I’m trying to make good on my debts—both figurative and literal.

I don’t want to give the impression I think my problems are over and everything’s great. You know as well as anyone how I’ve experienced long-term sobriety only to have it vanish in an instant. I’m constantly aware that it can be fleeting and fragile. I’m constantly aware of how much danger I’m in no matter how far away I get from my last drink or drug. But I’m not hanging on by my fingernails this time; the desire, the itch, to use is gone.

I learned this during my first rehab stint, back in 2003: Sobriety is easy, all you have to do is change everything. Part of that change for me is no longer allowing myself the selfish pleasure of reacting in the same old ways to the same old things. I know now I don’t have the luxury of staying angry. I don’t have the luxury of wallowing in self-pity or frustration. I don’t have the luxury of being offended by people because of their concerns for me, whether legitimate or stemming from their own issues.

I don’t have the luxury of saying fuck it.

I talk every day with folks who are in recovery. With addiction as the equalizer, I’ve developed a support network of people who understand the struggle based on their own struggles. We rarely talk about those struggles in any specific way. Mostly we just talk: about what we’re grateful for, about something in the news that really gripes us. We’re making sure our connections are active in our daily lives so that they’re fully available in a moment of crisis. You never know when that moment will come. Even when the ghosts of addiction have been banished, they still exist. I have a healthy fear of them.

I’m focused on our children. The time I lost with them remains my greatest regret. We’re getting there. There’s a sense that all the horrible things said about me have brought us closer together, made them more fiercely loyal. That gives us an opportunity for healing. I love what Hemingway wrote: “The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places.” That’s my hope. All wounds don’t heal overnight.

What I’ve been through—what I’ve done—is something I can never purge, never forget. But I’m learning to live in the moment without constantly feeling guilt or shame. Credit for that goes to Melissa. To Naomi, Finnegan, and Maisy. To our family. To you.

I don’t fear the future anymore, Beau. I realized it a few weeks before the election. In the middle of all the salacious attacks on me, a friend wondered aloud, “Wouldn’t it be great if this whole story had a happy ending?”

And I thought, this story already has a happy ending. The happy ending began the day I met Melissa and finally put down the drink and drugs. Despite all of the pressure and having to deal with the consequences of my irresponsibilities, the happy ending is right here. But a happy ending isn’t the end, or a finish line—it’s just the beginning, the beginning of a life I have to work to keep every day, a life I am lucky to live as long as I stay sober.

And what an incredible gift it is: to live in the light of beautiful things.

God, I miss you, buddy.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Hunter

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to Drew Jubera, without whom Beautiful Things would not have been possible, and to the outstanding team behind this book: Andrew Chaikivsky, Laura Nolan and David Granger at Aevitas, Jack Kingsrud, Kevin Morris, and George Mesires.

Thank you to Aimée Bell and everyone at Gallery Books: Jennifer Bergstrom, Jennifer Long, Sally Marvin, Max Meltzer, Eric Rayman, Jennifer Robinson, Tom Spain, Jennifer Weidman, Sarah Wright, and Laura Cherkas.

Thank you to my family, and to everyone who helped me on this path toward beautiful things.

Thank you especially to Naomi, Finnegan, and Maisy.

Most of all: Thank you, Melissa, the love of my life.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

HUNTER BIDEN is a lawyer and an artist. A graduate of Georgetown University and Yale Law School, Hunter has worked as an advocate on behalf of Jesuit universities, and served on numerous corporate and nonprofit boards, including as vice chairman of Amtrak and chairman of the board of World Food Program USA. He is the son of President Joe Biden and the father of three daughters: Naomi, Finnegan, and Maisy. He lives with his wife, Melissa Cohen Biden, and their son, Beau, in California.

FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR:

SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/Hunter-Biden

SimonandSchuster.com

@GalleryBooks

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