A COVID-era gift from his wife, the room is wedged in the corner of the basement. It’s a cross between a man cave, a bat cave, a shrine and the well-appointed bedroom of a boy with an active imagination, this enclave is embroidered with sports souvenirs, Marvel memorabilia, Cincinnati Bengals swag, a dragon head, a St. Michael figurine, a tiger print carpet, an easel, candles, essential oils—“gotta have essential oils”—and a meditation mat. Low-ceilinged and deprived of windows, it’s hardly the highlight of a stately home-on-the-hill in the suburbs of Hartford. But Dan Hurley starts most days by spending time here.
Sometimes, Hurley says, he comes to paint. Sometimes he’ll start to work on a puzzle. Other times he’ll simply sit alone and convince himself that he is no failure and no bluff, and that, in fact, the considerable success that has come his way is both hard-earned and well-deserved.
