Echos from a life not lived

Fall arrived today in New York.



It rained, the winds blew, a cold front swept in.



The City changed before our eyes. Joggers in shorts were replaced by folks bundled up in warm coats and rain boots, carrying umbrellas.

The truth of this city is it is the mecca for ideas in America. That is what I love about it.

(Remaining Photos by Junko)



Today, at breakfast with one of my few true heroes and mentors, Victor Navasky, I regained what I always find here, an appreciation for thinking. As much as I love California, so much of our time there is spent in pursuit of physical pleasures (mind you, I am not complaining) that we often forget how to just think.



That's not an option in Manhattan. Here, you are either thinking or you have died.



It will always pain me that over a long life, well-lived, I have only visited this place, never lived here. I have been offered jobs, but for family reasons, I never accepted. Maybe it goes beyond that. Maybe I never felt good enough, when I was younger, (as a writer) to make it here. Self-confidence has never been my long suit.

I no longer feel those feelings of inadequacy when it comes to writing, however. I know I could succeed as a writer (or editor) in this town, quite easily. But my family is out west, and my family comes first. So I'll have to return to that distant coast and resume my quest to achieve a writing voice that resonates beyond my small circle of friends and family from there.

I may never succeed; probably I won't. Then again, maybe that really doesn't matter anyway.

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