Less than 24 hours in New York City, a quick trip up for my journalism school reunion. I almost didn't go; I didn't know if I wanted to tell people what I was doing. It's not that I'm ashamed of my career; it's a decent one by most standards. But my classmates are an impressive group of journalists. I wasn't sure they would understand that what matters to me now is not the daily chase for plum assignments or the satisfaction of putting a magazine to bed. Instead, it's reading and thinking and working on the ever-elusive next book.
What I discovered is that many of them are in a similar place. They too are switching gears, writing poetry, starting blogs. They are still an impressive bunch — but impressive as human beings, most of all.
This is where we held our party. Symposium: Plato's work on the nature of love, the Greek word for drinking party and a funky little restaurant on 113th Street.
Labels: friends, writing
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