More airport chronicles.

I find myself passively agreeing as the driver tells me, “If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.” He has the Dominican accent that has become more defined and distinctive to me over the last several months. I have lived in Harlem since June — it is now November — and I am ready to leave my — description stricken to protect the potentially innocent — neighbors, everything.

But the driver is telling me, “It’s a challenge. If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. It’s as simple as that.”

He is making it in New York. He says that, as far as journalists are concerned, New York is the place to make it. If I want to raise a family or whatever, he says, if I want to live a different pace of life, that’s fine, do it somewhere else, but if I want to make something in my life, do it in New York.

He drops me off and, dazed, aware of my shortcomings, fears and insecurities at a little before 5 a.m., I want to buy a book at the airport. The bookstore is closed. I buy a bagel and a bottled smoothie, put them in my bag, and get in line for the security showdown ritual. Read the rest of this entry »