“People are never more insecure than when they become obsessed with their fears at
expense of their dream.”—Norman Cousins
Most time when I visit my poet friend, we spend time talking about poets from era of Shakespeare to Billy Collins. We would talk about their journey through life and how they ended up.
When we have exhausted ourselves with great names’ life history, we would have brunch or lunch together. Afterward, we would talk about our personal writings and dreams. We do this continuously for many months and more we do this, better our creativity becomes.
One morning I visited him. I got his firm handshake and slouched on couch as usual. After exchanging some pleasantries, he brought out a copy of TIME magazine and talked about “The man in full.” We spent more than three hours talking about great American writer before my poet friend excused himself to take a shower.
I picked up magazine and stared at Tom Wolfe, in full, on cover page. He was immaculately dressed in white suit, hat and a pair of shoes. A pair of white gloves in a hand, he stood half akimbo leaning on his cane with other hand wearing a bright smile of a successful writer.
Staring at him, I was lost in Wolfe’s world. I imagined millions of autographs he’d signed; thousands of people who had ran into him, in subway, stores and parking lots screaming “Holy jeez, he’s Tom Wolfe!” He must have shook their hands and say, “How are you doing?” Maybe simply smile; tilts his hat as a humble person and walk away signing another autograph.
The next minute, it struck me to do something, something a bit crazy. It dawned on me to swap place with Wolfe even if for one-tenth of a second. So, I dissolved Tom Wolfe. I saw myself on cover page leaning on a cane. I saw myself signing autographs. I heard some distance voices calling after me saying, “That’s him, that’s him. He’s on TIME last week.” I saw myself walking into bookstores and getting bows. I heard some beautiful college blondes whispering as I sat in train, “I read his book last week; he’s on best selling list. Do you think he would give an autograph?” (I will if they wouldn’t want me signing it on some breasts like Dylan Thomas did.)
