This morning I dragged my suitcase through Times Square, on the way to a morning meeting. People were setting up tables, and it was largely empty except for the early morning commuters like me, streaming by on the sidewalks. I’ve spent a lot of time in Times Square over the last thirty years. I know how it’s changed, and also remember how it looked the first time I visited it.
It occurred to me that this particular point – right now – is the time I’ve been given to be alive. New York in 2026 is not the same as New York in the 90s or New York in the 50s or New York in the 1800s.
All of us, meaning anyone reading this, all of our enemies and friends and people we haven’t met, we all share this point in time. We are travelers together in this particular configuration of earth, and this moment has its own customs, its own levels of success, its own versions of what it means to be good and its own celebrities.
That’s what I was thinking as I walked through Times Square, dragging my luggage, watching them set up tables early in the morning like I’ve done many, many times before.





