Like clockwork the girls finished with the gym begin appearing on sidewalks and in train stations, their white ear buds hiding them from the world, while they stroll around confidently in shorts that show toned thighs and bodies ready for any number of marathons. In each face I glance at I see a circumstance that could or could not happen. Hello or not, is what I could say. In each of these gym women, glistening with the false promise of eternal youth is something waiting to happen. They drift like sweat tainted wraiths into various eateries train stations and apartments as nighttime fully blankets the city. Then I see the occasional tourist reading a map and hear people chatting in various foreign languages, while residents of the neighborhood stroll by; guys with fashionable buzz cuts and Polo shirts flanked by girls in floral pants and tank tops used to easy lives and easier nights. My big toe is making a ripple in the pool of New York’s lower East side as I watch and observe this procession near Orchard Street, taking in the sensations as I sit on a bench. This is one of the things I like most about New York; this sense of movement and rhythm, where I see patterns unfold in a sea of patterns. Presently I’m far removed from the way was when I previously lived in New York, stuck on full throttle with no end in sight. It is in this place, within only a week of being in the city, I meet not one, but two of the most famous non-fiction authors in America. For me this is significant, because as a Jamaican writer living in Jamaica, I rarely interact with people who survive wholly from their artistic pursuits. It was only days after this moment sitting down, I would meet Piper Kerman, author of Orange Is The New Black.

I’d actually never seen Piper Kerman, only briefly in a blurry photo on the internet. In person she is attractive, with womanly curves in a casual outfit, exuding a relaxed energy when speaking. As an unapologetic fan of Orange Is The New Black, it was interesting to hear her take on things about prison that you don’t really get to see in the television show. But at the same time, sitting there, in an audience of probably two hundred people at the Bryant Park Reading Room, I saw someone who had an idea that took shape and was in a place to facilitate it’s growth. This is the real pull of a place like New York, where an ex-convict can become an advocacy leader and star consultant of a hit television show. This sense of possibility mirrors that energy the young, gym-conscious women exude. Going to the gym works your body into a shape that better allows you to operate within the paradigms of your environment. New York demands more beauty, more health, more ideas, more sexy. Demanding as that is, it feels right.

Sitting only feet away from Piper, I immediately felt nervous about my next move, which was to give her a copy of my book, Naked As The Day. I don’t have a book agent or a public relations firm and I designed and mostly edited my book by myself. Whatever marketing I do has been with sweaty palms and a racing heart as I call people to let them know I have a new book out, or send out e-mails in the hopes I can get a book review from a somewhat reputable publication. So my book lies idly in the bag sitting on my lap as I’m looking on Piper. She’s being interviewed by TV critic Emily Nussbaum, who I also find interesting. Emily’s body language is saturated with the positive New York energy of someone who is extremely comfortable with their choice of work. In a black dress and matching Chuck Taylors, I get a sense of “cool” from her, but in a non-specific way. People like her and Piper, successful authors and TV critics don’t exist in my day-to-day world. Oddly, before I even came to New York, I had a feeling I’d meet Taylor Schilling, the actress who plays the character Piper Chapman on the television show. To ask me why I thought this when I was in Jamaica makes no sense to me, but after meeting Piper (the real Piper), I was shocked when that memory returned to me and I questioned the meaning behind such predictive thoughts. In fact, I wasn’t even supposed to go to her reading that day.

On the Wednesday before Piper’s reading, I randomly went to a monthly author meetup I saw on Meetup.com. held at Le Poisson Rouge in the West Village. I walked in knowing no one, but ended up meeting an author, Michael Wolraich, who just had a book, Unreasonable Men published. I met him through a writer from the New York Times, Sarah Nir, who gave a touching presentation on her father’s German-Jewish background. The theme of the night was ‘bring an object and tell a story’ and hers was a display showing copies of the seventy-odd variations of her father’s misspelt name that had come to their house on mail envelopes over the years. After telling her I enjoyed her presentation, she asked me what I was doing in town.

“I’m in town for a few weeks because I wrote three novels and i’m trying to connect with creatives around town before I head to my cousin’s wedding,” I said to her.

“Wow, that’s great!” she replied.

I nodded, noting the reaction. In the big Apple, it seemed many people had an intrinsic understanding of the effort required for certain creative endeavours. The city, after all, used to be (and to some, still is) the mecca for creatives to travel to. When I meet people in NYC I tell them i’ve written three books, many will ask me for a copy without hesitation. After showing Sarah the copies of my books I always walked around with, we fell into a conversation about the value of immigration and she told me about her time growing up mostly in the care of a Jamaican nanny. She remarks that the nanny’s children (four of them) are now gainfully employed and educated with a sprinkling of doctors in the mix. It was she who introduced me to Michael, and it was he who invited me to his reading at the Bryant Park Reading Room. Incidentally, on the day of the reading I went to the Bryan Park website for the first time to get a sense of where it was and saw that Piper Kerman was going to be reading on the same day. Michael’s reading was at seven, and Piper’s was at twelve. When I went to the website it was ten thirty a.m, and I immediately got ready and headed to the park.

I often tell people there is nothing quite like New York city in the summertime. The dusty cloak of grumpiness that the cold winter brings has been fully shaken off, and everyone packs outdoor cafes and lounges like lizards in the sun. Particularly the women are an exquisite sight to behold; well dressed and armed with confidence. But when I went to New York this summer for a period of six weeks, I wasn’t thinking so much about the beauty of everything around me. I battled with myself to figure out how to get as much from the city as it would allow me during my time there. Most days I scoured TimeOut New York and downloaded apps on my iPhone that suggested things that “creatives” do. I researched movie screenings, book panel discussions and made calendar dates when interesting folks might appear at the Apple store. Compared to Kingston Jamaica where i’m from, New York was an incredible explosion of opportunity and access. In days i’d seen a Kara Walker exhibition, shot photography at a Maxi Priest concert, schmoozed with the owner of an eatery in the Lower East side and did an impromptu book reading at a Thursday night gathering somewhere near Union Square. But I hadn’t had a ‘moment’ yet, that is, something that would give me a specifically positive sign in the chaos of New York. But it happened when I met Piper.

My hands were trembling so much when I handed her a copy of my novel, that I was barely able to sign my name. If she ever reads this, she will laugh if she sees that I half scrawled my signature in the book because of my jittery nerves. But after seeing her speak, I felt emboldened to at least try. Too many coincidences had lead me to Bryant Park and I wasn’t about to miss an opportunity like this; to meet someone who had brought such an interesting perspective into reality. Deepak Chopra says in his book, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success, that if you are able, give everyone you meet a gift. It doesn’t have to be physical. It can be a blessing, a compliment or even just a positive thought. All I had were a few copies of my books that I’d brought to New York to show around and give to people I felt might see the value in what I was trying to do. But I’d never been to a book signing, much less one in the states. All I saw around me were a few tall cops with huge muscles and the nervous eyes of a few Bryant Park employees darting around and checking their watches. I also saw the line behind me, which had become a sprawl going into the distance. My heart was racing and for a moment, I said I wouldn’t give her the book.

“It’s too forward,” my anxious mind said.

“I don’t want to hold up the line,” it repeated.

Ignoring the impulse of flight, I did it anyway, and asked someone in line to take a few pictures of us with my camera. After shaking her hand and saying hello, I said the following:

“Hello misses Kerman. I believe in gift giving, and you’ve given us so much with your book and TV show, I wanted to give you a copy of my book.”

Her eyes lit up and she said “wow!” as I handed her the copy. “You have to sign it for me!” she said. Again, I caught the eyes of a Bryant employee watching me, and I swore a legion of cops would pounce on me and pull me out of line. But this didn’t happen, I signed Piper’s copy (albeit with a shaky hand) and she signed my copy of her book.

I thanked her and walked away, my heart still thundering in my chest. I was giddy because of how the circumstances had all coalesced into this random meeting. In fact, Piper’s reaction to me giving her my book reflected more of that positive, intrinsic value I’d sensed from the people I’d met thus far. I packed my camera back into my bag and took a stroll through the park, watching people lying on mats in the grass, drinking iced tea at alternate tables, walking briskly to wherever they were going as New Yorkers always did. I walked through a few deep shadows of some midtown buildings and entered the train station where a man playing drums had a captive audience. There it was again; that New York rhythm, so ever present in the man’s sweat laced brow, the watchful eyes of his transient fans and the city people in the background; so used to a life of street performances and noise they could sit calmly reading in the melee. I wondered if I’d find a place like this for myself, with a rhythm that ebbs and flows, bringing me closer to the things I want in life. Nothing save the screaming of the train against the rail tracks answered me, but in New York, that might just be enough.