The solutions all are simple – after you have arrived at them. But they’re simple only when you know already what they are.
Certainties are arrived at only on foot.
When I arrived to study at Oxford in October 1963, the bohemian style was black plastic or leather jackets for women and black leather or navy donkey jackets for men. I stuck to cavalry twills and a duffle coat, at least for a few months.
Although they arrived in New York penniless, my parents scraped together enough savings to establish the first of several small businesses just after I was born.
The British who arrived in the United States in the eighteen-thirties and forties had imagined the young republic as a wide-eyed adolescent, socially ungainly and politically gauche, but with some hint of promise.
Everybody owned stock in the Capone mob; in a way, he was a public benefactor. I remember one time when he arrived at his box seat in Dyche Stadium for a Northwestern football game on Boy Scout Day, and 8,000 scouts got up in the stands and screamed in cadence, ‘Yea, yea, Big Al. Yea, yea, Big Al.’
When I arrived in Laos and found young Americans living there, out of free choice, I was surprised. After only a week, I began to have a sense of the appeal of the country and its people – along with despair about its future.
When we arrived in Japan in 1988, we were not prepared for the overwhelming support shown to us.