Second acts are American lives
“There are no second acts in American lives.”
- F. Scott Fitzgerald
Fitzgerald scholars are rightly irked that the line about no second acts in American lives is often quoted by itself and attributed to “The Last Tycoon.” The line was first used in a 1932 essay titled “My Lost City,” which documents the resilience of New York in the aftermath of the stock market collapse that helped launch the Great Depression.
The original Fitzgerald quote from “My Lost City” is:
“I once thought that there were not second acts in American lives, but there was certainly to be a second act to New York’s boom days.”
Fitzgerald’s own life contradicted the idea that there are no opportunities for renewal in America.
He was preparing to dominate his own life’s second act when he died at the age of 44. And true to his 1932 essay, New York has shown its resilience multiple times and survived more crises and disasters in the decades since 1929.
Fitzgerald is one of the giants of American literature. While his writing celebrates the Jazz Age and the promise of American prosperity, it also pulls back the curtain on the dark side of the American dream. His most celebrated work, “The Great Gatsby,” is a great example of the ability to make a new life for yourself, but also the pitfalls and dangers of the heedless pursuit and indulgences of wealth.
Jay Gatsby’s material success is undermined by his need to be something he is not. He cannot accept that the material rewards of his life are not the trappings of noble lineage. In America, we don’t care who your father was. We care about what you can do now, not what someone in your family tree did 100 years ago. That’s the essence of the American experiment—be judged by what you do and where you are going, not where you came from.
America was founded on the premise of second acts. From New England’s pilgrims to the hardscrabble pioneers who settled the American West, our country is one big series of second acts and new beginnings. Second acts are as American as a bald eagle eating apple pie.
I find encouragement in this as I look for a new job. I have been out of work for several months and have cast a much wider net than in previous searches. I no longer feel the need to go back to the same industry or seek the same salary. I’m old enough that I can be honest with myself about the things I would like to do and prioritize things that will lead me to enjoy the everyday more than how things read on a resume. This is well beyond my second act, and I’ve lost count of the new beginnings I’ve had to carve out. But that’s no matter. It is never too late to start again or become something new.
This year, as the United States celebrates the 250th anniversary of its founding, remember that our country was born from one of the bravest second acts in world history.
And remember that second acts are rewarding to the extent that they allow you to be who you really are, and not what others expect of you. Part of having a successful second act in life means not caring about what others think. Your life exists to make you and your loved ones happy.
Here’s to second acts in American lives—one of the things that makes America great.
Ready for a Comeback
The occasion of one’s birthday is always a time, however brief, for reflection and taking stock of where you are. This past weekend saw the start of my 46th year on this Earth, and I have a lot to be happy about and celebrate but it’s also the start of a comeback.
There is always room to improve and make better. If you’re not striving for something better at all times, then things fall into disrepair and a sad, atrophying stasis. The search, the striving is the goal and the state of being everyone needs. Merely getting by doesn’t cut it.
That’s not to say you shouldn’t enjoy some time to relax and be grateful for what you have, but if you’re not happy about something, then change is a must.
And like everyone else, there are things I am not happy about. I am very lucky in that I have my health and a lucid mind and can get a start on turning things around. But things have been in a bit of a rut: I go to work, I come home and eat and put kids to bed, I answer more work emails and fall asleep trying to get something done. I wake up early the next day and do it again.
One glimmer of light in all this is creativity. If I can get something creative done, I can have some peace of mind, and right now I am preparing for a show at the end of October.
Having young children and seeing how quick life can move can be both terrifying and encouraging. It seems like just yesterday I was welcoming the first of our children into the world; the older of our kids will be five in January and they are well versed in navigating the parental politics of our household for their own advantage.
But seeing how fast life moves doesn’t just mean that our youthful days are left in the dust, it means we can create new things for ourselves quickly as well. Less than a decade ago I was living alone with not many prospects for career advancement or a family life. Now I have three children and a well-established career in public relations. In a few years, I can be in a different place; the pace of change is fast, which means we can put ourselves on a better path quickly.
So often we look back on things with regret, and I’ve been as guilty of that as anyone. We will always, and I can tell you million times of how true this is: we will always regret the things we don’t do more than the things we do.
So no matter where you are or how bad things seem or how off the rails the life you imaged is, don’t worry or spend too much time looking back on past mistakes. Start doing things to set things right again. You won’t be sorry. It’s never too late.
Go for it.
Avoiding the Poison of Excessive Nostalgia
The once-celebrated East Village bar the Yaffa Café announced that it is closing its doors for good. It was initially shut down in September by the Department of Health for health violations. The coverage sent up its standard lament; another “iconic” landmark crushed by cruel fate.
It’s a familiar pattern now. A well-known music venue, bar or restaurant announced its closing and there’s a chorus of objection to it, a scolding clucking about how shameful it is and how the city isn’t what it used to be. But this is a pattern that’s been going on since the 1600s.
Many friends and colleagues are correct when they say that small businesses closing represents a danger to the soul of New York. But let’s also remember that constant change and reinvention is also a part of the soul of New York.
While we ought to make sure small businesses have a fighting chance, we also must be careful not to fall victim to the poison of excessive nostalgia.
Nostalgia is deadly because it leaves people to believe that the best part of their lives are behind them. I don’t care if your eight or 80, if you’re not looking forward to something in the future, you’re not really living life. The promise of something in the future is what keeps people alive.
If any place can’t maintain its relevance for its ever-changing clientele, then it’s simply running on the fumes of nostalgia. The fumes of nostalgia may start off smelling sweet, but are composed of an underlying rot.
New York exists in its current form today because it is unforgiving and values nostalgia very little. The constant churn of commerce is always inquiring: ‘What have you done for me lately?’
I was among the chorus of voices that bemoaned the loss of CBGB’s seven years ago. The famous club helped birth punk rock and when I played there with Blackout Shoppers at our very first show in 2004, it was a dream come true. I saw many great shows there and had many good times and memories. But CBGB had not kept up with the times or even lived up to its own history. Bands who got their start there chose not to return and played other clubs in the area. The Ramones played their last New York shoes at a venue called Coney Island High, also long gone, which was a few blocks away from CBGB. The throngs of people who crowded into the club during its last days were curiosity seekers and tourists, people seeking to tap into nostalgia for its own sake, darkening its doors during its death throes so they could boast that they had been there.
So let it be with the Yaffa Café. I went there once when I was younger and I thought the place was overwrought and pretentious, and this was a time in my life when I was happy to put on airs as a hopeful young writer and therefore had a higher threshold for overwrought pretension.
Places like the Yaffa Café attract people who don’t so much want to live the life of a writer or artist as much as they want to play-act being a writer or artist. Ernest Hemingway went to the cafes of Paris because he was dead-broke and those cafes were dirt-cheap. Hemingway is celebrated today not for the time he spent time at a café but because of the time he spent at his typewriter.
I enjoy sidewalk cafes to a certain point, but squeezing my overweight frame into a tiny, crowded space so I can imagine I’m F. Scott Fitzgerald is a ridiculous idea. A writer or artist is too busy writing or making art to invest a lot of time on nostalgia.
The White Castle in Williamsburg has done a greater public good than the Yaffa Café in my opinion. Its demise is the one that ought to be mourned. I’ll indeed miss filling up on delicious White Castle burgers when I am in Williamsburg, but I can’t begrudge the decision by the owners to sell the place. They knew that they’d make more money selling the land to condo developers than they’d make selling burgers, and it followed that it made more sense. It’s a for-profit business; they weren’t giving away burgers for free.
I’m sure the Yaffa Café had its strong points. If I remember correctly the coffee wasn’t half bad. But the past is littered with better businesses that could not stand the test of time. Let them all rest in peace.
Matthew Sheahan 
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