When I first moved to New York, I would hang out in the big 42^nd Street Library because it was both air-conditioned (unlike my then hot as balls windowless bedroom) and because it was in the city when I was running around from job interview to audition without a place to go for those awkward 1-2 hours.  And I remember picking up Mark Twain’s letters to kill time while I was there, and being amazed by how he went through this in the past too!  Reading him describe the hustle and bustle of the city and how he felt lonely and like he couldn’t write essays and then ended up moving back home.  It was oddly comforting to hear when I was very homesick and knew less than a handful of people, feeling overwhelmed and like I’d never get it, that someone else had the same feelings a long time ago and he turned out ok.