"Hello?" I ask, as I step into the DUMBO apartment of Nathan Dyer, now known as Nathaniel Fairchild.

"Yes. Hi, man."

Fairchild pops around the corner, dressed in a grey cotton shirt that droops slightly over his torso, with self-cut matching grey pants. His wrists are adorned with good luck charms from bodegas all around SoHo, and within his eyes lie the promise of infinite wisdom. Not unlike the great thespian Charlie Hunnam, Fairchild has a buzzed cut on both sides, and a droopy goatee.

Now, I had been told from many eager young freshmen and sophomores that talking to him is akin to receiving a spiritual experience. Like the Dalai Lama.

"So, I've heard talking to you is akin to receiving a spiritual experience. Like the Dalai Lama."

"Oh, please. An exaggeration."

He's humble. Good start.

"Thank you for taking the time to grant me this interview, Mr. Dyer." This question prompts a small chuckle from him.

"Isn't life just one interview?"

DAMN. Maybe the rumors I've heard are true.

"Oh, it's Nathaniel, by the way. Please. My pleasure. Sit down on my rug."

I get a good look around his apartment. No furniture, except for a table and two chairs, presumably for guests. How kind! The bathroom door is open in a stunning defiance of social norms. How bold! Posters from various thinking arts like Perks of Being a Wallflower, Ayn Rand's many works, and The Doors are scattered scarcely. Also, there's no food in the kitchen, merely potted plants emitting a quaint aroma that teams with life, sort of like this scent I once got when I went to a massage parlor in Koreatown. Anyway, I nod. Good place. I park my derriere on the rug, and with a large gulp of the throat, begin.

"I'll start the interview with some basic questions."

"Of course. Basics, my friend, are the foundations to beginnings." He winks, and suddenly, I feel an immense pang of regret for going about my college days in a much more menial, less heavenly manner.

"What did you major in before becoming one of the great minds of our time?"

"As many as I could, brother."

"Mm, awesome, but like, philosophy, marketing, multi-media...?"

"Hm. You tell me."

DOUBLE DAMN. Suddenly, I begin to question whether I'm even on the same plane of existence as this kid. He sees such doorways I myself am utterly blind to; surely, as he leans back, gleaming at me from his John Lennon glasses, he is witnessing atoms buzzing incessantly in every living thing.

"It began, my friend, with my dropping out. It occurred to me that the materials being taught to me were pedestrian, low level, street stuff. Child's play. In a cinema class of mine, they called a "film" a "movie"."

My God. I graduated from a place like that??

"So I realized the structures of education were unneeded to me. I wanted to live like the wandering man. I went to Nepal, where I read books on yoga, and in return, pondered the cosmos each and every night. I wrote in a journal I acquired from an older gentleman behind an ancient counter at Strand. All the while listening to a playlist comprised of Ludovico Einaudi and, to remind myself of life's simpler joys, Tiny Tim. I thought multiple times, those saps in college, they don't know what they're missing. Why isn't EVERYONE doing this? Anyone, with any budget, can afford to do so."

I shook myself out of my stupor, and desperate to level the playing field of existence, I strove to find some common ground between my mortal self and his slightly higher self.

"Ah! Great, wonderful country. Did you stay in a temple?" I winced at my limited brain.

"No, not quite, uh, it was a Marriot. I had to, as per my maternal and paternal guardians' wishes."

A pause. Not wanting to make this great chap feel any pressure explaining his journey, I filled in the blanks with a quivering confidence.

"I assume you did so, ironically?"

He smirks, looking out the window as a golden ray of sunset hits him, whilst, not inaccurately, bathing me in shadow. "Of course. All I did for my seven day stay," he whispers. Chills go down my spine.

"Here, I'll give you an example of what I've done since. This Instagram post was, oh, let's say, taken three months ago?"

He spins around a steampunk Nokia converted into an iPhone emulator - gotta love the guy's passion for craftsmanship found in the depths of industrial Brooklyn - and gently places it in my hand, as if he's placing his entire being into my sweaty, sausage-fingered palm. On the Nokia was a picture of a olive colored eye - his - staring into the camera. I could only muster blinks.

The caption read thusly: Fake people have an image to maintain. Real people just don't care. Veritas acquitas.

Holy shit! The articulation, the understanding of life's intricate fabrics. Where were the Tibetans when this sage rose asunder?

I breathed in from some of his potted plants in order to calm my shaking nerves. Whew. I needed to reevaluate my life STAT, so I thought, better wrap this interview with a bow and go spread the good news.

"Thank you, Nathaniel. Truly. Uh...one final question, what do you do for a job? When you aren't making those...those Insta...Instagram posts?"

For the first time, I saw his eyebrow raise. He folded his arms as a prophet would, and leaned back, keeping balance no doubt due to an extensive dive into chakras.

"A job? I'm not anti-social, my friend...but I am anti-bullshit. One day, I hiked in Jersey to satisfy my wanderlust. As I scaled the rocks, I heard them whisper: "You have the answers. YOU are the teacher." Psh. A job. Nothing more than a construct. The free don't work."

EXCUSE ME WHILE I PICK UP MY BLOWN MIND OFF THE FLOOR THAAAANK YOU

How does he respond to my outburst of joy? He simply scoffs and says, "See you, Peter." Gah! I bowed, and turned to the door. It was a crime to be in the same room as this man with only a fraction of his power.

My life is changed. I put my earphones in, went right to Coldplay (that's what Nathaniel would have wanted) and booked it down the stairs of his $5300 a month studio, which I assume he pays by offering his landlord knowledge instead of stupid, who-needs-it, mortal cash.

Immediately, I headed to a Think Coffee to do exactly that and as I realized the cleverness of my activity/location synchronization, I thought there was hope for me yet.