Twenty-six years ago, I was a student in a study abroad program in West Berlin. This was in the spring and summer of 1988, one year before the Berlin Wall came down. Before I left, I had told one of my Spanish professors of my intention to go to Berlin, and he told me that I should look up his close friend, Antonio Skarmeta, a Chilean novelist of considerable fame (most known for his novel that was the basis for the award-winning movie, Il Postino<\/em>, about Pablo Neruda and the military coup of Chile in 1973). In those days there were hundreds of exiled Chilean intellectuals and artists living in Berlin. I came to Berlin with his phone number.<\/p>\n I remember that it took me several weeks to get up the courage to call him. What was I going to say to him? \u201cHi, I want to meet you. I have nothing interesting to tell you. I am 22 years old. I just want to meet you.\u201d I was terrified. It was more difficult than it had been for me to cold-call a girl I liked in high school. But I finally called. No one answered. I remember feeling greatly relieved. I could tell my professor that I tried to call but that he must have been out of town.<\/p>\n So several months went by, and I was down to my last few days in Berlin. The day before I went home, I went to the Lateinamerikanische Institute, one of the finest Latin American libraries in the world where I had been doing some research, to return my books. I stood in line behind a man with a mustache and I watched as he signed out a book, writing \u201cAntonio Skarmeta.\u201d My heart raced. My face flushed. I had to say something. But what was I going to say? I don\u2019t remember if I spoke to him in Spanish or German, but I tapped him on the shoulder and asked, \u201cAre you Antonio Skarmeta?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, I am. And who are you?\u201d He had a broad and warm smile on his face.<\/p>\n \u201cI am George Handley. I am a student at Stanford University here on a study abroad program. My professor, Nelson Osorio, gave me your phone number to call you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, wonderful! wonderful! I need to have you over to my house for dinner. When would be a good time?\u201d<\/p>\n My heart sank. I wasn\u2019t prepared for how friendly he was. I felt instantly comfortable with him, but I had to tell him. \u201cWell, I am leaving for home.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, but when?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd how long have you been here?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSix months.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDo you mean to tell me that you have had my number and you have been here for six months, and only now we meet? Why didn\u2019t you call me some time sooner?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBelieve me. You have no idea how sorry I feel right now.\u201d He was so kind and so welcoming, and here I was headed home, knowing now what chance I had let pass me by.<\/p>\n I have told this story to my students for years as a lesson about why you should always go through doors that have been opened for you and take advantage of every opportunity, even if it seems you feel too young or undeserving or are in a little over your head. Just jump in. Unless you want to live with regrets like the regrets I have had about this lost opportunity ever since. At least since that time, I have had the courage to not hesitate to contact famous writers, and this has led to some unforgettable experiences interviewing and getting to know the likes of Rosario Ferr\u00e9, W. S. Merwin, Derek Walcott, and Marilynne Robinson.<\/p>\n Well, I was casually telling this story the other night to my friend, Jaime Quezada, a wonderful poet and author here in Chile. He said, \u201cI know Antonio and have his phone number. You know he returned to Chile in 1989, the same year the Berlin Wall fell and democracy returned to Chile. You should give him a call.\u201d<\/p>\n