For a long time, my relationship with New York City was a well-oiled machine of isolation. I had my group chat, my favorite coffee shop, my carefully curated routes to work. My headphones were a permanent fixture, a shield against the city’s relentless noise. I had perfected the art of the “NYC stare”—a blank, non-threatening gaze that said, “I am here, but do not engage.” I felt like a spectator in my own life, observing the city from behind a glass wall.
This all changed one rainy afternoon. I was waiting for the subway, my headphones in, when a woman next to me tapped my arm. I braced myself for the worst, but all she said was, “I love that song.” I was listening to an obscure jazz track from the 1950s. I was so taken aback by this simple, kind observation that I took my headphones out and we ended up talking for ten minutes about old music, our favorite boroughs, and the best place to get a bagel. I learned her name was Helen, she was an artist from Queens, and she had a laugh that filled the entire subway platform.
That small conversation was a crack in my carefully constructed wall. It was a jolt of human connection that felt more real than any group text. After that, I started to experiment. I made a pact with myself to put my phone away on my commute and make eye contact with people. I started asking questions: “Where’d you get that great jacket?” “What book are you reading?” “Is this train ever going to move?”
What I found was that everyone has a story. I learned about a retired police officer who now volunteers at an animal shelter. I talked to a young woman who was a budding stand-up comedian and was on her way to an open mic night. I had a surprisingly deep conversation about life goals with a barista while he made my latte. These weren’t grand, life-changing moments. They were small, fleeting connections that made my world feel bigger.
The city that once felt overwhelming and impersonal now felt like a mosaic of fascinating lives, and I was no longer just an observer, but a small piece of the pattern. Taking that risk to talk to someone, to break the unwritten social rules, has been one of the most rewarding things I’ve done. It has reminded me that beneath the constant movement and noise of this city, we are all just people looking to be seen and heard. I’m still that planner friend who curates the group outings, but now I know that the most memorable experiences don’t always need a reservation.