Snapshots of Care

When I was 17, I graduated from high school and made the long, daunting move from Salt Lake City, UT to New York City. At the time, I told my family that I was excited. I rambled about all of my plans in the city, and told them I couldn’t wait for all of the new opportunities that NYU would have to offer me. And I was. But mostly, I was terrified.

Something that I didn’t understand after living in a plethora of small suburbs is that New York has a way of making you feel very small when you first arrive. The buildings are taller than you expect, the sidewalks are busier, and everyone seems to have a clearer understanding of where they plan to go with their life than you do. My first semester in the city was filled with a countless amount of these realizations. I was slowly getting accustomed to my new surroundings, but, ultimately, I still felt like I was somewhere I shouldn’t be.

The morning of February 14, the beginning of my second semester in New York, I had an 8 a.m. calculus class that I didn’t want to go to. The air was the kind of cold that makes your nose burn and your eyes water the second you walk out of the door. 

Valentine’s Day was never something I paid much attention to; the holiday was mundane, a little too commercial, and was especially bland if you had no reason to celebrate it. But that morning was different.

The first building I passed on my morning walk was a neighborhood grocery store. An older man was standing in front of the store dressed in all red handing out pink Vitamin Water and single-stem flowers to anyone who walked by. I gladly took them, and started my walk down Broadway, now a little warmer.

Broadway was lined with similar displays. Kids were crouched in front of their apartment building covering the concrete in chalk hearts and messages, a girl was walking her dog who was sporting a heart-covered onesie, a man was carefulling balancing a bouquet of flowers and a gift box in his arms, there were groups of friends huddled for warmth, laughing and drinking coffee, and tourists sat in front of Strand Bookstore taking pictures with their Valentine’s display. Everywhere I looked were simple snapshots of care.

None of these displays felt overtly romantic or dramatic. They did, however, feel like the community I had craved. On a day that I wanted nothing more than to be back in my warm bed in Utah, the strangers of New York reminded me that love comes in many forms, and can be as simple as showing up with a smile.

Valentine’s Day that year shifted to become a day about small, deliberate acts of connection. It became an excuse to tell people that they matter to you and appreciate the community around you, no matter how many bad days you may have.