What I miss most about New York is probably the bagels. Nearly every Sunday for the past four years, I’d wake up and groggily stumble down to the nearest Zucker’s in Manhattan. The line flows out the door — Jewish grandmas stocking up for the week, families with hungry toddlers, tourists eager for an iconic NYC breakfast and locals who deliver their order in under six seconds. 

“Everything bagel, not toasted, with regular cream cheese and lox. Iced latte.” Special requests will likely be ignored or forgotten, and for good reason. The sandwiches on the menu are meant to be enjoyed as classics, and you can only make so many adjustments to the gluten, dairy or fat content before it loses its identity as an actual bagel. A fair warning to anyone visiting the Big Apple: if you order a bagel with a strawberry or blueberry cream cheese (or anything in the realm of sweetness), we will judge you. 

I know that on the West Coast, New Yorkers have a reputation of rudeness. I’m not here to deny that — one of my greatest adaptable skills is pushing through a crowd of people instead of patiently waiting for them to move themselves. But living in a place where the best and worst of humanity is crowded into the same subway car during rush hour gives New Yorkers a unique empathy and kindness towards our fellow travelers. The man taking my Sunday bagel order won’t ask me how I’m doing, but he’ll sneak an extra slice of smoked salmon into the sandwich. The woman who cut in front of me at the turnstile won’t apologize, but she’ll pick up the airpod I dropped and rush down the subway platform to return it. We’re going through the madness that is the city together, and that mutual understanding is all it takes for us to look out for each other, even when we’re strangers. 

In my first two weeks at Stanford, I’ve been overwhelmed by the friendliness and hospitality on campus. The weather here is relentlessly hot and sunny. The sky is annoyingly picturesque. In place of concrete skyscrapers, there are gardens and fields everywhere I turn. When someone passes by me with a smile, I have to curb my assumption that they’re trying to sell me something. At first I thought the only thing New York and Stanford shared were horrible bikers, but I’ve learned that our communities are also the same in one key way — we may feel alone in the whirlwind of grades, internships and the future, but when we stop for a second and look out, someone else in the eye of their own hurricane looks back. Whether it’s on our way to class or in the dining hall or saying goodnight in the bathroom, the little acts of kindness and everyday traditions we form keep us connected in the midst of the chaos that is college life. 

A good bagel takes time. There’s the proofing, mixing, kneading; the resting, rising, deflating. Then there’s the shaping, another resting and brief boiling on each side followed by baking to a crispy golden brown perfection. The seeds on your bagel will fall everywhere even before you bite into it — along the neckline of your shirt, stuck to the side of your jeans, even nestled in your bra. You pick them off ungracefully, with a smear of cream cheese on your upper lip, a little anxious about judgment from the finance bros and high fashion models passing you, but after making eye contact with another person doing the exact same thing with their breakfast, you remember that in a city full of competition and chaos, connection lives in the minute, easily forgettable moments. An embarrassing moment or shared excited glance between strangers reminds you that you may be lonely or stressed or frustrated, but you are not alone in that feeling. There are millions fighting the same pressures, fears and expectations. In our everyday struggle, there is community. 

I still haven’t gotten used to waving at anyone who seems remotely familiar, but the small talk I make with people in line for FloMo’s Sunday Indian food is not unlike the line for bagels I used to wait in — crowded, loud and waiting for that delicious food to hit our plate. The debriefs over butter chicken complaining about the heat, workload or club applications bring me the same comfort as a post-bagel FaceTime with my high school friends, where we would debrief our various weekend events. I am slowly building new traditions. 

It’s easy to get swept up in the business of college, especially at first; my Outlook calendar is so full with class, office hours and clubs that I barely have time to get to each place on time. But taking that time to wait in lines, to smile and wave, to show kindness and community are how we stay afloat. I will choose to actively maintain friendships and traditions, carrying philosophies from home with me from coast to coast.