New York doesn’t ease you in — it just grabs you and says, “Let’s go.”

The horns, the footsteps, the flashing signs, the languages overlapping — it’s all happening at once. The first few hours I was there, I felt like I was surfing a wave made of noise and concrete.

But then, something shifts.

You start to find rhythm in the chaos. You stand in line for a bagel at 7:45 a.m. behind a guy in a suit and a woman in pajamas, and it makes perfect sense. You jaywalk without thinking. You instinctively know which subway door to stand near.

And sometimes — just sometimes — the city slows down.

One evening I sat on the steps of the New York Public Library eating a pretzel from a street cart. The sun was setting, and the sound of the traffic was just far enough away. A kid was blowing bubbles into the air. For a few minutes, everything felt still.

Then I got up, turned a corner, and walked straight into the pulse again.

That’s the thing about New York — it doesn’t stop, but it gives you little moments where you can catch your breath. And that balance? That’s where the magic is.