Finding Hope in NYC and the Possibility of What Can Be

The world has been watching New York City — and celebrating alongside us.

Between having a mayor that manages to both deliver for us and find some whimsy and the Knicks winning the NBA finals for the first time in 50 years, the city is alive and joyful in a way that it — and so much of our country — hasn’t been in a long time.

And the magic of what makes New York City so special is on full display for the world. The grit. The heart. The resilience. The community. The possibility.

There’s a reason that so much art has been made about this city and that so many of us dream of waking up in the city that never sleeps. There’s no place like it in the world and the longer I’m here, the more hope I find in this vast and wondrous place and all that it can teach us.

One of my favorite things about New York is that it simply does not take no for an answer. Refusal is a negotiation. Failure a lesson. Underestimation a motivation.

Impossible is simply not a thing we accept around here. New York is about not accepting the way things have always been — and instead dreaming up a new idea of how things can be.

“You are allowed to think about the worst possible scenario. But you got to go out there and do something about it.” - Jalen Brunson

We saw it as the Knicks overcame the odds, never allowing the noise of everyone else’s determinations and percentages deter them from their singular mission.

With Jalen Brunson, who was told time and time again that he did not have what it takes to be a star in the NBA, never losing hope and faith and ultimately coming out on top.

With Zohran Mamdani, a young Assemblyman from Astoria polling at less than 1% and not even taken seriously as a mayoral candidate, proving everyone wrong.

With the thousands of New Yorkers that came together across boroughs, backgrounds and belief systems to volunteer and vote for the possibility of change for the better.

And the millions that fought through the rain, exhaustion and endless crowds to celebrate every moment of the Knicks’ journey to a long-awaited victory.

The last few weeks in the city have truly been what all of these movies about New York City were talking about. Last year when the Knicks made it to the playoffs, the streets were already buzzing. But the finals were something else entirely.

Every bar packed to the brim with New Yorkers’ eyes glued to the screen. The streets flooded with old and new fans alike trying to catch a glimpse of the games. Every other person on the street decked out in head-to-toe Knicks gear.

TVs everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Barbershops. Bodegas. Parking lots. Street corners. Churches. Funeral homes (I’m serious.)

It didn’t matter who you were or where you were. The only thing that mattered was being part of this historic moment with everyone else that loves this city too.

For weeks, it was as if there was no loneliness crisis. Only togetherness.

Your social calendar was automatically booked. Your friends were all making time to actually hang out. You always had something to talk about with coworkers and strangers alike.

Everyone was your best friend in that bar or outside that bodega. We cheered together. Screamed together. Cried together. Danced together. And every time you walked down the street you would hear a “Go Knicks” or someone ask if you had watched or were going to watch the game.

Whether you loved basketball or were just learning that KAT is not just an animal, but actually a 7-foot-Center, you were welcome. And you belonged (as long as you weren’t rooting for the Spurs, I mean know your audience).

It was magic.

I will never forget the experience of watching Game 4 at a bar in the East Village with my brother and his friends. It was my first time meeting them, but by the end we were all bonded for life.

Most people in the bar had all but given up by the half. They were down 49-76 with no momentum shift in sight. But a few of us were committed to keep watching. We held onto our faith even when everyone around us was so defeated.

Then all of a sudden the tides began to turn. With 9:33 left in the fourth, things caught fire and moved fast. The Spurs didn’t know what hit them — and we all couldn’t believe what was happening.

We were all huddled together, jaws dropped, squeezing each other’s hands with excitement and anxiety. And when OG Anunoby came in with the putback at the very last second, we screamed at the top of our lungs, jumping up and down and hugging and high-fiving every person within five feet of us.

As we trickled out into the street, trying to decide where to go next, we started to see other people doing the same. Except instead of wandering to their next destination, they were gathering together with everyone else doing the same. Climbing on scaffolding. Cheering from cabs. Hanging from stoplights (I still find it hilarious how everyone feels the need to do pull-ups in these moments). Honking from firetrucks. High-fiving and hugging anyone and everyone that walked nearby.

And then someone brought out a speaker and everything exploded. Streets full of people started dancing and singing Empire State of Mind at the top of their lungs.

And here’s the thing: if you live here, you are probably tired of this song. Every single place you go in the city that could even have the remote possibility of tourists has this blasting at top volume. It plays over and over and over again.

But in this moment, none of that mattered. It wasn’t the thing that separated us from the visitors, but instead was the message that only people that live and love this city could understand. Our collective anthem for our shared moment for the incredible city we get to call home.

And then game 5 happened and the electricity and magic of New York City turned up to maximum volume. As we all flooded to the streets again, our collective joy, hope and faith in possibility was so profound that you could feel it in every part of your body.

I am not even sure I know how exactly to put this once-in-a-lifetime feeling into words. As we all searched for a way to describe it, one phrase kept coming up over and over again: collective effervescence. Sociologist Émile Durkheim used this term to explain this heightened, intense and profound energy, connection and unity that we experience when we gather together with other people in a collective, shared experience.

When we stop just being individuals and instead become part of something so much bigger than ourselves. A feeling that has become increasingly difficult to find in our modern world.

Loneliness has such harmful effects on us that the WHO actually declared it as a severe and systemic public health crisis. To survive, we all need to be seen, heard and understood. To be connected, together, to belong. Yet it somehow feels impossible.

But in those weeks, it’s as if it was all gone. We lived in a different world. One that was a little softer and lighter. Where joy and excitement replaced our day-to-day worries and woes. Where the people around us were more trustful, patient, empathetic and kind. And where we all made our own versions of Ahnaf Hossain’s iconic (and inclusive) Knicks chant.

One that made us feel strong and hopeful enough to keep going, no matter what was happening in our lives.

The Knicks winning the finals was about so much more than basketball. It was about the power of community and belonging. About finding commonalities, instead of focusing on our differences.

About what could be possible if we all refused to accept no for an answer, got to work and instead came together to fight for something entirely new.

And while the Knicks were fighting for their spot in the finals, this same magic had already been building somewhere else.

For over a year, thousands of people had been pouring their time, passion and energy into building something so much bigger than themselves. Refusing what we had and instead believing — and getting others to believe — that there may be good on the other side of something and someone new.

On an unapologetic 34-year old South Asian, Muslim, Democratic Socialist New Yorker that may not have had the years of experience that others did, but has the passion, determination and heart to forge a new path forward. Who may not have reflected every single belief of every single person that voted for him, but who made it clear to each of them that he would be there to listen, understand and fight for them too.

In the 173 days since his inauguration, Mayor Mamdani has done more than it feels like most politicians do in an entire 4-year term — all while somehow biking around the city, cheering for the Knicks and watching and referencing Love Island (which as many of us know is a part-time job in itself).

We’ve spent our lives being told that we need to minimize parts of ourselves to make it in this world. And that it is unreasonable of us to think that we can be ourselves and get things done, especially in the government.

Don’t be so brown, you’ll make people uncomfortable. Don’t be too approachable, people won’t take you seriously. Don’t expect to be able to accomplish much, there’s way too much bureaucracy. Don’t expect to see the change you voted for yourself, you’re actually investing in your children. It is impossible.

In that 0.4% faith, he got to work.

Yes, he’s not perfect. No, we don’t have free buses yet. But it genuinely feels like he’s trying in a way that it doesn’t often feel like politicians do.

“If we want to win the faith of New Yorkers with the most transformational ideas, we have to deliver on the very things that they’ve seen unaddressed for weeks, months and years.” - Zohran Mamdani

In typical New York fashion, when people told him no, Zohran said watch me.

I will never forget what it felt like to start the year outside of City Hall, trying to not lose feeling in my feet, listening as our newly elected South Asian mayor unabashedly said a line in Urdu during his inauguration speech, not even stopping to translate for those that didn’t understand. To realize that there was, in fact, actually Punjabi music playing from the speakers when he ended his speech and thousands of pieces of confetti were falling around us. To dance freely with so many people in and out of my community.

And that our new mayor was proudly singing and dancing along.

In that moment I felt seen. Heard. Understood. Like I too belonged. After enduring the most difficult years of my life, I felt lighter. Stronger. More hopeful.

And in the moments since then, that hope has grown with each new thing Zohran and his staff have done for us. The way they cleared the snow at a record pace during one of the worst winters we’ve had in a decade. The announcement of expanded childcare investments with mini podiums for kids and walking toward the press with toddlers holding onto a rope. The kindly-joking-yet-also-serious way he replied to someone that yelled “communist” at him with “it’s pronounced cyclist.”

In the joy, faith and hope that is surging through the city and all across the country of what can be possible if we don’t take no for an answer when we ask for better.

People like to say that New York City is a world of its own. The lessons from here can’t — and won’t — apply anywhere else. But I simply don’t believe that to be true.

Yes, it is a place unlike anywhere else. But it is also an amalgamation of so many different people, places, cultures, backgrounds, dreams, beliefs and more from across the country and around the world. All fighting to survive. Trying to find an apartment they can afford before someone else takes it. Running to catch the train to not be late to work (and begging the MTA to be on time). Chasing their dreams and believing in what could be.

It has been a catalyst for so much culture, movement and change. The intersection in the Bronx where hip-hop was born. The riots at Stonewall that launched the LGBTQ+ liberation movement. The Wall Street occupation that led to a global conversation and rallying cry against economic inequity and corporate greed.

Whether or not the world loves New York City, it does look to it to understand what they might not see: what can be possible if we all just believe.

And that, for me, is enough to find light in the darkness. To inspire me to keep fighting. To believe that there really is nothing we can’t do.