NEW YORK 🇺🇸: The City that Punches First (Then Throws You On a Ferry at 3am) [Episode 2.0]

What do underground fight clubs, awkward Craigslist apartments, and a freezing Staten Island Ferry ride (or three) have in common?

Each is a room. And in New York City, every room teaches you something–about fear, tolerance, surrender.

This episode is about ambition, discomfort, and what it means to stay in the ring just long enough to be changed.

THANK YOU

Jordan–you carried the freight on this episode. I got the next Chick-fil-A.

Thank you Amy, Antonia, Azibo, Daphne, Gena, Jau’ron, Jeff, Lizabeth, Magnus, Maya, Michael, Richie, Sawako, Tenzin–for your time, your reflections, and your voices.

And to the artists below–thanks for not suing me. Your music added more soul and texture to this story than I could have done alone. I hope it gives you a little spark of pride in the city you helped define.

Full song list (in order):

1. Theme From New York, New York–Frank Sinatra

2. Top Billin’--Audio Two

3. 99 Problems–Jay-Z

4. Walk on the Wild Side–Lou Reed

5. Can I Kick It?--A Tribe Called Quest

6. Burning–Yeah Yeah Yeahs

7. The Room Where It Happens–Hamilton (Leslie Odom Jr. & Lin-Manuel Miranda)

8. I’m Bad–LL Cool J

9. Mo Money, Mo Problems–Notorious B.I.G. ft. Mase

10. Eric B. is President–Eric B. & Rakim

11. The Bridge Is Over–Boogie Down Productions

12. Me & Julio Down By the Schoolyard (Live) (Simon & Garfunkel)

13. Hit Me With Your Best Shot–Pat Benatar

14. Hypnotize–Notorious B.I.G.

15. Tu Me Vuelves Loco–Frankie Ruiz

16. I Just Wanna Love U (Give It 2 Me)–Jay-Z ft. Pharrell

17. Take the ‘A’ Train–Ella Fitzgerald & Duke Ellington

18. New York Mets–The Duke of Iron

19. I Want to Know What Love Is–Foreigner

20. No Sleep Til Brooklyn–Beastie Boys

21. New York I Love You But You’re Bringing Me Down–LCD Soundsystem

22. Just a Friend–Biz Markie

23. It Ain’t Me Babe (Live)–Joan Baez & Bob Dylan

24. Come Clean–Jeru the Damaja

25. Teenage Riot–Sonic Youth

26. Fight the Power–Public Enemy

27. Don’t Know Why–Norah Jones

28. Above the Clouds–Gang Starr

29. After Hours–The Velvet Underground

30. Blitzkrieg Bop–The Ramones

31. The River of Dreams–Billy Joel

32. The Choice Is Yours–Black Sheep

33. Kool Herc (?)

34. In Da Club–50 Cent

35. Tonite–LCD Soundsystem

36. Gorilla Lion Hyena–Cam’ron, Jadakiss & Mase

37. 4th Chamber–GZA/Genius

38. Wu Tang: 7th Chamber–Wu Tang Clan

39. Method Man–Wu Tang Clan

40. Children’s Story–Slick Rick

41. Plug Tunin’ (Last Chance to Comprehend)--De La Soul

42. Girls Just Want to Have Fun–Cyndi Lauper

43. Bad Romance–Lady Gaga

44. Walk This Way–Run-D.M.C. & Aerosmith

45. New York Groove–Ace Frehley/Kiss

46. La Di Da Di–Slick Rick & Doug E. Fresh

47. Represent–Nas

48. Someday–The Strokes

49. Mo Bamba–Sheck Wes

50. Boogie Down Bronx–Man Parrish

51. Cult of Personality–Living Colour

52. Rockabye Baby–Joey Bada$$

53. Marquee Moon–Television

54. Supastar–Group Home

55. For My People–Joey Bada$$

56. I’ll Be Your Mirror–Nico & The Velvet Underground

57. How to Make a Beat Using NYC Bodega Sounds–Devan Ibiza (YouTube)

58. My Adidas–Run-D.M.C.

59. Again–Lenny Kravitz

60. Empire State of Mind–Alicia Keys & Jay-Z

Some cities hand you a map. Others offer you a mirror.

But New York?

It gives you a blindfold, a shove, and one question: Will you show up as who you are—or who you think you need to be?

This is EveryCity Whispers. I’m Steven. I’ve lived in five countries across five continents—and I’ve come to believe that every city whispers something. Not out loud—but through rhythm and friction, the pace of its mornings, the size of its rooms, its silence among strangers.

This show is about listening to those whispers—and learning what each city can teach us, wherever we are.

Today, we’re in New York.

***

It’s an early summer Thursday evening in SoHo, the corner of Broadway & Spring. My best friend from college—Jordan, also from Virginia—leaves his office wearing raw Earnest Sewn selvedge denim, a crisp Steven Alan shirt, and Common Projects so clean they still squeak. But instead of walking a block over to SoHo House for negronis and networking as he often does, on this evening, he’s hopping an F train to Queens. The spot changes weekly—an abandoned bus depot, a low-lit ballroom, maybe even a shuttered church rec room. He’s not there for networking, or for a charity event. He’s not there to coach some kids in basketball.

He nods to the security guy, who waves him past the entrance, past the bar, past the wide open floor, all the way to a janitor’s closet tucked in back. That’s where the $2,000 worth of downtown polish–high fashion, clean lines…of status– comes off, and a pair of beat-up George Washington High School gym shorts go on. No one in that room knew that he was a college grad, the son of a high school teacher and a cop, who had to join a gang in the 4th grade just to stop getting his ass kicked at a school for gifted kids. No one in that room knew he had a white collar job, and maybe, just maybe, he didn’t even need the money.

No one in that room cared. And maybe that was the point. He didn’t go there to win. Or to prove that he was tough. He went there to lose something.

Fear.

You see, Jordan is from a small town in Virginia–one of those places where the tallest building is a church steeple and you can drive end-to-end in 15 minutes. The first time he really left? He took a Chinatown bus up Interstate 95 that dropped him off, before dawn, under the Manhattan Bridge. No cell phone, one cousin, a duffel bag, some printed-out directions, and a look in his eyes like he was daring the city to punch first.

Like I had no idea where I was, so I get to New York–and again, I had only, up until this point in my life, I had only been to Danville, Virginia, Baltimore, Maryland, Washington, DC, Harrisonburg, Virginia…those are the, like, that’s it. So I get off the bus, and, I am like ‘where the f*ck am I?’ There’s not a sign of anything written in English, I don’t see a face that looks like me, I don’t even see a face that looks like a face that I’ve ever seen before, they’re not speaking English. I was like ‘where the f*ck?’ I’m under a bridge. It’s dirt–like, I look around like this looks dirty...but it feels like it’s a lot of energy…

Jordan did find his way to his cousin’s house that morning, then found himself a job at the front desk of a gym, and soon enough, the start of a career in an office. And he also found fighting… started doing underground fights in Queens warehouses. No rules, no ring girls, just fists, sweat, and cash. The money would help, sure, but he wasn’t broke. He didn’t dream of becoming a UFC fighter. He just needed to know that he could do something terrifying. To be tested. To stand toe-to-toe with fear and not back down.

I was never in it–well, that’s a lie. I was in it for the money. But the money wasn’t the motivation. The motivation was: I need to prove to myself that I’m not afraid of anything.

I didn’t understand it. I’m not sure he did at the time, either. I thought it was weird and I wanted no part of it.

So while I was fighting, I had to get used to two things. One was… how do you fight someone who you don’t even know? Right? So that mental hurdle I had to get over–I had to overcome that. And that’s easier when that person punches you first… but you also don’t want to be punched first! So that’s that…but then the other part is… how do I get over all of my fears? And so I had to, like…I had to get over my fears.

And so Jordan fought.

By day, a white-collar strategist. By night, an undercover street fighter. Ironically, his boss knew—and didn’t care—as long as Jordan didn’t show up to client meetings with visible signs of an ass-kicking. And sure, there were a few of those, but he handed out a lot more than he caught. Not that it mattered, though. Because the opponent was never the guy across the ring….it was in the quiet just before. It was fear.

Once that stopped showing up, Jordan did, too. That room had nothing left for him.

I’m not afraid anymore. There’s nothing more for me to have to prove to myself. Or there’s nothing else I need to prove to myself that fighting can give me.

These weren’t just fights. They were dress rehearsals.

Because now? He walks into meetings with the same calm he used to carry into the warehouse ring. He stares down CEOs the way he used to stare down guys who didn’t blink during the weigh-in. Back then, strangers in a sweaty gym bet crumpled bills on his fists. Now? Men in suits bet millions on his brain–poring over price-to-earnings ratios, hoping he’ll land a message that moves markets.

And he delivers…makes a shit ton of money now. Owns a 5-story brownstone in Brooklyn. He wears suits. Says all the right buzzwords. He’s the boss's boss that 25-year-old junior execs are nervous to talk to. Polished, powerful, in control. But the guy who fought in Queens warehouses never left. He’s just upgraded his diet, from dollar slices and bodega cold cuts to…well, nah he still eats the cold cuts. But he never stays in a role too long. Because once he’s proven he can do it, he gets restless. He needs that tension. That friction. Once the fear is gone–it’s no longer interesting.

Here’s the thing: when you eliminate all fear from your body, and you can longer—and you’re like ‘I don’t experience fear, I don’t know what fear is’....the unfortunate part to that is fear and excitement are the same emotion. They’re just opposite sides of a coin. And so I don’t get excited about things anymore. There are very few things that excite me. Because I eliminated fear…and, like, you can’t say ‘I’m gonna get rid of fear’...you actually get rid of the chemical response. You’re working through that.

That’s the part no place teaches you quite like New York does. You think the fight is getting in, but it’s not. The real challenge is staying just long enough to let the discomfort change you, and knowing when to walk away.

Jordan is still fighting, just not with his fists anymore. The ring looks like a boardroom. The opponent? Boredom. But the question’s the same as it was in those warehouses in Queens: what will you risk to know what you’re made of?

Some people crave comfort. Other people crave that edge. New York knows the difference.

Still fighting, just different rooms.

***

New York’s always been home for me. It’s loud and a little chaotic, but there’s this energy that just pulls you in. One minute it feels like magic, the next it’s testing your patience. But somehow it still makes you feel like anything’s possible.

The thing that defines New York, for me, is the bodegas. I’ve lived in Harlem. I’ve lived in Brooklyn. I’ve spent a lot of time in different places–Queens, Bronx. And the bodega is like the cornerstone of New York. And it also represents how immigrants have come to this country, and a lot of them have added value in the form of, you know, just being successful entrepreneurs. And the bodega, obviously, when you think about it, it reduces traffic because people don’t have to travel far to go to huge–you know–Whole Foods or those type of supermarkets. It provides you sort of whatever you need right there on the block. So, I guess that’s what defines New York to me.

In your first episode, you said a quote by Paul Graham: ‘go to the city that matches your hustle’, which made me think of New York City. Whether you came here for work, life, love…you have to match its hustle, but you have to hustle to stay here. Because it costs so much to keep up with all of the ever-rising costs of life. Most people have two to three jobs–whether its a full-time job and a side hustle, or a passive income, everyone I know has multiple jobs. And they center themselves around other hustlers. Startups who know startups. Crypto guys who know crypto. And that is the hustle–it’s finding other people who are in your hustle to brush up against.

***

While Jordan was chasing fear in Brooklyn and Queens warehouses, I was chasing privacy in a Manhattan apartment. I wasn’t stepping into underground fight clubs. I was stepping over roommates. My first apartment in New York was in the Upper East Side, 75th between 2nd & 3rd. Railroad style. Three rooms stacked front-to-back with no hallway, meaning to get to my room, I had to walk through two other guys’ .

One of those guys, Brian…his moods rose and fell with the Mets’ win-loss record. You could tell if they blew a lead just by how hard he closed the fridge. The other… I lived with him for three months and I still don’t know his name. I just called him “boss” to err on the side of respect. He once lit twelve candles to “set a vibe” and then fell asleep on the couch. The vibe, in that case, was “fire hazard.” Both of them, it turns out, thought toilet paper just appeared by magic. I got annoyed when I bought it for the 5th time in a row. But Brian gave me a Mets ticket once, so I guess it was all good.

Brian also had a girlfriend. And, well… no interest in locking doors or checking calendars. Brian and his girlfriend believed in sharing everything, including what was playing on the laptop. I once caught a full eye-contact situation during a video of something that was definitely not HBO.

So yeah. I saw things. Too many things. You learn to knock gently. You learn to walk quickly and keep your eyes up. You learn to pretend like nothing just happened. Like what you just saw was totally normal. Like, it’s fine. And weirdly? You adapt. You sync your schedule to other people’s rhythms. You learn how to shrink in plain sight, to make yourself small without disappearing. You start to feel at home in tight, awkward spaces. It wasn’t glamorous. But it built something. It sharpened instincts. Softened edges. Built tolerance.

New York gave me two rooms. Both tiny. Both temporary. But each taught me something different. I wasn’t sure that Upper East was my vibe, so a few months later—just before summer—I traded Central Park for Prospect Park.

I found a room on the corner of Lincoln & Ocean, ten steps from the park entrance. It was a great deal. Too good, honestly. Corner unit, big windows, lots of light…I thought I had won the housing lottery, like the universe was returning balance from the Brian porn fiasco. I didn’t ask many questions at first, and I didn’t realize what ‘corner unit’ meant until I moved in.

But I found out why soon enough. When I say “on the corner of Lincoln & Ocean”, I mean that quite literally. My room was the corner room on the ground floor, meaning windows on two sides, which sounds nice…until you realize that one of those windows was basically a window into the street. My inflatable bed was 4 feet from the sidewalk. And this was pre-gentrification Prospect-Lefferts Gardens. Being steps from both a subway station and the park entrance meant that stretch of Ocean Avenue stayed loud all night, especially in summer. Most nights, a crew of neighborhood guys—mostly dealing—would post up right outside my window. They’d lean on the glass like it was a mailbox…talking, laughing, arguing. I’d lie in bed, watching their silhouettes like shadow puppets on my blinds.

My roommates were, again, exactly the characters you’d imagine if “guy from Craigslist” were a film role. One guy stored cereal in the oven, and that’s all he ate for dinner, every night. Not in a sad way, either–like, with confidence. When I mentioned something about it, he said he believed life gets harder when you stop eating like a kid. I didn’t have a comeback for that. The other flatmate was a girl who labeled everything in the fridge with her initials–even a jug of water. As if I was going to steal a single sip and let that be the thing that pushed our household over the edge.

But it worked, we got along fine, even without any boundaries. The street was right there, and so was my bed. It was exposure in every sense of the word. For the first time I became keenly aware of how big the city really was, and how small I was inside of it. But here’s the thing: my flatmates, the guys on the block…nobody was threatening me. They barely noticed me. I didn’t belong, but I wasn’t out of place, either. I was just… there. Another feature of the block. There was the street, and there was my bed. And in between? Me–learning to exist, quietly, inside someone else’s world. That was another kind of room. One you don’t enter or leave. One you just absorb. Learning. Adapting. Layering.

Two rooms. One taught me how to disappear with grace. The other taught me how to stay visible, even when it was uncomfortable.

And I wish I could say I rose to the challenge, but the truth is, at that time, I didn’t have the grit that New York demands. I had a girlfriend back in Virginia and was spending every other weekend riding a god-awful bus through the night just to see her. Now you’ve got FlixBus, MegaBus–luxury on wheels. Back then we just had the Chinatown bus, and this isn’t anything racist, either…they were literally unlicensed buses that connected the Chinatowns of the major cities on the East Coast. Unmarked, no-frills, no rules, driven by someone's uncle 'under the table,' and breaking down a solid 25% of the time. But $5 is $5, and I, like everyone else, was broke when I started working in New York. One weekend, fresh off a fight with my girlfriend, I rode an overnight bus with a leaky roof, in freezing rain, only to arrive under the Manhattan Bridge at 7 AM and head straight to the office.

I had moved to New York from San Diego—a place with perfect weather, laid-back vibes, ocean views—and I hadn’t yet figured out how to survive the drips of air conditioners hitting your head, the endless walk-ups, taking the subway in a suit without air conditioning, the idea of apartment brokers who you’d have to pay commission just to find a place to rent, and still 95% of the listings you’d see were already gone before you could ask.

I didn’t hate New York. But I hadn’t figured out how to love it yet…I hadn’t found the opportunities, the rooms, that make it unlike anywhere else on earth and make all those hardships, and all the things that come with it, worthwhile. The truth is: you can survive here on very little money. There’s enough dollar slices around, dollar oyster happy hours, corporate-sponsored events to entertain you for free. But you have to dig to find where you fit, because it won’t find you.

And I didn’t. Not then. I left.

But New York? It stays with you. The noise, the pressure, the possibility. And over the years, I’ve always come back, often. After all, Jordan is still here. Each time, I love to see if the city feels different ,or if I do.

***

Living in New York City is living your life in public. More in public here than anywhere else I’ve ever been and certainly lived. I have all sorts of my own life, my experiences, that you might think would be, you know, behind closed doors–breakups and pain and happiness and exuberance and all of these things. At any given time you can be on the street or the subway or really anywhere and see someone in the worst or best moment of their lives and everything in between. And in this way it’s somewhere that’s more real–people are more real and transparent–than many other places. But it’s also anonymous, it’s uncaring but not mean. We’re all part of this living machine, like a forest, where things live and die, and are all interconnected in ways that we don’t even really think about. But you only really get rejected from this machine if you try to go against the flow of everyone else needing to get where they’re going and do what they’re doing. But, at the same time, if you trip and fall, somebody’s going to offer you a hand to get you back up. They don’t expect to be friends. They don’t expect anything of you but maybe a ‘thank you’. And we all move on, because it’s about the city moving. It’s about us all moving, and we’re just all individually in this together, doing this crazy thing–living in this city–that’s hard, but rewarding and interesting, and, you know, I’ve never lived anywhere else.

This is where we come to realize our dreams. This is the last and first for everything. This is concrete. This is Gotham. This is where everybody–and nobody–is stranger. This the city of the artist and the finest. The doer, and the bravest. This is where we fall in love, and out of love, and in love again. This is where we learn to stand up to anything. This is the state of mind, and city as a process. This is our capital. This is the greatest. This is the city we came to love. This is home. This is most definitely New York.

New York is a place where you can be anything that you want to be.

New York is about, in your 20s, it’s about having a first hustle. But by the time everybody gets to their late 20s, early 30s, it’s about having your second hustle. So everyone will have their sort of main job, but then everybody’s got a dream on the side, whether it’s like music, or some sort of startup. I think that’s always when it gets really cool and what keeps you motivated.

***

And that’s how I ended up on the Staten Island Ferry at midnight, not long ago, carrying nothing but a backpack, a phone with a 13% charge, and a stubborn urge to chase something. Nostalgia, maybe. Or fear.

I was home visiting my family in Virginia, and as I often do, popped up to New York for a few days. My return flight was at 8, out of LaGuardia, but a friend from Tokyo, in the process of moving to Abidjan, was in town, so we caught up. I could’ve rushed back home to Virginia, watched a bad football game from the couch, been asleep by 11. But, I don’t know…I just couldn’t.

So I changed my flight to 6 the next morning. Just a few hours later, right? In New York, the line between late night and early morning is mostly theoretical anyway…6am just means the bars have emptied and the pigeons are clocking in.

We had a couple of drinks at The Smith, I walked through Central Park. Peed in a bush. Twice. (You do what you gotta do…this city isn’t exactly bladder-friendly at night)—and decided to let the night stretch a little longer.

I headed downtown…but not what you’re thinking though. Because the Staten Island Ferry runs all night. It’s free. It’s constant. My dad swears he took me on it when I was two and a half. AND, it turns out that it’s quite a vibe.

That’s what New York does. Even when you don’t live here anymore, it dares you to stay out a bit later. It whispers: there’s still something for you here. And the Staten Island Ferry? That whisper turned into a midnight impulse I knew would go sideways, and I did it anyway.. A “because I can” kind of thing.

The first ride out was magic. The skyline glowed. The Statue of Liberty hovered like a mirage. Some guy played harmonica in the corner. His best friend beatboxed beside him. I was all in. There’s something cinematic about moving across water at night. Especially when you’re not sure what you’re moving toward.

Fast forward an hour. I’m freezing, and the magic is gone. Turns out, the ferry doesn’t stop, but you do–every time. You shuffle off, only to turn right back on and re-board, like some unspoken game of tag. Now I’m part of this odd club of overnight drifters. A guy with a suitcase who looks like he’s been doing this for years. A couple arguing over what counts as “good pizza.” A kid who couldn’t have been older than 17, trying to sell Bluetooth speakers from a backpack like it’s 2008. At one point, I ask suitcase guy how long he’s been riding. He just squints and says, “long enough.” Fair. I’m not asking follow-ups. I'm entertained by a pigeon, already naming him Ralph in my head. He's found an open bag of Funyuns, and frankly, watching him is way better than listening to the arguing pizza couple, who are now debating whether Staten Island is really part of New York City. Spoiler: no one cares.

After round two, the Staten Island Railroad sign catches my eye, which it turns out, like the New York City Subway overall, runs 24 hours. I don’t check the schedule–just see one leaving for Tottenville in 2 minutes and instinctively hop on. The doors close. The floor is crusted in idolized salt. The windows too grimy to see through. Inside: one guy eating wings from a greasy bag. And me. That’s it. Outside: blackness. Like if HBO’s The Leftovers shot a subway scene. A voice crackles from the speaker: “Tompkinsville station, exit to your left.” Okay–at least there’s a human driving this train.

Tompkinsville. That name stuck with me. I read a book called The Kid from Tompkinsville when I was nine – about a young baseball player, a long shot with big dreams. Wrote a book report on it. Weird coincidence, being here now. Funny how the places you only read about as a kid end up showing up in your life when you’re least expecting it.

Next stop: Stapleton. Wu-Tang territory. the RZA, the GZA… It feels like a sign, so I jump out.

Nope.

Now I’m stuck on a frozen outdoor platform. It’s 19 degrees–Fahrenheit, not Celsius. The platform lights flicker. Someone yells in the distance. There’s not even gates at this station. I’m pretty sure I’ve become the cold open to a true crime podcast. Twenty-five minutes pass, then thirty. I’m still there, staring at the Verrazano Narrows bridge, shivering. Time seems to be going backwards. I start negotiating with God, wondering what the hell I’m doing with my life. When the next train finally shows up, I get on like it’s a life raft.

Back at the terminal a few minutes later, the ferry feels like a luxury cruise. Ralph’s still there. Suitcase guy, too, who gives me a subtle nod like I’ve been baptized. It’s 4:23 in the morning. My phone’s at 4%, on airplane mode. I buy a soggy $3 pretzel from the snack stand, which had just opened. It tastes amazing. The ferry sets off, and–no shit–I see a guy tearing into a whole rotisserie chicken. Where the hell does one even get a rotisserie chicken at 4 in the morning? Someone’s pacing the deck. Oh wait, that’s me. Cold, tired, salt-stained, I remember thinking that this is just another room. A strange one, sure, but a room all the same. Floating, temporary, transformative.

The room doesn’t have to be a board room. Or a basement fight ring. Sometimes, the room is a drifting metal box filled with strangers, snack carts, ghosts of your twenties, and pigeons with names. That night on the ferry didn’t get me a job. Or a connection. Or a win. But it did give me a moment of grace in the dumbest, coldest place possible. The ferry didn’t lead anywhere. But it did give me a story. And sometimes, that’s more than enough.

***

For me what New York City is is change. I feel like when I moved here New York City was fast, it was music, it was dancing, it was riding my bike all over the city. And now, New York City is something different to me. It’s a place of community. It’s a place of learning about other countries, tasting new foods. I think New York City is a city that grows with you and can be anything you want it to be.

Growing up with a convenience store at the corner of every block. You know, food, coffee, and the gym just right around the corner. Making many friends. And there’s so much culture everywhere. I just love being around that.

The hustle and the bustle of New York City is like no other place in the world. And, New York has the best bagels on the planet.

I love New York City. It’s literally supported me for the last 25 years now. Working as an electrician it’s given me something to do, providing light and power to buildings, and subway tunnels and antenna spires. It’s an exciting place to make a career, that’s for sure. New York City definitely has the best food, the best restaurants, in the world. It’s got the best of a lot of things. And I’m very grateful to have made a career here and if it wasn’t for New York City I don’t know what I’d be doing.

New York is a place where people come for opportunity, and cultures co-exist. While Tokyo values harmony and subtlety, New York celebrates individuality and boldness.

New York, to me, is not just a city. It’s like a slice of the world. I learned almost everything I needed to know about the world by living in New York. The Bronx is where I’m from. But Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, Staten Island–all of the 5 Boroughs–are incredibly different, and the same. New York instills a toughness in you, and it gives you some kind of confidence that no matter where you find yourself in the world, you’re fully capable of doing your thing. It gives you a swagger, and this belief that you have what it takes, and you’re proud to tell people where you’re from. So living in New York, it allowed me to live shoulder to shoulder with people from all around the world. And you can’t live in New York and not see people. You see what makes them who they are and what motivates them. So the world is beautiful, but I just love that place. No matter where I go, I can hear my city in the background.

***

New York teaches you in rooms. Some loud, some quiet. Some built for ambition. Others for humility. Some you get sucked into, and others, you buy a tuxedo you can’t quite afford to sneak into. But once you’re inside, New York doesn’t care how you got there. Doesn’t care if you climbed, hustled, or stumbled in by accident. What matters is what you do once you’re inside.

The magic isn’t in the room–it’s in what you bring in with you: your fear, your fight, your willingness to change. And whether you stay long enough to leave different. The biggest lie in New York? That you know what kind of room you’re walking into.

Some rooms look like boardrooms but feel like cages. Some look like ferry terminals and end up being churches. And some look like fight clubs–but heal you in ways therapy never could. Jordan’s fight clubs were never about violence. He wasn’t fighting people–he was fighting fear. And once the fear was gone, the room had nothing left to teach him.

He still fights now. The opponent is stagnation. The ring has conference tables, bottled water, and a view of Bryant Park.

The railroad apartment didn’t break me–it built me. Discomfort wasn’t the problem….it was the point. That little room taught me how to live inside someone else’s space and still be myself. Once I could do that, I didn’t need the room anymore.

Whatever room you’re in, you have to earn it…and then go find the next one. A warehouse where you chase fear. A bedroom you tiptoe through. A ferry deck you don’t mean to end up on–but you also don’t forget. These weren’t just places I passed through. They were sparring partners. Mirrors. Rooms that cut and softened, until I fit inside. They stripped things away. Then added layers back on. Not always the ones I expected.

But that’s how New York works–it doesn’t hand you a path, it hands you pressure, and waits to see what shape you take. It wraps you in tension and asks you to earn every layer. Not in a straight line. But in spirals, setbacks, late nights, and rooms you didn’t expect. You don’t always grow by climbing. Sometimes, you grow by stepping through. Through fear. Through friction. Through tiny doors, blurry nights, sweaty subway trains, awkward silences. Through the kind of rooms that ask nothing more of you than to stay–and be changed–even if you aren’t sure how you’ve changed until way later.

Jordan’s fight clubs were tests of courage. My apartments were tests of tolerance. And the Staten Island Ferry? That was a test of surrender. It didn’t ask me to chase or to earn, or to try so hard. It just asked me to sit still. And that might’ve been the hardest test of all.

Because that’s what New York does. It overwhelms, then invites. It breaks your rhythm, then hands you back a better one. It doesn’t promise success. It gives you friction. And friction—that’s what sticks. That’s not just survival. That’s New York layering you. And it’s through that friction, and all those layers, that you earn the success no one promised.

I didn’t find comfort in New York. I didn’t find love. Or even a win I could point to. Not betting more on myself in this city is still one of my biggest regrets. But I stayed long enough to hear what the city was trying to say, though it took me years to make sense of it.

Not every city pushes you upward. Some pull you inward–-quietly testing what you’re made of. Some cities give you a map and a mirror. New York gives you a blindfold and a punch in the chest–and somehow, when you catch your breath, you realize that was the mirror.

Now, wherever I go–Tokyo, Amsterdam, Dubai, Sao Paulo–I carry those New York layers. The instinct to walk fast and think faster. The hunger to stay a little longer. The sense that behind every door, something might change me.

New York is full of rooms. Sometimes you choose the room, and other times, the room chooses you. Some rooms make you, and other rooms just make you feel like you belong….even if you’re not sure why, because you wandered in by mistake. But once you’re inside, New York doesn’t care how you got there. It just watches what you do.

You fight your way into some rooms, sneak your way into others, and suffer your way through a few more. And then there are the rooms you just wind up in, drifting away from South Ferry at 3am, wondering what the hell you’re doing. But in New York…every room changes you.

I didn’t win this city. But I stayed in enough of its rooms, for just long enough, to learn this: a room doesn’t have to be yours to leave its mark. And the more I’ve been back, I can finally understand a quote I heard once: no two people ever walk into the same room. Because a room isn’t just four walls. It’s timing. It’s context. It’s circumstance. It’s everything you’re carrying when you step inside.

Jordan walked into a warehouse and stared down fear. I walked into a cramped apartment and stared down awkward silence–draped in a towel. Neither of us had it figured out. But we both walked out changed.

And to this day, I’m still stepping through, every chance I get. I’m still listening, and I’m still carrying those rooms with me.

Not as trophies. As proof.

***

Hey guys, Steven here. A few quick notes to close. Every artist featured in this episode is a New York native—born or raised—and I want to thank them for helping me tell the best New York story that I can (and shoutout to their record labels for not coming after me). You’ll find full credits and a Spotify playlist in the show notes. An even bigger thanks to Jordan and the rest of you who contributed your voice and thoughtful definitions of New York.

This podcast is still a work in progress. I’m experimenting with style, structure, sound, format—so if you’ve got thoughts, I’d genuinely love to hear them–steven@everycitywhispers.com…and I’ll get a feedback form up on the website soon, too. I’m doing this solo for now (aside, of course, from you awesome voice note contributors), and I do have a full-time job, so my aim is to finish one “cornerstone” episode a month, for now. These are the deep dives, with music, field tape, stories like this one.

Between those, I’ll release 1 or 2 lighter follow-ups–mini episodes that explore themes or interesting facts from the city in different ways. Think of those like bonus chapters. I’ll always point back to the main episode first, so new listeners will start there. In those minis, I’ll probably also share more under the hood about my process and how I’m trying to bring this to life.

Also, if you like what you’ve heard, I’d really appreciate it if you can rate this on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, YouTube, wherever you’re listening. I’m figuring out how to do this as I go, but I think that will really help. And if you have a friend or three who you think might like it–maybe someone who loves to travel or is curious about what it’s like to live in other places, share the love with them.

You can find more information about this episode, and the podcast, and me (if you happen to be interested) at everycitywhispers.com.

Ohhh kay. Thank you, thank you, thank you for listening to EveryCity Whispers. Next up we’ll fly down to Brasil, Sao Paulo, but as mentioned, we’ll have a couple more quick stops in New York first. Until then, remember: you don’t have to change cities to move forward. Cities don’t shout. But if you stay curious and listen closely, you’ll hear them.

Let me tell you what the hard part was. I come from a world–I mean, I think we all do–we’re taught, like, one, don’t fight. But if you are, fight for a reason. And let that reason be you’re defending your life, or your property, whatever whatever. And we’ve all probably been pushed to some degree of anger, frustration, violence, right? The hardest part about fighting for me was how do you go, truly, to demolish someone who you’ve never met. Like, they’ve never wronged you a day in their life. In any other setting, you could be best friends, they are the nicest person in the world. But because of where the two of you are today, this particular inflection point, it just so happens ya’ll gotta fight.

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