I'm jogging alongside Pier A when I discover that what Google Maps calls "Sinatra Park Pier," a two person-wide dock jetting out into the Hudson, is free. Heart-pounding and slightly sweaty, I make my way to the end, leaning against the railing. I turn off my AirPods, the loudly blasting music dissipating into the wind that now whips all around me. And I just be. And sing. "Oceans" by Hillsong United, though the watery bounds that divide us and glittering Manhattan are both visually and technically nowhere near the title. Have I finally found a (tiny) place to be (somewhat) alone, in the third-densest municipality of the US? As if to answer, a younger couple and their third wheel saunter up behind me, boisterously laughing. One of them, I think the third wheel, fumbles a Camelback water bottle into the water below. They groan and laugh, lingering around a little longer. This experience is characteristic of many here. Stillness interrupted by other humans, albeit incredibly interesting, diverse, and generally young humans. Unbelievable skyline views of what some--those whom my hardcore Hobokenite dad scoffs at--call "The Greatest City in the World," whose proximity jacks up costs of living. Pollution of noise, light, water, air. But how can I complain? Strolling to grab coffee from one of 40+ shops and on every block seeing at least one person that I know and one that I've never seen before is an incredibly unique and wonderful thing about this city. Recently, my mom drove down Washington street at night, and the string lighting was breathtaking. Not to mention the walkability, the phenomenal abundance of delicious food that tickle even the pickiest eater's fancy (certainly impactful in my life), and the considerable safety lent by gentrification. I've truly had it all these past 12 years. Above all, it's the people that have meant the most. The Hoboken communities I've been lucky enough to be a part of, from hanging out at Hoboken Grace Community Church, even on weekdays, to bumping into my rock climbing teammates from The Gravity Vault Hoboken, to seeing middle school comrades around, to passing neighbors we've known from church for a decade in the stairwell, to living a block away from my preschool best friend. Not to say it'll stay like this, because it hasn't. For every running-into with former classmates at the Arts and Music Festival, there are tens more with ones we lost to the 'burbs. For every new person I befriend, my heart aches for the ones that have moved across states and hemispheres...or to the 'burbs. Alas, alas! I jest, maybe hypocritically, looking to new horizons and higher education; the allure of taking my jogs to lush, spacious campuses is intoxicating. The frequent loss of friends and mentors is nowhere near the challenges others may face, I sheepishly know. But it's one that I carry until they return or visit. If I follow in their footsteps, I promise I will.