The Cost of the Concrete Jungle: A Day of Observation

Whether you know me or not, eastern Long Island is where I hang my hat—at least for now. Getting to the city feels like second nature: a turn out of my driveway, a right onto the road, and suddenly the 495 is carrying me straight into midtown’s electric core. Sometimes I trade the highway for the train’s gentle sway or the ever-ready Hampton Jitney, each offering its own rhythm to the journey.

This time, the train called to me for my trip into the city, lured by Cuomo’s watch party—a tale for another time. The next morning, I was up before the sun, sipping on Morning Joe before heading to Penn Station. My cab snaked through twenty blocks of Manhattan’s restless choreography. Through the window, I watched crowds move in tides, swept along by the city’s heartbeat. Backpacks bumped, Walkmans hummed, and weariness was etched on every face. And this was just the start of the day.

I have always been sensitive to the emotional currents around me, though I often wish I could turn down the volume. As we wound down 7th Avenue, I felt the city’s heavy mood seep into me, carried along by a wave of shared melancholy.

At Penn Station, I attempted to reach the platform, but the torrent of people spilling out at 33rd and 7th was impossible to cross. So I paused, letting their energy crash over me, knowing I’d feel the toll later. Still, I couldn’t help myself—I stood there, absorbing it all.

I couldn’t help but wonder: How did we arrive at this point? Why do so many drift through life disillusioned, weary, caught in routines that sap the soul? With a train home every seventeen minutes, I had the luxury of time. I let the moment linger and whispered to my God, surely this isn’t our purpose. Surely there is another way.

The Organizational Failure

This collective sadness, this deep well of lost hope, is what inspired me to pursue a master’s in organizational psychology. I am driven to dig up the roots of these systemic wounds and discover how to mend them. The path has been tough, but I’ve learned to take it in without letting it swallow me whole.

When the crowds finally melted away, I slipped onto my train, coffee cradled in my hands—no canoli this time—and let the hush settle around me. That’s when the conductor arrived.

He noticed me in my salmon-pink coat, a color that never fails to spark conversation, and I saw a spark of joy in his eyes. I exhaled and started chatting.

I mentioned he must be glad not to be heading into a lifeless office, swallowed by the monotony of the city, only to face the same exhausting commute home. Back to what, really? He grinned, confessing he once had that job and hated every second. He punched my ticket, gave my shoulder a gentle pat, and reminded me how lucky we were to have broken free from the rat race.

And I truly was—grateful and blessed for this journey home.

The Path to Fulfillment

The conductor’s candor was a living reminder of why I chose this path. Each of us is called to seek our purpose and pour ourselves into it, letting our work shape who we become. In that growth, we find joy; through our work, we find fulfillment.

Yet the heaviness I felt among those commuters pointed to something much larger. This deep human ache is not a personal failing; it is the clearest sign of a system in need of repair. It was this very malaise that decided the election. The false prophet played on their hopes, convincing them he would be their savior. Here’s a clue: no one is coming to save us. If someone claims they are, run the other way. But New Yorkers didn’t run. They believed.

They want the promised salvation.

I felt that collective dark pit in my stomach, and I realized that this is the fertile ground for political disillusionment. It is why those unhappy New Yorkers were so eager to listen to a false prophet promising salvation. I felt his political deception as easily as I felt their emotional burden, and I braced myself for the disappointment and anger when that reality inevitably sets in.

Simply put, telling people to change is not enough; workplaces themselves must transform. Companies need to value their greatest asset: their people, not just the bottom line. Only together can individuals and organizations rediscover a working life that is growing, meaningful, and lets us smile again.