New Yorkers On Why They Love NYC, Now More Than Ever

As part of our Dear NYC series, we asked New Yorkers — at the end of one of the most painful and difficult years in New York City's history — to tell us why they love this city. We've received an overwhelming amount of responses, and unsurprisingly heartfelt, humorous and creative submissions in the form of cross-stitches, written odes, paintings, audio messages, poems, and even a series of rug hookings honoring 1970s New York. Oh hell, let's start there:

Did anyone ever make a series of rug hookings documenting the 1970s in, say, Dover, Delaware? This is just a guess but, no.

The reasons we love NYC are complex, difficult to put into words without sounding cliche, impossible to explain to those who haven't lived here, and often complicated — reasons why it aggravates us can also contain reasons why we love it (see: the subway). It's a beautifully flawed place, and maybe one day those who make it so beautiful can even make it better, and fairer. It is maybe the love New Yorkers have for this city that is the biggest reason to love it.

Dive into that big, big love below, where you'll find an endless scroll of adoration for the place we are all lucky enough to call home. There's a lot here, so bookmark this page and revisit it when you need some hope.

Listen to some of the audio submissions we received below. WNYC will also air some of your submissions on the radio and the Consider This podcast through the end of the year.

Dear NYC,

In this new normal that we are living through, I’m grateful that our relationship isn’t on pause. In the age of social distancing and isolation, I allow myself one weekly escape to see you in all of your glory.  In almost 30 years, you’ve always provided strength, stability and friendship in times of need. Even in the rain, you inspire hope for brighter days ahead. You are complex and challenge me with various paths to take and crevices to explore. My spirit is always lifted after our time together. I share you with others. You are Central Park. — Maya Nussenzweig

I always say that I was born and raised in New York City, except when I lived in Texas from ages zero to 17 years. Mythology aside, I arrived via Greyhound bus, landing in a sixth-floor walk-up on E. 4th St. and Avenue A, on a block someone told me Madonna also lived on when she moved to New York. It was July 2003, and it was hot. Hotter and stickier than any Texas summer I’d ever known. I saved up all month to buy a used a/c off Craigslist and then the blackout happened, and I wasn’t mad because the nail salon downstairs moved all the pedicure chairs onto the street so we could dance on them to early electroclash and police sirens. Cute boys raced by with boom boxes blasting hip-hop and Kylie Minogue duct taped to their bikes. We shook our fists toward the general direction of uptown after someone said they heard that someone said that someone said that someone said that ConEd had restored power to the Upper East Side before any other neighborhood. Bodegas passed out free beer and ice cream, and for a few glorious hours, the East Village was drunk on PBR and Ben and Jerry’s and UES hate and Z100 Today’s Hit Music. They say that you can call yourself a New Yorker after you’ve lived here for 10 years. It took me one blackout. — Adrian Guzman 

Having spent the last 12 years with you, I have fallen in love all over again with your tenacity, strength, and grit that remains at your core.  I miss those privileged summer days of walking around with no real agenda on the Lower East Side, grabbing food at The Smile, then running into friends and having a drink at The Wren, Rosie's or one of countless other charming places.  It didn't matter where exactly I ended up, because the summer cleared out the crowds and left the air of possibility and giddy anticipation, mixed with the scent of stale urine and garbage that always lingers.  But who cared because among those emptied streets, the city felt like ours. Sadly, I've lost count of those restaurants and stores that have closed since March.  But NY, I know that despite your reputation of fierce independence, at your heart you are built on community and shared wisdom.   I also know that there is deep rooted anger and frustration, but I hope this fuels progress and movement as you rebuild ever the more wiser, compassionate and resilient.  No matter your evolution, you will always be home to me. — H.S.

This is a drawing of musicians playing music near Delacorte Theater. I recognize that sharing the amazing public music New Yorkers get to casually enjoy is a cliché, but in a year full of silent streets, sirens, and nightly cheers for hospital workers, it's nice to have a sense of auditory normalcy. This band is called Baby Soda, and they typically gather sizable crowds when they play near the theater. — Ali Feldhausen

The majority of people in my closest communities had fled the city. I wondered if I should be doing the same. Yet, I couldn’t extract myself from my home. It’s where I wanted to be. The comfort in familiarity, along with wanting to fight for my great city, kept my feet planted. I didn’t realize how strongly I felt. The folks that were here rallied behind each other with extraordinary loyalty (especially the frontline workers). I got to to know my city in a way more intimate way. And, just like that, I felt bound. So, as we danced, sang, and cheered in the streets on that one Saturday, recognizing the results of the election... but it felt like we were celebrating so much more. We could see the light for the first time in ages, and it was bright with encouragement. — Marika Condos

Yesterday, I ran into Renata in the park. We were about thirty feet apart when she called my name, not sure if she recognized her former English as a Second Language teacher in jeans and beneath the mask. We caught up for a few minutes — her interview for a green card is next Tuesday — during which time neither of us made a move towards to the other. Although I haven't gotten together with any acquaintances since March, New York is alive with potential chance encounters, never mind the real ones we plan for some far off fairytale future, with as much devotion to detail as though they were weddings. In our isolation — those of us who've taken the advice of Dr. Fauci et al. to heart — we've become like forest people or medieval monks, alert to unseen presences all around, the bearers of our dreams. — Jenna Orkin

There is so much I miss. Broadway, indoor dining, crowded bars...the subway. Did I ever think I'd miss the subway? But the biggest thing of all is the library. As a writer in New York and an avid reader, going to the library has been my refuge. My home away from home. Being in that magical space with all those books has been most inspiring to me since I first moved to the city over two years ago. I miss the smell of the old pages, the author readings and special events, lingering for hours in the stacks searching for that one perfect book. I look forward to the day I can walk through those doors again -- and to not just drop off my books. — Carissa Chesanek

I am submitting my piece, Walk To Work, as part of the Dear NYC project. I live in Astoria and used to walk through Madison Square Park on my way to work everyday, and I’d catch this view over some shorter buildings as I walked approached  the park. — Katie

When you're a high-risk person during a pandemic and, for eight months, can only travel as far as you can walk, you have to hope you live in a neighborhood you enjoy. Fortunately, I'm on the Upper West Side, and my dog Griffin and I have spent this year taking long walks in Central and Riverside Park and exploring all of their nooks and crannies. While it's fun to get lost near Belvedere Castle and stroll along the promenade, I really like this little hill near the 69th St/CPW entrance. It's a small hill with a big, shady tree, and when Griffin and I sit on it, we can see across the park — to Sheep's Meadow and the jogging/bicycle lane — and people-watch from a safe distance. It's not much, but it's helped us feel connected to our fellow New Yorkers even when we can't be near anyone else. — Sasha Stewart

I present to you a collective poem and a few digital collages from the middle school students of Arts & Literacy after school program. We are a non-profit program in East Elmhurst, Queens and have been working virtually since March. Our students miss their city and this project and the discussion about it left us feeling very nostalgic and bonded. Thank you for the opportunity.. here's to a better new year! — Alysen Hester, Arts & Literacy Site Director for PS/IS 127

On any Friday afternoon I can, I venture a walk from my Lincoln Square home through Columbus Circle and down 59th Street. At the touchpoint of two worlds — the bustling Midtown and towering structures of an especially dynamic part of Manhattan's skyline against the beginning of the otherworldy yet still so New York Central Park — this stretch across Central Park South never fails to provide me an ideal environment for reflection, retreat, or whatever it is my mood may require at the time. The constant in this ritual comes at the point I reach the end of the park and enter into the Grand Army Plaza and take my place on one of the benches directly across from the Plaza Hotel.  Always facing what is my personal favorite micro-landscape of buildings in the city — including the storied GM Building, the noble Solow Building, the quintessentially old-New York 781 Fifth Ave, and often criticized 432 Park — I admire the structures, the people, and phenomena surrounding me, usually gleaning little representations of all the different components which come together to give the city its special place and standing in the world. The mental cleansing and moments of peace that this walk down Central Park South to the Grand Army Plaza provide have proven incomparable to anything else or what I can find in any other place :) — Grace Oakey

I miss nights out in the city, walking from a bar or a party or a friend's apartment and heading to the subway back home. Whether I was standing on the 2nd Ave platform or sitting on a bench at the Union Square stop waiting for a train, there was a certain energy in the stragglers that you don't get to witness during the day. Maybe it was the exhaustion from working a night shift, or the tipsy buzz people still had to carry them home, but there was a vulnerability in them as they nodded off while leaning on a subway pole or into the shoulder of a stranger—completely unaware and indifferent to anyone who saw. For a moment, you could get a glimpse of their life, realize they're not just extras in the NY film centered around your story. I saw so many beautiful stories at those hours—the couple trying to cuddle but being so tired and falling asleep on each other; the older sister looking after her younger one, as she watched the man next to her play candy crush on his phone; the group of friends drunkenly laughing with each other so loud it could wake up the entire car, yet people were still sound asleep. Back then, I used to curse at myself for living all the way out in East Flatbush, having to commute almost an hour home each night out. Now I miss that commute. I got to see the pulse and intimacy of the city through the tired eyes getting off in Chinatown or Downtown Brooklyn or Kensington. There was an innocence and solidarity in all of us taking the trains at those hours—something an orchestrated clap can never match—looking at each other and ensuring that we'd make it home and be sound asleep soon. — Stevie Borrello

I stopped counting after 100 days of lockdown in a city I love so dearly. Those who stick around in New York are in it for better or for worse. So when the pandemic hit, I didn't know what it would take away or add to how I view the city and its people. Days seemed hazy and dystopian. Overnight, a city that sounds like a conglomeration of every sound you can imagine became hushed and ghostly. Laughter from playgrounds and music from the neighborhood bar was taken over by mind-numbing, anxiety-inducing incessant rings of sirens from ambulances, police cars, and fire trucks. I used this time to take stock of the things I'm grateful for. I watched my neighbors not let confinement define their spirits. I heard it in the 7 pm cheers that celebrated the gift of life, rainbow sketches on windows by children who can't fully fathom the nebulous world outside but wanted to spread hope. I saw people waving from windows, dogs play fetch on roofs, pigeons confused by the lack of scraps, Ubers with makeshift protective barriers inside cars, and more people take to biking than ever before. I don't know what a new normal is yet, as I believe we're shaping it as we go, but there are things I miss from a pre-pandemic world that are quintessentially New York. I drew them over the lockdown to remind myself of the crowded, big-hearted, beautiful, and chaotic city that I fall more in love with every day. And while New York is slowly reopening and evolving in the resilient way it always does, take a moment to remember what makes the city unique for you. I love you, New York. — Anjali Chandrashekar

This year has taught us that urban nature is more valuable than ever. More New Yorkers are birdwatching and visiting green spaces in search of exercise, fun, sociability, and refuge. But what is sometimes less seen are the park workers and volunteers who take care of these spaces for everyone. Our love letter is to all these stewards who take care of New York. As researchers at the New York City Urban Field Station, we’ve spent our careers studying the ways New Yorkers connect to, care for, and advocate for their local environments. From composting to tree planting to picking up trash to signing a petition - New Yorkers join with their neighbors to transform their neighborhoods. We spent this year of COVID watching from our windows, slowly returning to the streets, and interviewing park workers, foresters and volunteers about how they continue to serve the public, affirming that local nature is essential. Amidst so much loss and darkness, we’ve seen the “mad love” that New Yorkers have for this place and for each other — it is, perhaps, our brightest light - one that we will carry forth to 2021 and beyond. — Sophie Plitt

I miss the things that I thought I hated about this city. I miss trying not to fall asleep on the subway. I miss being horribly nervous while I walked into job interviews, imagining myself spending most of my day isolated in a crappy cubicle only to emerge, at lunchtime, into a new neighborhood that would slowly become mine. I miss the weird, gut-churning summertime smells. I miss the pain of the relentless winter wind that glued my eyelashes shut while I hurried for the train. I wish that I had known that I ought to appreciate these things. Now, I sometimes struggle to remember them. — Emily Villemaire

Dear NYC submissions from Ms. Schildkraut's 7th grade class at M.S. 88:

New York is special

You are not ever alone,

Walking around here.

New York is special.

So much diversity here;

One good benefit.

New York is special.

Easy to reach anywhere,

From all five boroughs.

I’d like to submit the attached digital artwork for the Love Letter to NYC, inspired by the widespread, worldwide protests that took place after the killing of George Floyd. — Isha Mehmood

When Covid was new, I was afraid to do laundry. From the fourth floor of a Brooklyn walk-up with a shared washer-dryer in the basement, laundry was already a physical feat; now it was an emotional one too. Do I run the washer first without my clothes to disinfect it? Should I put everything in the dryer, shrinking my delicates? What are delicates to a world where even sharing a subway car or a grocery store aisle is too close for comfort? We were told not to touch our faces, not to touch anything. We did not yet know to wear masks, and gloves littered the streets. Do you remember those days? How young we were. When Covid was familiar, I grew tired of doing laundry, tired of everything. Why scale so many stairs to stare at screens and be stared at through them? Clean clothes are not required in a pandemic. When Covid still did not end, I created a new laundry rule. While my clothes were in the washer, I must take a walk. I explored parks that I had not made time for before, marveled at architecture, celebrated street art, and joined protests. Streets closed to cars and opened to a toddler, claiming Vanderbilt as her own. The leaves were changing and so was I, so are we. This year I ate Thanksgiving dinner over Zoom, but I smelled fantastic. — Hanna Weiss

In the midst of so much death — as a risk, a metaphor, and a reality in my family and my loved ones' families — I stumbled upon new life in Green-Wood Cemetery. Its meandering paths and epic boulevards, engraved histories and high hills, offered me a pathway through this year. I often came with a friend who lives up my street — a neighbor, a blessing — and together we walked through the alive-ness of the cemetery. Countless is the number of times we'd leave a marked path to trek across uncut swathes of grass, only to spot a new, unforeseen path emerging just up ahead. And in true arboretum fashion, Green-Wood donned each new season with aplomb. Spring burst forth like a protest when NYC was the epicenter of the pandemic. Summer sweltered, beckoning me toward shady trees. Fall reigned with glorious reds and golds. Everything pointed to continuing change, to new and surprising beauty — exactly the things that are lost when life feels inescapably dark. But Green-Wood gave that gift to me. This year, I found that the resting place for hundreds of thousands of New York's past residents... could offer me rest in this life, too. — Nina Chung

Since March I’ve been making drawings of storefronts that I miss going to, dream of going to, once got my shoes fixed at, met my wife at, witnessed my daughter make her first book purchase... Here's just one. I LOVE NYC! — Joel Holland

I miss the bars. All of them. I miss the weird nachos at Carragher's, and the sofas at the Redeye Grille. I miss the amazing staff at The Independent... and the fries.  I miss the views of the Castell rooftop on 40th. I miss the ambiance of The Polynesian, and the bartenders at the St. Cloud. I miss D.J. Reynolds' for all the wrong reasons, and P.J. Clarke's for all the right ones. I miss Saddles for both of these. I miss the hotdogs at Rudy's and the pizza at Bond 45. I miss drinking mules at Lillie's and whatever's cheapest at Barrage. I miss relaxing in the natural light of the Broadway Lounge in the middle of the day and then moving over to the Rum House and not being able to see across the table. I miss watching old Land of the Lost VHSs at Otto's Shrunken Head. I miss Blockheads on the first day of summer, Vodka Soda on the first day of fall, Characters in the middle of winter, and VYNL every day of the year.But more than anything I miss the freedom to come in off the street at any one of these and call it home for an evening. — Lauren Cartelli

It's been said countless times before, and far better than I will say it here, but living in New York is the master class in invention and reinvention. We, the actors-slash-citizens, do it all the time: the young and restless who come from places they want to distance from or forget; those who seek the notoriety New York can bestow when offered something bright and shiny; we who want to go all the way and never let up until a new height is reached, and then a higher height than that. Often it calls for rethinking and reinventing oneself within one's environment because the pace of change means the choice to remain the same is not an option. Perhaps that is the case with New York in this in-between moment when the set and props are different, but the inspiration must still present itself. The engine doesn't rev as fast because the demand is not as furious, but the city must take the post-coronavirus lead in teaching that there is always one more act, one more chapter, one more story. In the play being staged, there will always be new watchers, listeners, doers waiting in the wings for a cue to see how it's done. How to keep moving, how to move ahead. — Ann Levine

I’ve just started reading Peggy Guggenheim’s autobiography, with an introduction by Gore Vidal. I haven’t gotten very far in the book yet, but I can’t stop thinking about what Vidal wrote about his younger days and the Greenwich Village party where he first met Guggenheim: “I still think that somewhere, even now, in a side street of New York City...a world of color and humor is still going on–could be entered again if only one had not mislaid the address.” Even as I type, somewhere, in a side street of the Village, a few jazz musicians are eating burgers at Corner Bistro, drunk on music and camaraderie and bourbon. Patrician Upper East Siders are “declining a Charlotte Russe, accepting a fig” at the Carlyle. Tourists and broke aspiring performers are queuing up at TKTS in Times Square for reduced-price Broadway tickets. Teenagers are hawking candy bars in a crowded subway car. The Metropolitan Opera is packed with patrons sipping champagne at intermission. Fans are cheering at Yankee Stadium. Despite what you may have read elsewhere, this city is not “over.” New York City is very much alive. The party is still going on. We have simply–and temporarily–mislaid the address. — Hilary Gardner

I love NYC like it's an actual breathing person. I love it for the excitement it brings and because all the ways it's complicated and fallible. I love the dirty slushy accumulation of winter and the dripping sweat of the urban heat island. I love NYC now as much as ever with it's quiet streets, beautiful street art and painful honesty of the struggles it has gone through since April. I love the bike ride down 7th ave from Central Park through Times Square. There is no traffic without tourists and Broadway. I ride through the center of the ave and gaze south at the huge expanse of the best fucking city on this planet.  If I time it right, I can get from 56th to 42nd without hitting a light. Just sailing past Carnegie, past construction, over potholes, emptied storefronts and the ones hanging on. It is the only place I miss when I'm not there. I deeply love this place. I'm not going anywhere. And when everyone starts to return and this city resurrects to a more palatable version of itself for those fair-weather tenants, I will snicker that they will never get to know the best parts of this place. — Rebecca Krauss

My favorite part of the city is the invisible magnetic field that pulls in the willing, the curious, the hopeful, the rational, the passionate, and all others receptive to the power of optimistic faith. In my mind, the city began as an abstraction symbolized by the I ❤️NY keychain I got a decade ago at a West Coast event. The meetup was hosted by someone whose username was Long Island Barbara. I didn't understand what that meant at the time, but I treasured the keychain and the imaginative possibilities it represented. When I moved to the East Coast, New York City wasn't my destination, but I knew I was destined to live here. And now I'm here. When Milton Glaser died this year, I remembered seeing a social media post with the Glaser quote, "No matter how peculiar you are, you're still normal by New York standards." That's the city I love. As for my keychain, what was once a symbolic aspiration now serves its rightful purpose carrying the key to my NYC apartment. It opens so much more than my front door. — Rose Leman

Sitting at The Williamsburg Waterfront/North 5th Street Pier and Park became one of the safest and only activities to do during peak-lockdown — a bit more scenic than Marsha P. Johnson Park, less crowded than Domino Park (or at least fewer people thinking the “wear a mask” edict was some sort of suggestion). Fittingly, perhaps amusingly, the entrances to The Waterfront are denoted with “End” signs. The Waterfront became a refuge from the perpetual state of depression, anxiety, and dread that was 2020. Plenty of park benches and sufficient airflow to sit with a nice playlist and ponder wistfully; watching the ferries, cargo ships, seaplanes, and occasional rowboat cross from one end of my perspective to the other felt almost… philosophical? “This too shall pass.” It’s literally on the horizon. Sit long (or late) enough, and it may even be pink! — Andrew Leung

I fall madly, deeply, desperately in love with places. I am extremely lucky to live in a place I love. I love New York. Not in the, I ❤️NY T-shirt kind of way. True love. I love that you can hear half a dozen languages in three blocks. I love that you can have almost any cuisine you want, at almost any time of day. I love the Chrysler Building. I love the Brooklyn Bridge. I love the theater. I love the art. I love the people. And I miss it. I long for it. I mourn for the loss of my city. I miss hopping on the N train and landing in the middle of the chaos of Times Square. I even miss walking through the chaos to get to the overpriced pre-Broadway martinis with my best friends. I miss crying over the amazing voices and the powerful words in the dark with strangers. I miss wandering around in neighborhoods that are unfamiliar but feel like home. I yearn to wander down the streets taking the long way home past a fountain, under an arch. I miss riding a train over the Manhattan Bridge so I can flirt with the Brooklyn Bridge and see the Statue of Liberty on a clear day. I miss the happenstance of this city. Drifting into new to me neighborhoods and running into old friends and even seeing the occasional celebrity. — Erin L Nau

I long to share a meal with you, without fear or hesitation. I will slide past a chair that caps off a booth, at the far end of Diner in Williamsburg. We’ll sit shoulder to shoulder at the bar, across from the taps. It will be loud and dim, someone will pass closely behind you with a dish that smells so good, it makes the drink in your hand taste better. I want to reach my fork to your plate and steal a slice of tomato. I will mistakenly sip from your glass, careless. We can trace our personal history through this restaurant. Without all of you, it is Kansas, in black and white. There’s no place like Diner, on a late, crowded night. — Emma Kramer

As a native New Yorker there is so much to love about New York.  Even the challenges make for an interesting experience. My parents had gone to see Broadway shows but I had never seen one.  When I was about to turn 16 back in the 1970s, my mother asked what I wanted for my birthday — I told her I wanted to see a Broadway show and chose The Wiz with Stephanie Mills. I was mesmerized and a couple of years later we went to see Grease.  We saw Dreamgirls for my parents 25th wedding anniversary. As an adult I’ve treated myself to [more shows]. One of the saddest sites I’ve even seen was an empty theater district.  It broke my heart but having lived through the 1970s, three blackouts, 9/11, the Great Recession, school, transit, newspaper, garbage, and transit strikes, I know the city will rebound.  I don’t know how long it will take or in what form but I don’t have one sliver of a doubt we’ll come though this and this native will be here no matter what because everything I am and have become comes from being a New Yorker. — Teri Graham

You have always been a city that is a lot of things to many people: "The Big Apple", "The City That Never Sleeps", or "The Concrete Jungle." You sparkle and shine as brightly as the flashing lights of Times Square, and have welcomed the tired, the poor, and huddled masses who have arrived upon your shores with big dreams of a better life and making it in a town as tough as the people who live here. You are a collection of the many lives lived and the struggles we have faced. As a city you have been through a lot, and 2020 is no different from the other challenges you have faced before. While you may be known for many things around the world, in the eyes of New Yorkers, you will always be known for your resilience. It has been a difficult year, New York City, and we'll get through it as we always have... together and united. — Christine Macahilig

I painted this watercolor just for this! I call it “My Love Letter to NYC” and it features a part of New York that has been a part of my life for the better part of the last decade - the Flatiron neighborhood. Through the pandemic, social unrest and urban flight, NYC is still here, still happening and still gorgeous. — Edd Lee

Let's get straight to the point, I love New York. The energy is so good, the neighborhoods are so different. The feeling is so good in NYC. The bridges are so beautiful. I am so thankful for the people that made everything in New York. My mom wants to move to New Jersey but I want to stay here. The vibe is so fun, it's so perfect. I appreciate New York and love New York. — Zain Khan  

My favorite part of you will always be the in-between spaces—those liminal places where you let me meet my fellow New Yorkers. The steps of the Met, the long corridor from the F/M to the 1/2/3 at the 14th street train, the pedestrian side of the Williamsburg Bridge. We pass each other like planets on their own orbits, only sometimes having the presence of mind to look up and admire the entire galaxy that is you. I really do love you, NYC. — Jayne

Since May 2020, I’ve asked New Yorkers, mostly in Central Park, for permission to take a picture of them in their masks. I’m continually intrigued by the choice of masks and the issues of fashion and identity. Most everyone likes to tell the tale of their choice of mask. Together, these portraits resemble an all-too-familiar screen-chat session where we see one another virtually. But in fact they are in-person encounters, temporary connections of no more than a few minutes that for me have strung together meaning in this time of isolation. — Molly Heron

Fifty-six years of living yet still you present me with something new whenever I venture out to explore. Decades ago, your majestic, instantly-recognizable buildings captivated me with the promise of an exciting, metropolitan life. Today, it's your hidden wonders that fill me with awe.  The wetlands in Inwood; the sculpture gardens along the Hudson River's pedestrian path; the classical Greek busts lining the crown of 4 Park Ave.; the Fort Totten fortress; the view from Wave Hill. For years you have been gifting me with an exciting part of you that I like to pretend is mine alone. Though your glam exterior is loved by millions, it's the real you, the more intimate you, that keeps me coming back for more. — Rossana Weitekamp

Coming back to the Metropolitan Museum of Art on its first day reopened after lockdown was tremendously special, surrounded by other New Yorkers who had missed the Met as much as I did, all of us feeling relieved and grateful to have a small piece of our city back. This sketch of a fellow visitor in the Great Hall is one of a few drawings I did that afternoon to try and capture what it felt like to walk those galleries again. — Stephen Davan

Things have been getting increasingly gloomy. I’ve been out of work since March, so I don’t have much to do during the day. We haven’t paid rent this month, it seems impossible, but I’ll still run the same errand that I do everyday: go out and buy wine. But today the sun is out, really out, highlighting all the roses growing still in Bed-Stuy. And I love that when the weather is nice, even in the middle of a year like this one, and a winter like this one, everyone all of a sudden becomes your favorite neighbor. Old men in suits wave at me and my dog. Children smile at me and so do their parents, even though I’m walking with a bag full of wine at noon. People are sitting outside and talking to each other, glad to have a table on the sidewalk again. Herbert Von King park briefly seems filled with music and couples picnicking again. There is someone with a small dog on every corner who also wants to stop and talk about the weather, it really is such a nice day isn’t it? When the sun is out, suddenly small talk becomes acceptable. Even my neighbor complaining about the leaves seems happy. When I come home and put the wine on the counter, each bottle is covered in sand from the bottom of my bag, a memory leftover from summer. And maybe this brief warmth reminds us of that it will be summer once again. We just have to make it through this winter first. — Keri Marinda Smith

We've been through some tough times but 2020 has been a doozy. We used to hustle and bustle from subways through streets, up highrises, and elbow our way through crowds. We'd walk by others without making eye contact, sit at restaurants and bars while making heavy eye contact... Now, the hustle is still here, but the bustle is not. The crowds have melted into 6 feet of distance, and eye contact is necessary because masks make us wonder what's being said. We're clustered into our apartments, some feeling more isolated than others, dreaming of the day when we can go out and be one big crowd again. In the meantime, we're appreciating the little things that are actually big things that you offer. Long walks, parks, rooftops, neighbors, local restaurants and safe and friendly bars, the crinkle of eyes when someone smiles behind a mask, and the promise that New York will be back to its hustle and bustle in the new year. NYC we love you. — Sabeen A.

Yes, there's a lot to love here, but if I had to pick one thing it would be the Port Authority Bus Terminal.  Not the entire place, but a small section, starting with the staircase against the left wall, as you walk through the first set of doors at the main entrance to the North Building. At this point, you're not actually in the terminal yet, but in a space between two worlds: 1. New York City. 2. the void beyond. The stairs go up or down. Down is a subway entrance and whatever adventures lie ahead. Up leads to a seldom used side entrance into the bus station, where first you'll encounter an open, peaceful, and forgotten space. You can then choose to ride the gold-plated escalators up to the 300 gates. There you're likely to find a long and winding line at either gate 321 or 322, or sometimes 323, and you'll most likely be asked by a stranger which one's the express to Gordon's Corner. — Brian Maston

This is my submission... a watercolor of Turtle Pond in Central Park, which is my favorite spot in the whole of New York City. — Zeba Rizvi

I desperately miss Tile Bar in the East Village. I think the bar is technically called WCOU Radio, but in the hearts of everyone who knows it, it’s Tile Bar. It’s tiny, and yet has something for everyone: The corner table for the small group who wants the illusion of privacy, and the window seat for watching the passerby on First Avenue; white-haired locals with great stories and shiny-haired 20-somethings who are just starting to write theirs. And then there’s the jukebox, which used to be a superb, tightly-curated selection of CDs, but at last visit had graduated to the high-tech internet version. I live in Queens, so Tile Bar is not even in my neighborhood, but it still feels like home. I can’t wait to go back and have a whiskey in the window. — Molly Cameron

I first learned about 88 Lan Zhou Handmade Noodles from a Gothamist article a few years back. My interest piqued, I dragged a friend to Chinatown the following night to savor the namesake noodles. Yes, they were springy and delicious, but what really captivated us were the dumplings — filled with an unctuous blend of pork, chives and spices, and expertly wrapped in slippery skins. I was so enamored that I purchased a large to-go bag of their frozen dumplings at the end of my meal. From that point on, every few months I’d swing by Lan Zhou on the way home from work to grab a fresh bag of 50 frozen dumplings. They were perfect for an easy dinner when I didn’t feel like cooking. I always enjoyed serving them to company; friends never failed to ask where I’d gotten such tasty dumplings. I felt like the savvy New York insider who knows how to navigate the thousands of stores and shops to find the very best option. Lan Zhou closed their doors on October 31st, unable to stay afloat financially. Yet another COVID victim. Per their Instagram account, they’re “Not sure if or when we will return.” I know I’ll be there when they do. — Rachel Leventhal 

People love to make fun of the Gowanus Canal, but every time I cross one of its bridges, I feel a deep sense of New York-ness. The sudden break from all the excitement of Union Street for a view of Manhattan. The Carroll Street Bridge, with its cobblestones and uneven wooden planks that transport me back to an earlier time. And the huge ad visible as you head west on the 3rd Street Bridge: You Should Move to Brooklyn. I did, and I can't imagine living anywhere else in this city. —Jaime Coyne

I would like to contribute to the group love letter to NYC through photographs from places I liked and/or has a detail that only exists in this great city called NYC. I love NYC! — Clara Ungaretti

The Manhattan Bridge is not the most revered of New York City's many bridges. However unmemorable it is to many, the bridge boasts the best views of the Brooklyn Bridge and an uncongested running path. When New York went into lockdown, the bridge held an even greater importance. In addition to providing 1.3 uninterrupted miles of running path and head-clearing sanity, it was my lifeline to Manhattan from my home in Brooklyn. The bridge's pedestrian path replaced my weekly Q rides as the safe mode of transport to see my parents for weekly distanced dinners, and it offered safe passage to surprise my newly engaged friends with celebratory signs, beers and some air kisses from afar in the height of lockdown. Like the city itself, the Manhattan Bridge is what you make of it. To some it may be the bridge their Q train crosses when getting to Barclays for a concert, but if you take a moment, it can also provide an unbeatable sunset, an enjoyable walk between Brooklyn and Manhattan and potentially an express lane to loved-ones when needed most. — Kimberly Murphy

If you get off the A at 175th Street, and walk towards the Hudson, following the sounds, you'll hit Haven Avenue.  Normally, a cross-street by the GWB might not sound so appealing, but something special happens at night between April and September.  Looking out past a low stone wall, with a slight breeze, you can see the bridge lit up in an almost magical way.  When there's fog, and when it's you and your neighbors resting your minds, the bridge and New Jersey seem other-worldly.  And that's true, because you're on an island — the island — and you don't know which side is fantasy and which is real. That's New York. — Jonah Nelson

I have seen you low: Stepping over crack vials on my walk to grade school. I liked the ones with the purple tops. I’ve seen you on your knees: Watched as soldiers awaited their instructions during 9/11. In my backyard. Seen it all, I thought. Not quite. A brave new city for the both of us. You are nasty and cruel. Dirty.  It’s not the people. Don’t misunderstand. Most have roots elsewhere. They haven’t seen you at your worst. Still, love you. You made me. You’ve taught grit, thicken the skin, build instincts. You built character. Taught grace and humility. To be prepared. Given me an edge. New York is over? We are hurt, we are down. Bruised. We mourn those we’ve loss. Over? They don’t know you. We’ve been down. We ALWAYS get back up. — Erin Felix Sandoval

My wife and I had the chance to see Christian Sands play at Zinc during the 2020 Winter Jazz Fest, just before the pandemic took over the U.S. It was an incredible event and overall a weekend we’ll never forget. Sands was accompanied by Yasushi Nakamura, Clarence Penn, Keyon Harrold, and Marvin Sewell on stage. I managed to get a nice photograph of Harrold playing trumpet with Nakamura playing bass in the background... so I decided to draw the scene. — Shawn Bruce

I loved you before, and I love you even more now. We've been through hell, haven't we? And although your colorful, vibrant energy has temporarily been dimmed, somehow you have brought even more sparkle to those "New York moments" during these dark times. We are now New York, tougher than ever, and there is no doubt that the best of these boroughs and resilient communities is yet to come. Thank you for your 2020 to-go drinks, $1 cheese sandwiches, and St. James Joy, but you better believe the world hasn't even seen what this city can do yet. — Amanda Schweer

Dear NYC submissions from Kymberly Mattern's 8th grade class in Harlem

Kymberly Mattern wrote us with these final submissions, saying, "I am a middle school teacher in Harlem, NYC. Several of my 8th grade students wanted to share their love of the city with you."

My favorite place in New York would have to be Central Park. Central Park is my favorite place in New York because I have this certain memory that I over to laugh at and that I think about when I go to Central Park. Me and my family decided to have a picnic, but we decided to have around 6 pm so it was getting dark. We were all sitting and laughing, with the dogs until we saw a raccoon. Before I knew it we were all dashing down the hill to get out to nice that instead of one raccoon it was really three. I was laughing even harder because my mom was screaming like crazy due to her being scared of the raccoons. This is the reason why Central Park is my favorite place in New York at the moment. — NiKira Wright

The Central Park Waterfall is literally my childhood, the one thing in New York that keeps me going. To make a wish there, you want it to come true. It makes me feel like everything will be fine as long as I believe, but when I go to the waterfall, there is no one there to accept the waterfalls’ presence and make a wish. People just say that the waterfall is just a way for people to get money. I say it's so people make dreams come true with confidence in themselves. I say this because with something as beautiful as this waterfall, no one should just let it sit around, we should make it known. Every year I go to that waterfall and make a wish a wish for happiness and maybe a better environment, and if I’m the only one who makes that wish, how will the earth do its fix? — Ariana Jones

My favorite landmark of the city is 42nd Street, Times Square. Times Square is a place where some people go for special occasions or where new people that comes in the city can visit. Times square has a lot of things to do: you can play games, eat, and shop for clothes. Last, but not least, you can watch movies at a movie theater. That is my favorite landmark. – Cam'ron Smith

My love letter to New York is that I love the people, the art, the culture. I also love the buildings and how lots of positivity is spread throughout the city. New York means a lot to me and a lot of people because we spent our lives here. It makes us think of our past as little babies and things like that. We keep loving New York because we can stop the bad things happening and build up to a perfect city like New York. New York is a lovely place that people can visit, and we should show that and show how beautiful it is. This is why I love New York--because we build on the bad things and make them good. — Khaleeq Padilla

I love every single part of New York. The people, the passion, the attractions etc. But what I love most is that small place in Manhattan called Times Square. I don’t even know where to begin complimenting the most beautiful place in the world. First let’s talk about the lights! Oh, my god the lights. There are so many and each one is an advertisement that no one should really care about, but do. Tourists come from all over the world just to see them. Then the Broadway shows... legendary. Like Broadway, the many attractions here in Times Square catch our eyes very quickly. Ripley’s Believe It or Not, the restaurants like Johnny Rockets or Chili’s and the arcades like David & Buster’s. Even the subway entrance has like a thousand lights on it. And let’s not forget the most iconic part of Times Square: the New Year’s Countdown! Bottom line, if you’re a living, breathing person and haven’t been to Times Square...buddy WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LIFE?! It’s amazing and one of the best places in the world! And as a fellow New Yorker, you should take my advice. — Jacinda Fults

As part of our month-long Dear NYC series with the New York Public Library, we asked New Yorkers to submit love letters to the city. You can catch up on the rest of the series here.