I couldn’t believe it. He had made it to New York City, and I was finally in a position to send him a tip.
Last September, I had truly one of the most serendipitous, endearingly-bizarre experiences of my life outside of Grand Central Station. But in order for you to understand what happened to me on a stroll through New York City, I have to go back three years.
Let’s Rewind …
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In January 2020, I had just arrived for what feels like a fairly widespread rite of passage: a D.C. internship. As a journalism intern covering tech policy on The Hill, the FTC, and the FCC, I was taking the subway and walking a lot of the city all day. My deadline was 10 pm, and I was sometimes turning in three pieces by the end of the day. Needless to say, I was an exhausted, unpaid intern.
An Unexpected Bright Spot
D.C. is a fairly small city, and if you’re running around on the daily chasing hearings and conferences, you’re frequenting the same subway stations multiple times a day. The first time I noticed a street performer playing trombone, I was impressed but couldn’t stop to hang around. I remember telling my husband about him. I played trombone in the jazz band in high school and playing a brass instrument in the winter outside isn’t easy. It’s freezing, your mouthpiece feels like ice, and your instrument tends to go flat. He was really, really good and super fun to watch. He’d dance, scream, and play renditions of pop songs that instantly made you smile and laugh—just great energy all around.
Then I started to run into him several times a week: Georgetown, McPherson Square, Foggy Bottom. I mean, I saw him everywhere. It instantly made me happy when I would hear him playing on the street as I climbed out of the subway station. But I was an insanely broke student and could only spare a few dollars once or twice.
When my husband and I finally talked to Jon, we learned that he had taught himself how to play the trombone. He mentioned that his goal was to get to NYC and perform there—more people, less reserved crowds. Even though we assured him we weren’t stalking him, my husband and I continued to run into Jon and would hang around for a song or two.
Then Covid Happened
Ah, Covid. On March 12th, we were planning on hunkering down in D.C. and waiting out whatever the heck was happening. By March 13th, we were renting a car to drive to my family’s home in Florida because we couldn’t stay in the city and keep our university-owned apartment. We had to leave.
I finished my internship remotely, and while my husband and I followed Jon on social media, we eventually lost touch with him because he deleted the accounts we followed. But we never forgot him.
Between the two of us, we had several videos of him playing on the street in D.C., and it always brought us back to that semester and the bone-chilling cold, picturesque evening walks through Georgetown, and—for me—the deadlines and hectic schedule.
Grand Central Station—Three Years Later
Over three years later, I was on a girl’s trip in New York City. Life was a lot different from my time in D.C.—no more stressful deadlines, finally graduated and fully adopted into the workforce, and, thankfully, the worst of Covid behind us.
I had just turned the corner to walk by Grand Central on a Sunday night. My friend and I were on our way to One Vanderbilt when I heard an unapologetically loud trombone filling the air. It was so familiar to me that I just remember grabbing my friend’s arm and yelling, “oh my gosh, oh my gosh!” When the crowd thinned out enough to catch a glimpse of the artist, it was Jon!
I couldn’t believe it. He had made it to New York City, and I was finally in a position to send him a tip. After listening to a few songs, I approached him and we talked briefly about D.C. and all the times my husband and I had run into him. His social media was hacked and that’s why we had lost track of him. His performance was as energetic and memorable as ever. It felt like a gift from the universe to see him that night.
I knew I had to Venmo him my Build Then Bless money. That is what it’s for after all—blessing people through microinteractions. Jon had blessed me countless times on my commutes and walks through the city. He was a highlight for me during a really cold, stressful winter. And now I finally had a chance to say thank you.
Why I Care About Build Then Bless
Build Then Bless is all about stepping outside of “the grind” to notice those around you. Why are we all working so hard if it’s never going to make a difference for anyone else?
We build so that we can be in a position to bless when the occasion arises. Even if it’s just a $45 dollar tip and a belated thank you—it means something. It means a stranger cares about you and wants you to have a good day.
You never know how your microinteraction can have a macro impact. Try it for yourself.
