When you hear the words "Brooklyn Heights," you probably picture cobblestone streets, manicured brownstones, maybe even a rom-com montage involving someone jogging with an indie coffee in hand. And honestly? You wouldn’t be entirely wrong. My childhood neighborhood was, and still is, a postcard-perfect slice of New York City life. But underneath the glossy veneer of tree-lined tranquility is a place that shaped my understanding of connection, belonging, and (perhaps most importantly) relationships. Growing up in Brooklyn Heights taught me that love, much like New York itself, is equal parts hustle, serendipity, and really good bagels. Let me explain.

The View That Changed Everything

First, let’s set the scene. My house wasn’t far from the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, arguably the crown jewel of the neighborhood. Imagine a panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline, the Statue of Liberty in the distance, and the Brooklyn Bridge standing like a giant overachiever. As a teen, I had a habit of retreating to the Promenade at sunset, mostly to brood over failed crushes like I was in some existential European film.

For all the times I showed up dramatically heartbroken (which my teen journal generously documented), the Promenade offered the same quiet reassurance: “Relax. The city keeps moving. So should you.” That skyline was a reminder of life’s scale, especially when matters of the heart seemed insurmountable. It taught me resilience, the kind that says, “If New York can survive gridlock traffic, so can your love life.”

Lessons in Flirting from the Brooklyn Ice Cream Factory

Brooklyn Heights wasn’t just about scenic views. The real magic was in the quirks—the places and people teaching you lessons they probably didn’t even realize. Case in point? The Brooklyn Ice Cream Factory, where I accidentally discovered the fine art of flirting.

Picture me, a nervous thirteen-year-old, standing in line for a cone of butter pecan. Ahead of me? Rosie Alpert from history class, easily the coolest girl in school and owner of the kind of confidence you only see in sitcom characters and Spice Girls music videos.

I don’t remember what we talked about, but I do remember walking home with ice cream melting down my wrist, convinced that our five-minute conversation was a romantic breakthrough. It wasn’t. But moments like that—standing awkwardly in line while trying to say something clever about sprinkles—were early training in how to approach people authentically. These were the building blocks of connection: small, unremarkable moments that laid the groundwork for bigger leaps later on.

Love, Hustle, and the Empire State Building in Your Face

If the Promenade was my Zen-like reminder to “keep moving,” then the broader hustle of New York life taught me that effort matters. Want an example? Picture a young Julian, sprinting for the last seat at my local café, a paper cup of coffee precariously spilling all over my hand. It’s the ultimate New York dating metaphor: You’re always chasing something (a subway, a meet-cute, a conversation that feels effortless). You might spill your latte, sure, but you also might find something—someone—unexpected.

Dating in Brooklyn Heights prepared me for the paradox of wanting connection in a city that feels both massive and emotionally crowded. On one hand, everyone’s around—countless faces in a subway car, thousands of people in bars and bookstores on any given night. But here’s the trick: You still have to make your own luck. Those relationships only happen if you’re willing to risk it—be brave enough to write that inaugural text, fun and spontaneous enough to talk about something besides the weather or overpriced rent.

Brooklyn Heights demanded that kind of courage. It whispered (okay, yelled), “If you want it, go for it.” Whether “it” was catching the tail end of a lunch special or crossing paths with someone who made your heart leap, the message was clear.

The People Who Stick

Of all the lessons Brooklyn Heights imparted, none is more vital than this: pay attention to who stays. Cities like New York are transient by nature. People come, people go. Friends move uptown or across the country; relationships wax and wane harder than the moon. When I look back at love in this city—romantic or otherwise—it’s clear to me now that the people who matter most are the ones who stick, who show up in the smallest of ways.

I think of my first real heartbreak, the kind that makes you temporarily allergic to love songs. While I spiraled (with the dramatic flair of someone who’d read too much James Baldwin), my best friend Jake met me on the Promenade every other evening with a bag of hot dumplings from a hole-in-the-wall spot in Chinatown. Did he offer sage, poetic advice? Absolutely not. But he sat there, a walking reminder that Brooklyn love—the kind of love that stays—is rooted in presence and persistence.

Pay attention to who sticks, my city whispers. That’s where the real connection lies.

How Brooklyn Heights Became a Love Language

Years later, after living in different cities and countries, I ended up right back in Brooklyn, mere blocks from my childhood home. It still feels like coming full circle—like flipping back to the first chapter of a novel only to find it holds the answers to everything that comes after.

When I walk the familiar streets, I realize that Brooklyn Heights didn’t just shape my approach to relationships—it became the framework for my love language. It’s in the way I show up for people, how I carve out moments in a fast-paced world to actually connect. It’s in the combination of hustle and softness, that uniquely Brooklyn perspective that says, “Yes, life is chaotic, but look at the skyline. Isn’t it worth it?”

So, whether you’re trying to put yourself out there, recover from a breakup, or just figure out what you want, take a note from my old Brooklyn Heights playbook. Show up. Take chances. Appreciate the views. And wherever you are, remember: It’s the people who stick—whether by your side on the Promenade or with dumplings in hand—who make it all worthwhile.

Because love, much like this city, is always better when you’re paying attention to the details.