Orientation is weird. Of course, the icebreakers can be exhausting, especially when your fun fact falls flat. My apologies to anyone who has a hitchhiker’s thumb. We made rain noises with our bodies with orientation keynote speaker, Ed Gerety.

But the weirdness of orientation goes beyond any of that. During orientation you’re experiencing impactful moments with total strangers you may not spend time with again.

On the second night of orientation, we had the opportunity to go on excursions with other freshmen and orientation leaders. On my excursion, we went to the High Line, the New York City park built on a historic aboveground train line. The path runs for about a mile and half and makes for a fantastic walk. Scattered throughout the park are various attractions — an amphitheater to sit and watch traffic through a glass window, art installations of vibrant red neon text and, depending on the time of day, food from vendors offering coffee, empanadas, gelato, and other tasty snacks.

At Fordham, while waiting for the leaders to count us off, I spoke to a guy with long, slicked-back hair. He was wearing a George Harrison shirt and we began to debate over which Beatles album is the best. For him, “Rubber Soul.” For me, “Revolver.” He asked if I played guitar. I said that I played guitar badly and he invited me to jam with him sometime. It was an entirely sincere proposition. Yet when I agreed, I felt a nagging guilt that this jam session would never occur.

Then I got a bit separated from him on the subway ride. We piled into a downtown A train, probably causing our fellow transit riders to question what horrible acts they must have committed to deserve the punishment of a train ride with a bunch of college freshmen.

On the metro I spoke with another freshman. We shared a common love of rock climbing and movies. We talked about watching “Lady Bird” last year while going through the college admissions process. How wild that we ended up in school in New York just like Lady Bird, herself. She told me that she and her mom were in tears in the theater.

But we walked through the park at a different pace so, again, we separated. While on the High Line, I talked to a transfer student. She was a junior who had studied in a number of universities including one in Germany. It was there, she said, that she met her current boyfriend.

She’s trying to convince him to move to New York, but he doesn’t like the big city. She stopped walking when we got to a particularly good view. She said she was going to send him a good photo to change his mind. I too am embarking on a long distance relationship, so I asked for her advice about navigating that. We walked the length of the High Line together. At the end we exchanged numbers. I added Older Student Highline Walk (funny) into her contact so I could remember who she was.

And that was that. I haven’t spent any time with these people since the excursion, not because I didn’t like them, but because we have different classes and life moves on. But that doesn’t mean that our night on the High Line was for nothing. Because every now and then, crammed onto the Lowenstein elevator, frustrated and in desperate need for caffeine, I’ll spot a familiar face and smile just to say, “Hey, I think I know you.”