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There’s nothing quite like turning a busy street corner onto Times Square for the first time. Immediately, this sense of awe and surrealism washes over you as you begin to recognize the larger-than-life billboards and advertisements only ever seen on television and film. The New York Times building even seems to stare down at you as you drive by and gawk up at it from inside the tour bus. The lights and the crowds and the frighteningly terrible driving habits of the New Yorkers surround you, welcoming you in this strange way that feels like an embrace you were always meant to experience. As a 30-something introvert who lives on a rural Minnesota farm with her husband and cat, New York City was eye-opening. I possessed no real desire to travel to NYC but agreed to embark on the trip with a friend for her milestone birthday. When she asked, I didn’t expect to enjoy the trip all that much, let alone come home with an enduring mystery. I simply hoped that I could make it the five days without wanting to crawl up the walls, desperately seeking a little quiet and solitude from the hustle and bustle of a city whose population outnumbers my entire state’s by about three million. Little did I know that this trip I held such low expectations of would turn out to be transformative. Around every corner in the City, we discovered something fun and exciting. Over here, St. Patrick’s Cathedral and a convoy of guards cloaked in black, sporting dark glasses and armed with some sort of automatic weapons. There, a wine bar nestled next to the sketchiest massage parlor I’ve ever seen. Within the wine bar existed all walks of life in the span of an hour. The stereotypical bartender was just trying to make it big as a voiceover artist and podcaster. The scruffy, possibly homeless protestor with his cardboard sign had to be escorted out of the upscale dining area. The mysterious woman with the giant, reflective sunglasses surrounded herself with an array of beverages and avoided eye contact. This dark-haired woman sat alone, tending to what appeared to be a hangover, judging by the selection of water, tea and white wine arranged strategically in front of her. She kept to herself, except to suddenly snap a photo of my friend and me at the bar. No words were exchanged and suddenly, she vanished. Who was this strange apparition? According the bartender, the lady was a famous fashion designer whom he later referred to as “Lady Jane.” Unbeknownst to me at the time, my friend surreptitiously captured a photo of the woman so we could determine just who she was and how exactly she planned to use our photo without our permission. Fast forward to nearly one year later and we still do not know the true identity of this stranger. Is she a fashion designer? Is she merely some eccentric with an unhealthy penchant for sneaking photos of complete strangers? I don’t know. I do know that I now have a mystery that occasionally compels me to spend hours researching online. This little puzzle makes for an interesting conversational tidbit when the topic of traveling comes up, leaving me ready to pull out my phone at a moment’s notice to see if a stranger I just met happens to recognize Lady Jane of New York City. Most of all, I certainly didn’t expect to fall in love with New York City. Nor did I expect to depart with a longing to return that defies words. I missed the abundance that NYC offers upon arrival at my quiet home in farm country. I traveled to New York City at the request of a friend, expecting little. I returned home with an emptiness that can only be filled by the discovery of new and unexpected favorite places.