What We Choose to See: The Wider Lens of the Knicks Championship
As many of us know, on Saturday June 13, 2026 the New York Knicks won the NBA Championship.
Like many people not in NYC, I watched the televised celebrations unfold across the City. The streets were packed. Strangers were hugging and dancing together. Car horns were blaring. People were climbing light poles, waving flags, and celebrating a moment that many Knicks fans had waited their entire lives to experience. Literally…depending on when you were born.
But the longer I watched, what I couldn’t shake in my heart was not just pride in my heart for the Knicks and their fans but the PEOPLE coming together. I mean total strangers that likely had never met or engaged before.
Now, I’m not from New York. But I spent the early part of my professional career there, and the city left a lasting impression on me. One might even say an indelible impression. New York taught me a lot about ambition, resilience, and possibility. It also taught me something about humanity.
On September 11, 2001, I was living and working in there; living in Brooklyn and working right in the heart of the financial district.
Like anyone who experienced 9/11 firsthand, there are images and memories that never leave you. And as devastating as that day was, what has stayed with me most over the years isn’t just the tragedy itself—it’s what happened afterward.
People came together. Neighbors checked on neighbors. Strangers looked out for one another. I even benefited from a stranger’s kindness as a colleague and I were herded up the FDR from Water Street, making our way from the fire, smoke and dust that covered the streets and some of us. Living alongside the highway, the woman stopped us, offered us a towel, some water and asked if she could help us get in touch with loved ones.
For a brief period, many of the things that typically separated us seemed less important than the fact that we were all human beings trying to make sense of something unimaginable.
What was most saddening was how, for some, those feelings and posture were short-lived.
Fear returned. Politics returned. Division returned.
The things that made us feel different from one another became front and center as opposed to what had just happened—to what connected us.
As I watched New York celebrate the Knicks championship Saturday night, I found myself thinking about that again.
Not because basketball and tragedy are remotely comparable. They aren’t.
But because both moments revealed something important about us: Human beings have an incredible capacity to move toward one another and connect meaningfully and impactfully.
So, the question I ponder is: Why do we so often choose to move away?
Watching the celebration, I couldn’t help but notice that the streets were filled with people who likely disagree on all kinds of things.
- Politics.
- Religion.
- Social issues.
- Economic realities.
- Life experiences.
The things that often dominate so much of our public discourse.
But for a few hours on 6/13/2026 and even on 9/11/2001, none of those differences seemed to matter very much.
The differences never disappeared. They just stopped being the focal point.
And that distinction feels important.
We spend so much time talking about our differences that we sometimes forget they are only one part of who we are.
They’re important. They matter. But they are not the whole story.
When difference becomes the primary lens through which we see one another, it becomes harder to recognize the humanity sitting underneath it – at the core of who are and why we exist.
The Knicks offered us an opportunity to see from a different lens.
Millions of people found themselves connected by a shared experience, a shared joy, and a shared sense of belonging. And while BELONGING has become such an overused buzz word, it really does matter more than many of us realize.
Recent research continues to show that belonging is one of the strongest predictors of engagement, wellbeing, and connection—both in society and in the workplace. People who feel they belong are more likely to contribute, collaborate, persevere through challenges, and remain connected to the communities and organizations around them.
At our core, most of us are asking a version of the same question:
- Do I matter here?
- Do I have a place here?
- Do I belong here?
Whether we’re talking about a city, a workplace, a family, or a fan base, the question doesn’t change much. And, neither does the need.
As someone who spends much of my professional life helping organizations strengthen culture, I often find myself reminding leaders that culture is not built by making people the same.
Culture is built by allowing ourselves and helping others feel connected to something larger.
That’s what makes healthy cultures work.
People don’t need carbon copies of themselves—identical backgrounds, beliefs, or experiences—to feel connected. They need a reason to believe that they are part of something meaningful together.
That’s what I saw with this NBA Championship. Not a city without differences. A city that chose to focus on something bigger than those differences.
And that’s what stayed with me most.
Not the final score. Not the trophy. Not the confetti and champagne bottles being sprayed among the winning team, coaches and staff. Not even the $$$ bonuses being paid to the players and coaches as further gratitude for the win.
But the reminder that our differences are not always the most important thing about us. Because when we stop making our differences the center of every interaction, something beautiful comes into view.