If cities could tell stories, Boston would whisper its tales gently – through its chilly November breeze, its busy train stations, and the warm heartbeats of the people who pass through it. This year, my visit to Boston became much more than a conference trip; it transformed into a tapestry of friendship, curiosity, culture, and countless little moments that stitched themselves into memory.

A City That Greets You With Both Wind and Warmth

Boston’s weather in November dances between crisp cold and soft sunlight, the kind that wakes you up gently but insists you wrap your scarf a little tighter. Every morning, the air smelled of roasted coffee beans drifting from cozy cafés tucked between historic brick buildings. I became loyal to the city’s coffee shops far too quickly – coffee cups always warming my hands, and, more importantly, warming my spirit. Chicken wraps, fresh vegetable bowls, and the comforting rhythm of fellow commuters made every meal feel like a pause in the rush of discovery.

Trains, Long Walks, and the Poetry of Movement

The train rides – oh, the train rides – became my daily meditation. From Hynes Convention Center to various spots, I took a long walk that stretched into the night, the city lights providing company. The sidewalks were alive with conversation, laughter, and that familiar hum of a place that refuses to sleep. Boston teaches you how to think while walking, how to breathe between footsteps, and how to appreciate the small silence that comes when the wind brushes past your ears.

The Harvard Glow

A visit to Harvard was like stepping into a living postcard. Its lawns, even in the cold, carried an unmistakable academic charm – the kind that silently reminds you of the dreams you’re nurturing. Each building felt like a guardian of centuries of ideas, and even the fallen leaves seemed scholarly.

Harvard had a hum in the air – an almost spiritual seriousness mixed with an inviting curiosity. As I walked through Harvard Yard, I noticed a small crowd gathering around the famous statue of John Harvard, the so-called “Father of Harvard” and a symbol of academic destiny for thousands of visitors.

Almost instinctively, everyone reached out to touch the statue’s foot – a ritual said to bring good luck, intellectual clarity, and scholarly breakthroughs. It was fascinating to watch people from all over the world, speaking different languages, share this single moment of reverence, each with their own silent wish.

And of course, I joined them.

With a quiet smile, I stepped forward, placed my hand on the polished bronze foot, and let myself soak in the meaning of the gesture. The metal was cold, but the symbolism was warm – standing there, touching the foot that countless dreamers before me had touched, I whispered my own prayer for good fortune, wisdom, and elevation in my academic journey. It felt almost sacred. A brief but powerful moment of connection – with the past, with the present, and with possibilities yet to unfold.

Harvard does that to you. It makes you believe more deeply in what you are capable of.

Giving Back: A Noon at Kennedy High School, Somerville

One of the most grounding and joy-filled parts of my trip was volunteering with the NGO Kids in Tech at Kennedy High School in Somerville. Stepping into the classroom felt like stepping into a world buzzing with possibility. The learners were not just energetic – they were sharp, curious, imaginative, and wonderfully alive with questions that poured out faster than we could answer.

They were the kind of kids who remind you why the future is bright.

Their eyes sparkled with curiosity, the kind that comes from genuinely wanting to understand the world – not just memorise it. They asked thoughtful questions about technology,  culture, and the places I had travelled from. Many of them shared their own dreams too: becoming engineers, scientists, coders – dreams so big they seemed almost too large for the room, yet perfectly fitting for their minds.

There was also a beautiful playfulness in the way they learned. One moment they were racing to complete a robotics challenge, and the next, they were laughing loudly at inside jokes, teasing each other with the kind of camaraderie that only young, confident learners share. Their ability to balance seriousness with fun, focus with creativity, and discipline with joy was truly refreshing.

What struck me most was how effortlessly smart they were – not just academically, but emotionally and creatively. They worked in groups, supported each other, debated ideas, and celebrated every little victory with full enthusiasm. In their presence, learning didn’t feel like an obligation; it felt like an adventure.

Being with them reminded me that showing up, even for a short time, can create ripples in ways we may never fully see. They made me hopeful. They made me smile. They made me believe deeply – again – in the power of nurturing young minds.

And as I walked out of the school building that day, I carried their laughter, their dreams, and their bright energy with me like a warm souvenir.

Warm Plates, Warmer Connections

What is travel without food – without the flavors, aromas, and small sensory surprises that shape your memories as much as the places and people do?

In Boston, food became one of my quiet companions. From the steady rhythm of my daily coffee runs to the comforting familiarity of warm meals on cold days, each bite told a story. I discovered cafés where the baristas greeted you like an old friend, and where the smell of freshly brewed coffee wrapped itself around you like a gentle morning hug. Every sip seemed to nudge my energy into motion, preparing me for the conference-filled days ahead.

Then there were the wholesome vegetable bowls – vibrant, colorful, beautifully arranged. They made me feel, in the best possible way, like a responsible adult nourishing both body and intention. Crisp greens, roasted vegetables, tangy dressings – they tasted like wellness in a bowl, the kind that resets your day and reminds you that balance is a quiet form of self-care.

But one of the most heartwarming food moments was my visit to a Nigerian restaurant – one that felt like stepping into a pocket of home carved out in a foreign city. The spices embraced me instantly: the familiar warmth of pepper, the richness of stew, the aroma of well-seasoned meat; flavors that whispered, You are home, even here. I could almost hear the sounds of kitchens back in Nigeria, the laughter, the storytelling, the sense of belonging that only certain meals conjure so vividly.

We had fun. I couldn’t but capture a short video that expresses the bliss of the moment.

Boston, without trying too hard, served both nostalgia and novelty – meals with colleagues that fed my heart, comforted my soul, and reminded me that food is not just nourishment but a form of memory-making layered with social connection, shared stories, and quiet moments of belonging. And I embraced every dish wholeheartedly, savoring each moment as its own little joy.

An Embrace to Remember: Meeting the GSA President

At the GSA meetings, the warmth was not just from the heating vents but from the people – colleagues, mentors, and strangers who soon became friends. Yet one moment stood out in a way I did not expect.

The President of the Gerontological Society of America welcomed me with such genuine kindness – an amiable, heartfelt hug that instantly dissolved the monotony of long flights, cold winds, feelings of alone-ness and conference bustle. It wasn’t a formal, distant greeting; it was a gesture of openness, humanity, and true collegiality. In a field where titles and credentials often tower over personalities, her warmth felt like an invitation – not just into the conference, but into the wider family of gerontology scholars.

That embrace said something powerful about her leadership.

It reflected a leadership grounded in accessibility, empathy, and connection – qualities that are often spoken about but rarely practiced with such sincerity. She led not from behind a podium, but from a place of shared humanity. She embodied the idea that great leaders do not create distance; they create belonging. Her hug, simple as it was, symbolized the climate she has cultivated in GSA: one where emerging scholars feel seen, welcomed, and encouraged.

That brief moment, captured in my memory alongside my official GSA headshot, became a defining symbol of the professional connections, mentorship, and friendships strengthened at the conference. It reminded me that leadership is not merely about guiding an organization – it is also about lifting people, one warm gesture at a time.

Art That Got Away

My attempt to visit the Boston Museum of Fine Arts turned into a story of its own – the doors were closed, but the building itself stood like a monument of imagination. Even without stepping inside, I felt enveloped by the quiet dignity of art waiting behind the walls.

Despite this failed attempt to see the Museum, I felt ready to return to the familiar streets of Medford Square. Confidently, I boarded the 96 Harvard Square bus only to realize, halfway through the ride, that something was off. The streets looked different. The shops were unfamiliar. I heard my spirit whisper to me that I was in a wrong bus and I found myself laughing at my mistake – I had boarded the 96 to Harvard square instead of Medford Square.

Here I was, returning from a temple of art which I could not see, only to find myself driven to the streets of Harvard by accident. Somehow, it felt appropriate: the universe had decided that even a trip home deserved a touch of improvisation.

By the time I corrected course and finally arrived back where I belonged, the museum visit felt even richer despite not getting to see the arts, but for the story I had collected on the way back: a little detour, a lot of laughter, and a reminder that sometimes the most memorable moments happen when you take the “wrong” turn.

Colleagues, Laughter, Stands, and Midnight Conversations

The GSA exhibitions buzzed with innovation and ideas. I wandered from stand to stand, absorbing conversations, shaking hands, taking photos with colleagues – both old and newly met. Some were long-term contacts I had not seen in years; reconnecting with them felt like returning to chapters I had once paused.

Evenings turned into dinners, and dinners turned into bowling nights with faculty and colleagues from universities across the U.S. Laughter spilled across the bowling lanes as easily as the clattering of pins. Those moments reminded me that academic journeys are not only about papers and presentations – they are about people.

The Open Road: New York, New Jersey and Maryland

In the midst of conferences and commitments, I embraced the spontaneity of road trips – to New York, New Jersey and later to Maryland. The highways stretched like long silver ribbons, carrying stories, music, and laughter. New cities, new skylines, but the same spirit of adventure.

A Journey That Stays With You

Boston was cold, yes—but it warmed me in the ways that mattered.

In the friendships built, the quiet moments stolen between events, the hugs exchanged, the art longed for, the students inspired, the coffee savored, and the miles travelled by train, road, and foot.

This trip reminded me that professional journeys are deeply personal ones too. And sometimes, the most meaningful parts of a conference happen outside the conference hall – on train rides, over shared meals, through unexpected hugs, and across long wintery walks.

And oh, how could I forget these two angels – Omotola and Bunmi – whom circumstance led me to, and who became a gentle reminder that some connections are divinely timed. In their laughter, kindness, support and presence, I found warmth, ease, and the kind of companionship that turns unfamiliar spaces into moments of home. They made my stay a gentle story of laughter, warmth, and unexpected friendship, one I will carry with me long after the journey ended. My trip became softer, brighter, and deeply memorable, turning moments into lasting memories and an unfamiliar city into a place of warmth and belonging.