Ellen Webster 
On Wednesdays, Tarik Rashaan Davis bikes and takes the PATH train for 90 minutes from Brooklyn to teach improv at Hoboken’s Mile Square Theatre. He intentionally adds buffer time; not for delays, but to give himself space to breathe before helping adults remember how to play. What he sees during these pauses tells a different story: PATH commuters speed-walking past, leaving gusts in their wake, while others emerge from underground with necks bent toward their phones. When did frantic busyness replace belonging? Sixty-four percent of millennials feel disconnected from their communities; a third of adults over 50 report the same. Maybe we’re all a little lonely and pretending we’re not. Four Hoboken residents and commuters, masters of the increasingly rare art of connecting with actual humans in real time, share what works and why it matters. Read on for more about finding connections in the Mile Square.
top left: Diane Stiglich, owner Luna Rosa, with her brother Bruce Stiglich
top right: Fawn Woodard, a.k.a. Sunshine
bottom left: Tarik Rashaan Davis
bottom right: Mykel Uy
The Reluctant Extrovert
Mykel Uy is shy. Very shy, if you ask him. Yet five days a week, when he’s not pursuing art, you’ll find him chatting and serving pizza at The Brick at 1122 Washington Street. Restaurant work — a lifetime of it — gives him an ease with people that can’t be faked. He greets regulars by name and smiles when families stop by.
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But those sparks of connection aren’t universal, and as an observer of people, Myke notices something troubling: people hunched over screens, using them as shields. Sometimes a customer never lifts their gaze—not even to order garlic knots. No eye contact. No acknowledgment.
“We’re losing our ability to connect,” he says.
His antidote? “If you’re out with your family or friends, be wholly with them. The texts can wait.”
The Man Who Remembers Faces
Bruce Stiglich might not remember your name — a stroke took that from him — but he’ll recognize your face. And honestly, isn’t that better?
Twice a week, he sets down his paintbrushes and walks to his sister Diane’s shop, Luna Rosa, at 1218 Washington Street. There, he creates window displays so artful that passersby stop mid-stride. It’s visual storytelling he refined while designing for Cartier and Bloomingdale’s. Every Tuesday and Friday, you’ll find him on the shop’s comfy couch, ready to chat with anyone who wanders by.
“I genuinely love connecting with people,” he says, and you can tell he means it. Kindness isn’t performative; it’s baked into who he is.
Like Myke, he calls himself quiet, even shy. But his curiosity about people is genuine. “Here’s the thing about Hoboken,” he’ll tell you. “With a little effort, this village will welcome you in.”
The Human Sunshine
Then there’s Fawn Woodard, nicknamed Sunshine by pretty much everyone she meets. For nearly nine years, she’s commuted from Newark to her job at Shipyard Cleaners. “This is just what you do. You show up. You’re kind. You even follow someone down the street if they forget their phone or wallet.”
In bright pink tie-dye that defies the autumn air, laughter claims her whole body—eyes close, shoulders rock—she becomes joy itself: “Try making eye contact,” she coaches. “Smile. You don’t need a full conversation with everyone—just a simple hello.”
So basic, we’ve forgotten.
The Dragons We Befriend
Tarik Davis recalls his grandfather greeting everyone. Young Tarik watched, baffled. What drew his grandfather to these people — strangers and friends alike? Now, as a writer, actor, and improv teacher, he gets it. “You may get weird looks,” he says, “but eventually you’ll get a ‘Hi’ in return.”
That’s where the magic lives — in those micro-connections. And it’s precisely what Hoboken’s improv scene supports: one way back to connection in an increasingly isolated world.
Research backs this up. Studies show improv builds social relationships, increases creativity, helps us tolerate uncertainty, affirms aging, and reduces social anxiety. A podcast, Improv In Real Life, even focuses on how it strengthens our ability to “adapt to change and connect more deeply.” As social isolation increases, so does fear—which is where Tarik’s dragon metaphor comes in handy.
“If you can slay a dragon in class—or better yet, befriend it—that becomes part of your reality,” he says. “Then, when you encounter metaphorical dragons, you recall: I’m the person who won over that creature!”
The path forward doesn’t require heroics. Tarik suggests starting small — movies, concerts, neighborhood gatherings. Still too much? Skip the screen scroll after dinner. Take a walk.
Look Up
Back at The Brick, a toddler spots Myke and calls out: “See you later, alligator!” Myke grins, waves, and replies. “In a while, crocodile.” It’s a tiny exchange that says everything: “I see you. You matter to me.”
Seeing and being seen create belonging. That’s what Sunshine means when she says, “On a foggy, snowy, or rainy day, the sun is still there. And if you don’t see the sun, become the sun for someone.”
Community looks like this: one small gesture, one smile, one brave hello at a time. The cure for disconnection is everywhere in Hoboken. We just have to look up.
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