On March 22nd, from 2-6 PM, something seemingly small yet profoundly transformative unfolded in the heart of Manhattan, inside the unexpected setting of Nordstrom’s flagship store lobby. Reimagined as the BREDA Coda Lounge to celebrate the launch of our latest timepiece - Coda - the space distilled the city’s relentless tempo into quiet, reflective moments: snapshots of lives in frantic transition. As guests stepped from the budding pulse of the city into a lounge where time seemed to stretch, DJ Ankia’s blend of nostalgic throwbacks and soothing beats set the perfect tone for both mingling and introspection.

The lounge was anchored by a caramel leather sofa, plush without being self-serious, framed by forsythia branches that looked like small spring celebrations. A golden rug grounded the room, marking a clear boundary between Manhattan’s electric pace and the intentional stillness BREDA had cultivated. The event welcomed BREDA employees and others far more stylish - friends of the brand like Corinne Collado, Tristin Gregoire, and Nasir Figueroa.

But it was the Reflections Wall that held the true center of gravity. A living document of guest experiences, it became a kind of collective diary. It was covered with Polaroids and handwritten notes, some confessional, others quietly hopeful. One of the earliest messages came from a woman in her thirties, her words both simple and profound: “I am at the point in my life where everything is aligned. I am stress-free and love that for me!” While not everyone may have reached that place of peace, her note felt like a goalpost, gently reminding others that such alignment is possible, even if only for a moment.

She wasn’t alone in navigating the shift from twenties to thirties. Another note joked, “I thought aging was a gradual process, but it’s more abrupt. I’m a marathon runner transitioning to triathlons. Not by choice, but because of my knees,” a sentiment the over-30 crowd could nod along to knowingly.

Another note, fluttering slightly in the A/C breeze, read: “Destiny feels thrilling when the universe unveils the unexpected. That thrilling rise, when we carve out new paths, the future feels daring & uncharted.” It buzzed with the energy of reinvention, standing in contrast to a quieter nearby reflection: “I could log off from my computer at 7pm. Thanks to WFH. New beginnings, Friday nights!” Together, they traced the full spectrum of change - proof that calm and chaos, comfort and risk, often arrive hand in hand.

Elsewhere, a guest wrote simply, “Spring is stirring up the city. I can feel the vibration…” The comment rang true. The return of sunlight and warmth acts like a balm on winter-weary spirits, quietly ushering us out of cold chapters and into something brighter. On that Saturday afternoon, as light stretched across Manhattan’s skyline, it felt like the city was exhaling - nudging its people gently toward hope.

Among the notes, one stood out for its raw vulnerability: “I am embracing the unknown by being in my first romantic relationship ever!!!” Scrawled in bold handwriting, the message buzzed with the kind of fear that only arrives alongside joy. It threaded itself through the other reflections, capturing the tension and tenderness that come with all new beginnings. Or, as another succinctly put it: “Time moves forward whether we’re ready or not. Take the leap.” It was both a challenge and a comfort. An acknowledgment of time’s inevitability and the courage it asks of us.

Together, these notes formed a quiet tapestry of human experience. What is life but endings, beginnings, soft realizations, and bold leaps. They reminded us that growth and change are as steady and necessary as breath.

In that ephemeral lounge, surrounded by the city’s ceaseless rhythm, every confession, every quiet hope, every shared laugh was a reminder that growth is not just an act of closing, but of opening too - widely, wildly even, to whatever comes next. Through the simple act of putting pen to paper, the guests of the Coda Lounge offered a collective truth: that most of life happens in the transitions. And that even in the blur of the city, there are still places, however temporary, where we can pause, connect, and say out loud: I’m here, I’m changing, and I’m not alone.