Driving on the streets (or sidewalks) of Beijing is an everyday adventure
Last week I was driving down North Worker's Stadium road, and felt a pang of homesickness for my house that isn't really home. The morning light bounced off of fresh asphalt, and gilded dusty motorbikes that carved up the lanes. It felt like the southern light that pours through the windows of my Sicilian studio, or brightens the wide imperial streets of Rome. But a visit to Italy is off the cards for a while: this summer is packed with wrapping up loose ends for a handmade paper book in Southeast Asia.
As I waited at a light where fourteen traffic lanes converge in a particularly Chinese chaos, I wished I were cruising around Italian streets on a sexy Vespa, instead of Gongti Beilu on a secondhand Shanghai ebike. Or had enjoyed a breakfast of sea urchin sashimi from Sciacca instead of lackluster "Australian" oatmeal of doubtful provenance.
Then I thought, "Hey, enjoy the moped you're on RIGHT NOW instead of wishing you were somewhere else!"
There's always someone – or something – to miss, wherever you go. The key is to love wherever you are. It's not all that different from where you'd like to be.
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