So I shared that kind of mopey stuff about time difference/loneliness/travel and how things act on you. This is kind of the flipside.
Let's start on the same side:
Our story begins at the graduation ceremony for Chicago Booth's AXP class. The ceremony is at Sky100, which do you have to click the link even to know exactly what "Sky100" is? It's a venue; it's the kind of venue gets called "Sky100". Is it is.
I'm watching the students' families, which is nice. The most impressive thing to me about the students on these courses I TA is that they undertake this degree in the context of having jobs and families and other obligations. It's nice to see the spouses, the kids. It's nice to see the students with them; it's very nice to be able to tell so-and-so's spouse, "So-and-so was awesome," and you basically always get to be 100% when you say this because if so-and-so has bothered to haul their poor spouses over to meet you, it's probably because so-and-so was a good student you connected with.
The kids DGAF, nor should they. Good on ya, kidz.
I'm sitting, feeling naked without "my phone". Even though the phone I'd given back to Booth the previous evening was not nor ever felt like "my phone", and further this phone had no data plan so it was just this tiny little computer that could make calls, which of course is no longer what the word "phone" even means in most cases. (I liked that about it, predictably.)
Anyway, I'm feeling its absence; specifically, daunted by this "Long Walk Kowloon" I have planned for after the ceremony, centered on Cantonese egg waffles. I have map printouts; I'm ready. And I'm not tired, in particular. But I'm tired. It was like those moments when I was training hard for a fight and my body was actually kind of doing okay--hungry and banged up but okay--but I'd nonetheless have to rest my head on the steering-wheel for ninety seconds before gathering myself to head into the gym.
And I realize, sitting there un-phonèd, that I'm done for this trip. Not like, "oh gosh this is so hard." Just I'm done; with scrabbling in the totally-fine but somewhat depressing tiny studio I rented; with scrabbling my way through these walks and stuff, intrepid-ing cluelessly throughout the city. I love it, but it's been acting on me, wearing on me.
And I realize this because of a cool sure desire I have for what awaits me later that day: luxury. A professor on the course who is also a friend does this thing that actually makes sense which is that she books a late flight out the day of the ceremony but keeps her hotel room for that night, so that she doesn't have to clear out at like 11am or whatever but can go back after the ceremony, shower and change and sort herself out, and head to the airport in the afternoon/evening. This means she is left with an empty hotel room for a night, and I sometimes inherit that room. She stays at nice places; it's a good shout and very nice of her.
So I'm sitting in the graduation ceremony realizing that the mild wear of good things (adventuring around the city; barging into restaurants where no English is spoken) and fine-but-suboptimal things (staying in a blah AirBNB) have been acting on me, and so I am eager for the luxury of, say, an Island Shangri-la (sic, friendo).
I will skip the Kowloon Long Walk, perhaps writing of it elsewhere.
Point: man! It was a fancy hotel! The gym was solid enough, as opposed to the disappointing tiny room at The Upper House. The room, this:
The meal I enjoyed at the Summer Palace was terrific--Bean Curd Sheets, Chicken with Salted Fish hotpot, some tea. (I did not use the Note; I just asked for something interesting/adventurous).
And yup it was great to sink into, which--that took a minute, sorry--finally brings us to the flip of things acting on me that I promised.
I have never thought: "Man, I need to take refuge in luxury." I don't have the resources for lotsa luxury, sure. But I have some resources -- I could certainly engineer tastes of this stuff for myself. And I don't. But this night at the fancy hotel was so nice. I didn't like do great writing, but I did comfortably happily get solid work in; it was just nice to be there, at that desk writing, stopping to get food or go to the gym. It was a recharge, and I had not appreciated the extent to which I'd benefit from it.
Which was good, because getting home the next day was a sh1t$h0w...
Let's start on the same side:
Our story begins at the graduation ceremony for Chicago Booth's AXP class. The ceremony is at Sky100, which do you have to click the link even to know exactly what "Sky100" is? It's a venue; it's the kind of venue gets called "Sky100". Is it is.
I'm watching the students' families, which is nice. The most impressive thing to me about the students on these courses I TA is that they undertake this degree in the context of having jobs and families and other obligations. It's nice to see the spouses, the kids. It's nice to see the students with them; it's very nice to be able to tell so-and-so's spouse, "So-and-so was awesome," and you basically always get to be 100% when you say this because if so-and-so has bothered to haul their poor spouses over to meet you, it's probably because so-and-so was a good student you connected with.
The kids DGAF, nor should they. Good on ya, kidz.
I'm sitting, feeling naked without "my phone". Even though the phone I'd given back to Booth the previous evening was not nor ever felt like "my phone", and further this phone had no data plan so it was just this tiny little computer that could make calls, which of course is no longer what the word "phone" even means in most cases. (I liked that about it, predictably.)
Anyway, I'm feeling its absence; specifically, daunted by this "Long Walk Kowloon" I have planned for after the ceremony, centered on Cantonese egg waffles. I have map printouts; I'm ready. And I'm not tired, in particular. But I'm tired. It was like those moments when I was training hard for a fight and my body was actually kind of doing okay--hungry and banged up but okay--but I'd nonetheless have to rest my head on the steering-wheel for ninety seconds before gathering myself to head into the gym.
And I realize, sitting there un-phonèd, that I'm done for this trip. Not like, "oh gosh this is so hard." Just I'm done; with scrabbling in the totally-fine but somewhat depressing tiny studio I rented; with scrabbling my way through these walks and stuff, intrepid-ing cluelessly throughout the city. I love it, but it's been acting on me, wearing on me.
And I realize this because of a cool sure desire I have for what awaits me later that day: luxury. A professor on the course who is also a friend does this thing that actually makes sense which is that she books a late flight out the day of the ceremony but keeps her hotel room for that night, so that she doesn't have to clear out at like 11am or whatever but can go back after the ceremony, shower and change and sort herself out, and head to the airport in the afternoon/evening. This means she is left with an empty hotel room for a night, and I sometimes inherit that room. She stays at nice places; it's a good shout and very nice of her.
So I'm sitting in the graduation ceremony realizing that the mild wear of good things (adventuring around the city; barging into restaurants where no English is spoken) and fine-but-suboptimal things (staying in a blah AirBNB) have been acting on me, and so I am eager for the luxury of, say, an Island Shangri-la (sic, friendo).
I will skip the Kowloon Long Walk, perhaps writing of it elsewhere.
Point: man! It was a fancy hotel! The gym was solid enough, as opposed to the disappointing tiny room at The Upper House. The room, this:
 |
| The room had a great view. I was working at its great desk. I happened to look up at this moment. |
And yup it was great to sink into, which--that took a minute, sorry--finally brings us to the flip of things acting on me that I promised.
I have never thought: "Man, I need to take refuge in luxury." I don't have the resources for lotsa luxury, sure. But I have some resources -- I could certainly engineer tastes of this stuff for myself. And I don't. But this night at the fancy hotel was so nice. I didn't like do great writing, but I did comfortably happily get solid work in; it was just nice to be there, at that desk writing, stopping to get food or go to the gym. It was a recharge, and I had not appreciated the extent to which I'd benefit from it.
Which was good, because getting home the next day was a sh1t$h0w...
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