Driving along the
river, on my way to a meeting. Turning
now to cross the still body of water.
The air is miserable today. If my
mind perceived this as moist clouds, morning mist it would all be
evocative. If there were karst mountain
formations with temples faintly visible in the distance through the haze, it
might be a classic, evocative Song Dynasty, black and white scene. But it can’t be. It doesn’t evoke anything but dismal
compromises and levels that veer from “very unhealthy” to “hazardous.”
The guest I referenced yesterday commented on it. “This and the internet speed are the only
things I don’t like about Beijing.” “Do
you ever worry about it?” Yes. I never used to. But it really is worse. It really does suck. I really don’t remember it this bad
before. I’m not a citizen. I live here by choice. And lately, when I speak with people, I must
say I get angry at the hopelessness of the situation. This is one of the world’s great cities. This is the frontline of the world’s most
remarkable migration of people into modernity.
And I feel myself being forced away by this perennial compromise.
I’m tired of talking about it with people. I’m tired of writing about it. It’s enervating trying to be ironic. It’s even worse to be pessimistic. As stated, I ultimately have a choice. But if I’m frustrated, imagine how deadening
it all is for those who don’t. And if
I’m tired of considering it, how much more tired must the leadership be, who
bear responsibility but have little they can really do, as they successfully
steward a sixth of humanity into modernity.
Once again, I’m anxiously awaiting the next rain. If seeding the clouds really made a
difference, I’d make it civic policy.
Now, much later after a remarkably stressful day, set in that
murky, dirty aquarium, I’m finally able to try to finish this post. Meetings were scheduled. Critical meetings were suddenly
canceled. What? You’re kidding. Find me a solution. Scramble.
Call this guy, that lady. Then
wait and look at your phone and wait some more for someone to say their
stop-gap plan-B isn’t going to work either.
Then, the call. “Can
you be here in 20 minutes?” “No. But we’ll leave now and be there ASAP. Cadence up-ended. Rush, 东奔西走[1]. Try
to seem calm but melt slowly as it becomes impossible to find a cab. Cab secured, but the driver must be from the
countryside. He doesn’t know major
landmarks. He’s committing the ultimate
Beijing cabby sin: being timorous. Other cars cut in front of us left and
right. With every pause I’m tempted to
insist that he drive more nastily. “Put
us at greater risk, would you? Come on.
Faster.”
And the meeting was OK.
And what needed to happen got done.
And the drop off of the guest at the airport went off smoothly. And I could switch gears and down a mug or
two of late afternoon coffee focus on prep for my late, late night call that
just happened at 11:00PM. And now,
finally, everyone is asleep, and I can exhale and begin to relax and
decompress. Slowly, my shoulders rise
up, every so slightly and the pressure evaporates.
Strange, nod off dreams.
The thoughtful piano of Norman Simmons from the 1979 aptly titled
release “Midnight Creeper” serenades my odd confrontation with the drama of
nonsense about people dying young from misshapen faces. The title song’s solo is as muscular as it is
graceful with that artful hook that pulls you back from the place you thought
you were heading. And I’m not there
yet, but I am most definitely heading now, upstairs, to a proper, uninterrupted
dreamscape. May it rain out there, in my
dreams and there on the ground.
[1] dōngbēnxīzǒu: to run this way and that (idiom); to rush
about busily / to bustle about / to hopscotch
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