...should you choose to accept it

I'll start with the question:
Is it better to walk 20 minutes to class in the rain and cold with an umbrella to protect you from the elements falling from the overcast sky?
OR 
Is is better to manage a five-minute bike ride to class at top speed in the rain and cold, with no umbrella and the winds coming at you at an accelerated rate, while your hands freeze to the handlebars? 
I expect at least my Virginian-Rhode Islander by way of Austin, Princeton, Philly cohorts to ponder me this one.
Either way, I got to class just fine.

Yes, today was another big day big morning in the newly discovered adult life of yours truly. I was a bit confused after the first 50 minutes of class when still, it was just little old me in the hot seat, and no other students to be found in what is supposed to be a "small group" class. Perhaps I missed the memo for bring your own students to class day? I have been told that my fellow classmate, singular, will be ready to learn alongside me for the full 110 minutes on Wednesday morning. Woo! hoo! I'm a student again! And I promise this is legit. It's not a "Speak Mandarin in less than 24 Hours if you Act Now!! You'll go from Dud to Dim Sum," kind of schooling. My laoshi is great (remember, "great" is a highly regarded adjective). Thus far, she is patient and kind and friendly. 

Since I undertook one of my "to do" items from my China list, its time to add on another. It's going to be:
While dining out with Z, invite a perfect stranger or couple to dine with us. There are lots of expats in this city, and it's possible that most of them want to be left alone. But that is not going to stop me from trying harder to be more welcoming and friendly to them. 

Because I challenged myself today, I am throwing one simple mission your way, should you choose blah blah blah:
Eat your breakfast/lunch/dinner with chopsticks today! I'm raising the stakes: the meal cannot be Chinese food or sushi or Asian food of any kind. And it can't be finger food, either. Go ahead. Feel silly about it. Set the table with those bamboo wonders instead of the familiar trio of flatware you love. Dig into your favorite t-bone or chicken fricassee without a knife and fork; slurp up that chicken noodle soup or cap'n crunch sans spoon. No cheating, now. (I savored the moment and used chopsticks today to eat salt and vinegar chips. Those imported crisps are too expensive to wolf down in a few senseless chomps.)

This message will self-destruct in 5, 4, 3... 

That's Mandarin!

Here's the thing that I am beginning to understand about myself in Beijing. I need something or someone to push me along; to set me on the course; to kick my butt into gear, but with respect, please.  I know, you're thinking, I knew that about you at least five blog posts ago. But, Beijing is a major, massive city, unlike any in which I have lived or visited. Yet, there exist tiny pockets of familiarity between the hutongs and the traffic circles. My internal struggle lies between cozying up to the status quo on my couch each day and motivating myself to try the new and unexplored on my own. Ah! See! Beijing and I are alike in this way -- we are constantly balancing the old and safe and comfortable with the new, the sometimes scary and the always exciting. OK. So Beijing is doing it on a much, much grander scale. I'll try to keep some perspective as I search for motivation and confidence.

When we first arrived - I'm talking about when we stepped off the plane at 1:00 in the afternoon, struggling with our luggage all the way, finding myself in a cab all by myself to who knows where - I was a bit disappointed with the view. In fact, I was a bit disappointed the first week we were here. It might be because we had to roll up our sleeves and start searching right away for a place to live. There was no soft introduction to Beijing city living. But I wanted to know,  Where were the fragrant cherry blossoms? The ladies fan dancing on the corner with their hair all done up? When could I schedule my first, second, third spa appointment I heard so much about before we departed? Where were the early morning tai chi students? Where were the happy children playing in parks with their doting and wise grandparents? The old men enjoying the end of summer nights playing card games and drinking beers? Where were the gilded gates and historic temples? Where were the red lanterns and festival lights? I saw only smog and dirt. I saw high rise apartments all around me that looked as if they haven't had a good scrubbing in decades. Inside some of those same buildings and courtyards, and felt crushed by what I could see only as lonely, cramped, smokey darkness. I felt like I was being suffocated by too many of the wrong kinds of choices, and Z and I were trapping ourselves into those little tight decision boxes. And then we switched gears, and made some elbow room for ourselves, and we built new boxes. We talked about what we wanted, and what we didn't want, instead of just going through the motions like starved zombies. We stopped worrying about what the landlords and real estate agents must think of us and whether we were wasting anyone's time. So, of course you know, we found an apartment and the stuff to put inside that place to call it home. But as much as we are paying to live here, and as much as I like my new couch and chairs, it's not enough to say you lived in China if you only sat inside all day...after day...after day.

And then I switched gears, again. I started to see all the tiny details that form the greater parts of Beijing. That is when I started enjoying my time here -- visiting the parks and temples, the family restaurant around the corner and the shopping markets. What's more important right now, is that I am starting to do it on my own. There is a bustling, bright food market just steps away from our front door. The seafood vendor sells live shrimp jumping up by the handful; patrons ride away with fresh green cabbages and long brown earthy taro roots hanging from their bicycle baskets; mangosteen fruits and kiwis are sold by the dozens. The market's sea of stalls and vendors are set up every morning, and after only a few hours, the entire place is wiped out like it never existed.

I started to see all the tiny details that form the greater parts of this city because I stopped worrying about what and how I thought Beijing and China were supposed to look and feel. If you have never been here, forget any pre-conceived notions you may have about Beijing. Forget about the crowding, the traffic, the noise and the smog. Also, forget about the romantic notions you have about Asia in general. All those things will slip into the background when you start to recognize how the little details are more important, more exciting, more worthy of your time.

There are surprises on every block in this city. There is also construction on every block. Somewhere in the middle of the Old Beijing and the New Beijing you can find anything, I'm convinced. So now I see that cherry blossoms don't come out until April; the card games in my neighborhood start around 7:00 PM and last all through the night if you can handle the drinking; tai chi is practiced much earlier than I allow myself to rise from my slumber these days; the fan dancing takes place on cool nights, groups of adults magically appearing outside this or that random restaurant while I'm inside dining; and there's a gilded gate that leads right to my apartment.

I signed up for yoga classes and I took my first Mandarin language class today, too. Man, a little bit of self confidence goes a long way.

Look, Ma! No Hands!

Any normal person might look at this picture and say, "Hey, cool, a bike," or "Must be fun!" It might even invoke the sentimental trip-down-memory lane kind of response, "Maybe I should take my bike out of the shed and start riding again."

I am not sentimental about riding bicycles. In fact, I am a little afraid and embarrassed. The closest I have come to bicycles in more than 20 years is this bicycle print, blue and white, shirt-dress currently hanging in my closet, and my 2.5 second attempt to ride a co-worker's bike in the driveway of our office three summers ago. During that same summer, in my failing attempt to try

something new, a good friend purchased a bike from her co-worker for $5 on my behalf. My dear friend suggested we could ride our bikes together. That $5 bike sat in my friend's shed for three years until it was time for her to move; she gave away the bike, I never rode the bike, and she never got the $5, plus interest and storage fees I owed her. Sorry, friend, you know who you are.

There isn't any traumatic event from my childhood that has prompted this great hesitation. It's just good old-fashioned fear of the unknown mixed with a dose of insecurity about sports-like activities. The masses of other bikes, crazy traffic and hundreds of pedestrians on the street doesn't do much to calm me, though. But now it seems the whole city of Beijing is chanting in my ear, "ride the bike, ride the bike, ride the bike..." in Mandarin of course. Although the language barrier has helped me to ignore their pleads for this long, it's time for me to ride among the masses, however self-conscious I may feel.

So, here we are, with the first bike I have owned since I was seven years old. I suppose it really is just like riding a bike, except that my childhood bike had foot pedal breaks and streamers. My new bike has a basket and a bell, which come in handy for letting cars and others know that I can't stop or else I'll topple over and spill the contents of my basket or worse.

I look forward to the day I can look back with sentiment and ask, "Remember when we used to ride our bikes through the streets of Beijing?" For now though, it's remembering to use my hands to break instead of my feet, while keeping my physical self balanced with my emotional self.

Just. Keep. Breathing. I mean, peddling.