Week 10: "Breakfast in America"

A (Re)Introduction to Finality

Endings are…difficult. Difficult to process, to understand, and to write. I had always planned for this last blog post to be a post-mortem, but I didn’t expect it would take this long to properly collect my thoughts. After 30 hours of flying, layovers, and travel, I was jumbo jetlagged. Every movement I took was subconsciously done to take as little energy as possible, and every sense, synapse, and sinew in my body was fried. So I didn’t think much of the fact that my excitement at being home was less than expected, and what I had to say on my experience in China was less than interesting. Afterward, a day passed, then two, then 5, and then 10, and so on. I had shaken off the mountain of exhaustion, I thought that getting back into the swing of things would come easily, it didn’t, and I wasn’t sure why. Over the next few weeks, one question continued to come up: “How was China?” Bafflingly, the best response I could choke out after nine blog posts was a simple “Amazing,” or “Awesome.” That’s not to say that my overall feelings on this experience are particularly complicated; in fact, I’d say the experience was extremely positive. It's just that they are also deeply personal, and I couldn’t find the words to express how transformative it was. Countless drafts trashed, hot summer days quickly turned into cool autumn nights, and yet I still failed to put pen to paper. In this case, perfect really is the enemy of good. I could probably spend the next decade mulling over every detail, but I’m going to do my best to put a bow on things here and now. 

Why China?

To say that most of the people in my life I knew were surprised by the fact that I had chosen to spend my first summer at law school on the other side of the planet, in a city where I didn’t speak the language, would be an understatement. I’m a very risk-adverse individual, anxiety dominates more of my life than I’d care to admit, and so I’ve stuck to my bubble; kept to myself. I grew up in a small town, went to a small college, and moving to Williamsburg was a big step up, relatively speaking. However, somewhere beneath all that was a yearning and ambition to see more, to be more.

That was what initially sparked my desire to go to law school. In my mind, it was THE destination, the peak of the mountain, and by simply getting there, everything else would click; I would finally be the man I wanted to be. Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, I forgot about the journey. I neglected my personal growth and slowly but surely let myself go, but hey, I graduated and got in, so clearly everything would be different now. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t, and the realization that I hadn’t thought about what was beyond this goal, which I had been aiming for since the 10th grade, hit hard. I felt trapped, drifting through, day in and day out, and that initial spark and passion were just gone. I needed a change, and it couldn’t be a small shake-up because that clearly had not been working. It had to be something that would remove my ability to make thoughtless actions, force me to think about what I’m doing, and learn from it. Essentially, I felt I needed to be out of my comfort zone. Of course, beyond any deeper reason, I had a wanderlust and was extremely curious about what life was like in China due to the fact that I had focused on it a large amount of my undergrad research papers. So I took the leap.

Here in a Moment…

Of course, that whole diatribe implies that I had a lot more control over the situation than I actually did. Learning about the international internships was all due to luck, and I couldn’t feel more fortunate for the opportunity, for the fact that I was chosen for it. Nowadays, more than ever, the chance for a real adventure rarely just presents itself like that, and for me, that was what this was. I will never forget that feeling of stepping off the plane for as long as I live. It's like living your whole life in a haze and suddenly being jolted awake by a cold bucket of water. Simultaneously disorienting and invigorating, uncomfortable and refreshing, shocking and awakening. It was the kind of thrill I had never even hoped to experience before it happened to me, and my only regret is that I couldn’t have prepared myself to fully appreciate it.

Of course, that feeling faded, but the simple joy of turning a corner and knowing that you are guaranteed to see something new doesn’t. Not just the big ticket items, which were of course some of the most incredible sights I’ve ever seen, but the little things too. In my final days in Beijing, I found myself spending a lot of time just walking around Chaoyang, taking in the scenery, and mapping things out in my head. Noting every single detail in this single beautiful slice of the impossibly large city I was inhabiting. Everything being fresh made me walk with my eyes wide open, and even on days when I found myself falling into that sort of mindless behavior, I was able to catch and stop it. I was able to really let my appreciation for the little things soak in, and that had a notable impact on my mood. I was happier, more content. Williamsburg is a beautiful city, yet last year I found myself walking through it blindly, any eye for detail being robbed by a personal lack of focus. Ever since I’ve gotten home, I have been trying to be more present, to actually perceive the environment I’m in, and not take it for granted. I don’t think I would have ever had that revelation had I just continued on as I had been. The same fact is true when it comes to meeting and interacting with people.

 

During my time in China, despite my inability to speak the language, I was still able to have some extremely memorable interactions and forge some great moments of connection. One of my favorites was the day I was headed home from Shanghai. I had lost track of time. The high-speed train back to Beijing left at roughly 5:30 pm, and it was 4:30, which would have been fine except I was an hour away from the station. I scrambled to call a DiDi; every minute that passed made the reality of the situation clearer: I was going to miss my train. At roughly 4:37, a car rolled up to me, and I hurriedly stumbled in. The driver could tell through my face and my actions that I was short on time without me needing to say a word. He suggested we take a shortcut. Of course, he said that in Chinese, so it took about another 2 minutes of back and forth for me to understand, but then we were off!  The fantastic skyline of Shanghai quickly became a blur as we sped towards the station. I spent every minute looking over my phone, counting the minutes, estimating our arrival time, but thanks to this driver, we arrived there with time to spare. There’s no way to say this without it sounding cheesy, but moments like that felt magical. When you’re in my position, you’ll find that you very quickly build up a list of failures. Moments where you failed to communicate, failed to understand, failed to explain, and the gap between you and the people around you feels impossibly wide. Despite that, a moment like this happens, a moment of crystal clear understanding, and suddenly the impossible becomes possible. Yet once again, all I could say was a simple thank you.

Even without speaking Mandarin, I could get by on a few key phrases and Google Translate. Yet as I expressed previously, there was something missing: the ability to convey my emotions and feelings with any particular depth. That was far and away the greatest barrier between me and the people around me. Now, for you readers, this probably isn’t some great revelation. I think we all know that the real value of being able to communicate goes beyond survival and to really getting to know the people around us. I certainly knew it before I went to China, but I knew it in the same way that an astrologist who never looks up knows the stars. I didn’t “feel” it. That was until I was in China, where its tangible absence made its importance actually sink in. It made every moment of connection infinitely more valuable. Things I likely would have taken for granted in the past were now priceless. Even now, back home, I’m finding a lot more value in those small interactions with complete strangers. That joy of connection is a far more distinct feeling now. 

What a Way to Make a Living

 

Of course, all of these events were happening in and around my work with Zhicheng. When I got my degree in Political Science from college, I wasn’t really sure how it would connect to any work I’d be doing involving the law. I think that was in part what led to feeling a distinct lack of growth. I had spent 4 years working on building up those skills, and then *poof* I was doing something entirely different. It killed any sense of momentum I felt like I had, and needless to say that being surrounded by people with actual substantive legal experience didn’t do wonders for having any personal confidence in my work or abilities. After reading the previous year's blogs (on this internship), it seemed to me like comparative legal research would be the perfect way to connect my undergrad experience to my current work, and maybe get some of that confidence back. 

That assumption was very quickly proven to be correct. The firm had us focus on cutting-edge legal topics, reporting on how they were being dealt with in the U.S., and hopefully gaining insight from that additional perspective. As you’re already aware of at this point, my topic was A.I. chatbots and the risk they posed to children(which later developed into broader concerns, though children were still at the heart of the issue). When it comes to a novel legal issue like this, the well of common law comes up dry. You are essentially applying pre-existing laws to an issue that has never been litigated and has barely any legislation on the books, so where do you go to find the kind of information you need to understand it? 

Analogous cases would likely provide insights in a lot of cases, but A.I. technology is so unique that it's not enough. You need to wrap your head around every detail and then be able to explain it in a clear and concise way. So you go beyond cases, you look at resources explaining the mechanics behind the tech, scientific studies to confirm or deny if a pattern exists, news stories to see if there is a compelling narrative, and even psychological papers to understand the kind of effect it's having on the human brain. By the end of all that research, you have a tangled web that you need to morph into a tapestry that outlines your point, and that is more of an art than a science. It's what I loved about Political Science that even though you are using a wide range of facts, it is your creativity that puts it all together into a believable theory. It's extremely engaging and satisfying. Finally finding that kind of work in the legal field helped me rediscover the passion that I had lost. This is the kind of thing I love doing, and I was doing it in an environment full of extremely smart people, which really motivated me to bring my best. Ever since getting back to law school, I’ve found that passion has stuck with me; I’m more engaged in my classes than ever, and I’ve been able to pin down what I really love about the law. 

Sewell Setzer III’s story was what kicked off my research, and a large part of my motivation was that I saw myself in him and in a lot of the other stories involving people who were hurt by this technology. That yearning for connection was easy to relate to, given my position at the time. It also wasn’t hard to imagine that if I were fourteen when this kind of technology came out that I would have been very easily wrapped up in it, but I wasn’t. I had a chance to grow, to be able to better process and handle those feelings, and eventually to see truly incredible things. Sewell had that chance stolen from him by people who only saw him as data to exploit. Those people are still running around scot-free, and I have no doubt that more people, more kids, will be hurt by them as they put technological progress over any morality or decency. These kids need the public in their corner to safeguard them and to make sure Sewell’s story isn’t repeated. My research was equivalent to dropping a pebble in an ocean, but it's still good work because if I can inform a few people, then maybe they can become better at spotting when someone they know is at risk. At the very least, they can keep spreading the word, and in some small way, I’ll have contributed to that long push towards a better tomorrow with something tangible. That's the kind of work that’s good for the soul, and I’m just glad I had the opportunity to do it. The hardest part was having to leave it all behind.

…Gone in a Flash

This heightened awareness and appreciation of everything going on around me quickly led to familiarity, then a routine, and before I realized it, Beijing had become my home. Spending my days in a beautiful city doing a job I loved. Despite being so distinctly an outsider and only being there for 3 months, I had found my little spot in a city of 22 million. Nestled in an alleyway right by a bar themed after an English Pub and a couple of restaurants, I never got a chance to visit. One of them had this prefab fountain thing, took me until the last week to notice it was the same one at our office, but this one had just been left outside. None of the little careful details like the light-up plastic balls, the little goose statue, or the string of lights which had a bulb broken on the string. It was like Christmas lights, where when one bulb blows, a good chunk of the lights also stop working. 

To the right of my apartment, there was that crazy upscale mall, which I spent a lot of evenings just walking through for kicks. It had an ice rink, a NY-style Italian restaurant which I went to early on, and this chain themed after Don Quixote, where I accidentally ordered a whole lobster. Of course, I ate the whole thing; that was my personal windmill/giant to slay. It also had this viewing area with an incredible view of the city skyline. Far further out than that was this bar with drinks themed after famous works of art. The bartender who was there was hilarious, even with the language barrier; I could tell he had a wicked sense of humor. To the left was the 7-11, past a couple of buildings that were under construction. I remember my first few interactions there; I was a bumbling moron, but by the end, they had gotten used to me being there, and I was in and out effortlessly. Further was the mall that Alex and I stumbled into on my first day. Dazed and confused, it was the first meal I'd had in hours. They did a sort of cafeteria-style set-up, and it was brutally hot that day. Further still was another mall, a bit more in my price range; it had this amazingly huge LED screen and was right next to this hot pot chain with an interior that was essentially a giant LED box. I went to it near the end of my trip, and the food was incredible. 

Then there were the two nearby subway stations, always bustling. The places around work of course. Like the Lawson's in the subway where I build up this strange rapport with the cashier, the strange American suburbia style buildings, the coffee shop/daycare, the cafeteria style restraunt where a lady that worked there thought I was Canadian(which was especially funny as my grandfather is from Prince Edward Island), the nearby supermarket, the Peking Duck place we went to over and over again, the nearby college where we failed to get a gym membership, the large nearby mall with the dim sum where I had these incredible barbeque buns. And there's so much more from the parks we visited, the little unique restaurants tucked away, a variety of other extremely interesting places. 

All of it was so incredible, and if it seems like I'm rambling, just attempting to list as many things as possible, it's because I am. Because I don't want it to be over. For the first time in a long while, I felt content. I don't want to forget any of it, not a single moment, but the clock is already ticking. It's already over, and all these memories will eventually fade out of my mind. Some already have. There was a week near the end where I thought homesickness had finally set in, that maybe I was finally ready to go, but then the week after, just to really twist the knife, it was replaced with one singular thought, "I'm not ready." I guess that's another reason why this took so long: finishing these posts means acknowledging the reality of it, and it's heartbreaking. Despite that, it's important to close the page on that chapter of my life. To appreciate that something so incredible, unthinkable, astonishing could happen to me. To remember all the lessons I learned and carry them, knowing that the experience has changed my life for the better. Beijing was such an incredible city, and I really am going to miss it. If you ever get the chance to make a leap like this in your life, take it. I promise you won't regret it.

As always, thanks for reading,

Logan Smith