(#020) Breathing outside the system

In the early years when I was living in China — say, ten to fifteen years ago — air quality was bad.

The AQI (i.e., the presence of harmful pollutants in the air, measured in micrograms per cubic meter) in Beijing in 2013 — one of the worst years on record — averaged 101.56 (“unhealthy for sensitive groups”), stayed over 150 (“unhealthy”) 40% of the days, and peaked above 200 (“very unhealthy”) 27.1% of the time. For thirteen days it reached “hazardous” levels (over 300). On January 15th, it hit 500.

As I said, it was bad.

I remember riding a taxi down Chang’an Street, the wide avenue that crosses Tiananmen Square right in front of the Forbidden City. I couldn’t even see the large portrait of Chairman Mao hanging on the facade — barely fifty meters away. Charcoal grey. Literally charcoal.

Living there, however, was another experience.

Blue skies were rare, fresh air nonexistent, but it would hardly cross your mind.

You didn’t suffer from the lack of what you had no recent memory of.

Sometimes the media — or private exchanges with friends, both local and overseas — would bring up the issue. You would intellectually acknowledge it, even feel bothered, but it wouldn’t last. It certainly wasn’t a driving force to leave the country.

The only moments when it became shockingly evident were while traveling abroad.

Upon landing, stepping outside the airport, my lungs would swell with oxygen.

A dizzying experience.

For a few minutes, while breathing in deep and wide, the question would elbow its way to consciousness: How can I survive in China without this?

And then I would go on with my affairs.

There’s a reason for this, and it lies within one of the most beautiful expressions — and dangers — of human nature:

Intelligence often expresses itself as an ability to adapt.
We praise those who adapt quickly to their environment.

And for good reason. These are the people who learn new languages swiftly, whose minds are plastic, able to see things from new perspectives, to understand why others — sometimes from very far away — do things differently. Those who adapt quickly tend to be more nuanced. They synchronize with others. They build rapport with ease. They gather a broader set of tools to pursue their goals. They can change and renew themselves year after year, sometimes becoming “different people” in the eyes of those who stayed the same.

And this is all wonderful.

But.

They are also quicker to adapt to situations they should not adapt to—Situations they should, simply put, refuse.

Living in China during those years may have permanently dented my longevity, but I (proudly) adapted and thrived there.

(Needless to say, today China is among the least polluted urban areas in the world.)

Coming back to Italy, I faced the same issue — but this time, it wasn’t about air quality.

(Milan remains one of the most polluted cities in the world, but that's not the point right now.)

At first, when I returned, I focused on the positives:

It’s a democracy.

I can say and write what I want — within the limits of civil respect — without worry.

I can read and consume what I choose, without dodging systems of censorship.

Life is relatively affordable.

I am connected to the rest of the world.

All of this is precious, never to be taken for granted.

I have genuine respect for the millions who came before me — those who built, fought, and struggled to hand me a world still imperfect, but better than 99% of the worlds others have inhabited, past or present.

Yet, in adapting — quickly and effectively — I lowered my guard.

I didn’t realize I had fallen into an old, slow, tired, skeptical system.

After two years, a full cycle of rebuilding my life, and a year into launching a new startup (and startups, by definition, force you to engage daily with the world’s pulse), I slowly opened my eyes: Most people here have not woken up to where the world is at in 2025 — let alone where it’s going.

Sure, many have traveled — even extensively but

Most people travel by taking their identities and their habits with them—they collect experiences and images abroad—and return with stories to… their old self.

This time, I don’t need to travel elsewhere to breathe.

This time, I will exercise a little less intelligence —

And refuse to adapt.

L.F