Beijing

NOT long ago, I was stuck in a dead-end job near Greenwich, Conn. I was in my early 20s, overeducated with a series of non-performing degrees from New York University and Columbia, and frustrated. When I saw the Occupy Wall Street protesters on TV, fed up with the economic status quo in the United States, I saw myself.

Or rather, I saw my old self, before I figured a way out.

To the occupiers and their sympathizers, I say vote — not with the ballot, but with your feet. Now that your encampment has disbanded, don’t just leave Zuccotti Park: leave America.

For China. At least, that’s what I did. It was the best decision I ever made.

In February of last year, I moved to Beijing, having landed a job teaching American culture and English at Tsinghua University. While I was not a global neophyte, I had never set foot in Asia. China had 1.3 billion people, and I didn’t know any of them.

But now, after living almost a year here, I feel that China is my second home. My work is fulfilling and my workload is manageable enough to give me time to travel. I have found friends among China’s large expatriate community, my colleagues and, of course, my eager students. The food is outstanding and caters to both the gastronomically meek and the profoundly adventurous.