She stands in front of the floor to ceiling window 30 floors above Beijing looking out across the city. She can see nothing. Another bad air day in a city that used to count blue sky days. She bends, sitting on the bed without needing to look. The bed sheets are ruffled and tossed about without care. She gets up, removes the sheets, and makes the bed.

Sleep did not come easy that night, at least not at first. She had the trappings of a luxurious life at her fingertips and a man that she was, well, interested in. Everything should be happy. Everything should be on track. She had come so far from her home town. She had come so far from her college days. She had come so far from everyone doubting her and telling her she wasn't smart enough. Wasn't tall enough. Wasn't pretty enough. Wasn't good enough. But here she was and not trapped in some unloving marriage to a man only a parent could love. She was pretty enough, she was tall enough, she was pretty enough. She deserved this. But she wasn't happy and she could not figure out why. Not being happy didn't quite capture it. She was plenty happy a lot of the time. It was those other times. Those times when she felt anxious inside not knowing what to do with herself. When she couldn't relax. When shopping or the man or a good book or a good meal was met with indifference. It was those times that made her know she was not happy.

She put on some music to change the mood. Beth Hart's "LA Song" comes on and the lyrics hit home. A woman going in circles running away from one life and needing to run away from the next. Her body begins to relax and she falls asleep. She sleeps soundly through the night and didn't even notice when the man came to bed. She awakes in the morning and stands by the window. She looks south and the sky is now blue. She turns and looks west and she can see the mountains in the distance. It is a glorious Beijing morning. The man sleeps.

She pulls on her designer jeans and a simple, tight sweater. She walks downstairs and makes herself a latte. She will miss this. She takes out a pen and tears off a piece of paper from her notebook.

"I will always thing of you in autumn, " she writes, "but I need to face winter alone. It is my time to figure things out. Take care. PS: Keep the sheets clean."

And with that she left the apartment and into the glorious Beijing morning without a clue where to go next or what would come next. For the first time since she was a child, she was at peace and she felt proud of herself. Confident that she would make her way in this life even if she didn't yet know where she would have breakfast.