How long does your gratitude actually last — late evening, Peel Street, Central, Hong Kong. I’m standing on the stairs, watching from this elevated spot over Peel Street — known in Hong Kong for drinking outside, meeting people, standing together on the street. Literally on the street. The evening is still warm. I watch people who are slightly tipsy but above all enjoying the moment — raising their glasses with an easy lightness.
I think about the feeling I had the first time I came to Hong Kong. That palpable evening energy — the kind that’s harder to find in Europe. That absence of tension. Being in the moment. How grateful and amazed I was by what I felt and saw. This city. This place where people from different worlds meet on a Friday evening after work to taste the city.
And I wonder — how much do I still feel that? How much am I letting myself see it with the same openness as the first time?
Now, being here for the third time — and for longer — standing here, my thoughts are drifting in their own directions. A little about the details of the company I’m setting up. A little about where I want to live when I get back to Poland, who with, what form of business I want to continue. And there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s a natural stage — and in a way, being here in HK and reflecting has led me to many of those answers.
But am I really feeling, in this moment, what I came here for? Are my plans and ideas stealing my attention?
No.
What did I actually fall in love with in Hong Kong? When I came back to Poland after my first trip to Asia — wasn’t it precisely that lightness I kept feeding on? That sense of the world’s scale. Freedom. The absence of tension I notice more easily in other places.
Will I let it become ordinary?
I could. As humans we have a tendency to get so used to something new that we stop valuing it — stop seeing it the way we did the first time.
And really — that’s up to us. Whether we return to gratitude and appreciation for what’s already become our normal — but was once a tremendous discovery.
This applies to so many areas of life. Starting with relationships we sometimes let fade into the background — and stop seeing their uniqueness. All the way to a tropical island that amazes us on the first visit, but after a few days or a few trips, requires a little more effort to keep that first love and wonder alive.
And yes — this evening in Hong Kong clarifies a lot for me. I see how many things I’m reaching for. But I also admit to myself that I’m starting to forget to see what’s actually in front of me. What was once the goal — and is now just normal. This moment. These people. This energy.
And that’s a more important skill than creating new spaces.
A new apartment in Warsaw — fine. But without feeding gratitude, I won’t enjoy it for long.
The same with flexible remote work. Sometimes I forget to value what I have — and it’s only other people’s comments that remind me how comfortable my situation actually is.
It’s about something I see in myself that’s easy to recognize in all of us. When you have what many people dream of — it’s so easy to keep pushing toward the next goal. So easy to forget to see what you already have.
And every one of us has a great deal. Even the simple fact that nothing bad happened today. That I didn’t have an accident on the street. That I don’t have to worry about someone close to me suddenly getting sick.
What we have. And what we haven’t lost.
And right now, on Peel Street — I have this. I have this moment. One that will come back to me, fuel me, show me how different life can be. I’ll be able to see it walking through snowy Warsaw on a dark winter evening — a city I love in its own way — and feel those contrasts.
And appreciate both places precisely because they’re so different. Because they expand me.
Peel Street is still there. The people are still raising their glasses.
And somewhere between the company registration details and the Warsaw apartment search — I almost missed it.
The thing about gratitude is that it doesn’t disappear dramatically. It just quietly stops showing up. Until one evening on a street in Hong Kong you look around and realize you’ve been somewhere else for a while.
How long has it been since you actually looked at what you have?
