How Travel Shapes a Writer’s Heart: Lessons From China and New York

As someone who splits his time between two opposite worlds—ancient China and fast-paced New York—I’m constantly reminded of how deeply our environments shape us. The places we walk through, the places we rest in, the places where our quietest thoughts emerge—these all leave marks on us. They change how we see the world, how we understand ourselves, and ultimately, how we tell stories.

Travel isn’t just about changing locations.

It’s about expanding perspective.

It’s about noticing what you wouldn’t have seen otherwise.

It’s about realizing that the world is wider, deeper, and more nuanced than the pieces we grew up with.

Both China and New York have deeply influenced Love in Lijiang—its atmosphere, its pacing, its emotional architecture, and its heart.

Here’s how each place shaped my storytelling and became part of Richard and Siyu’s world.

China Teaches Slowness, Tradition, and Emotional Depth

There is a poetry to China’s landscapes that stays with you long after you’ve left.

the mist rolling over the mountains

the blossoming trees lining the old streets

lantern reflections shimmering over water

quiet mornings in ancient towns

the soft rhythm of a life connected to history

China whispers instead of shouts.

It invites rather than demands.

It reveals itself slowly, like a story meant to be savored.

For me, Lijiang captures this essence more than anywhere else.

Its narrow stone walkways feel like time is folding around you.

Its canals move with a quiet grace, as if carrying centuries of memory.

Its Naxi culture brings a sense of belonging, ritual, and respect for the past.

Lijiang is known for its breathtaking scenery and rich cultural heritage. China Highlights describes it as an ancient town surrounded by dramatic mountains, peaceful waterways, and beautifully preserved architecture that create an atmosphere unlike anywhere else in China.

This is the emotional foundation I wanted for Love in Lijiang:

a place where healing feels not only possible, but inevitable.

A place where the rush of life slows enough for the heart to be heard.

New York Teaches Contrast, Resilience, and Momentum

If China is stillness, New York is motion.

✦ dreams

✦ reinvention

✦ anonymity

✦ opportunity

✦ momentum

✦ ambition

New York hums.

It pulses.

It pushes you forward whether you’re ready or not.

People go to New York to chase something—success, identity, reinvention, healing, escape. It’s a city that challenges you, refines you, and reveals your strengths and your limits.

Living between these two worlds—Lijiang and New York—has taught me to appreciate contrasts:

Stillness vs. speed

Tradition vs. reinvention

Community vs. anonymity

History vs. innovation

Reflection vs. ambition

When I write, these contrasts show up in my characters.

Siyu carries the strength of someone shaped by quiet resilience—someone who has learned to move with care and gratitude because life has not been easy.

Richard carries the intensity of someone who knows what it means to lose, rebuild, and try again—someone sharpened by heartbreak but softened by reflection.

Their love blooms in the space where these two worlds meet.

Travel Makes a Writer Pay Attention

Nothing teaches awareness quite like travel—especially when you travel alone or spend long periods in a new culture.

Travel sharpens the senses:

• You notice details you would ignore at home.

• You become more attuned to tone, body language, and atmosphere.

• You learn to read silence as much as sound.

• You begin to understand meaning beyond words.

Those skills become powerful tools in storytelling.

When I write scenes from Love in Lijiang, I rely on the same instincts that guide me when I’m exploring a new place:

✨ look closer

✨ listen deeper

✨ pay attention to small moments

✨ move slowly enough for emotion to reveal itself

These are the skills that allow a novel to feel cinematic—to make a reader feel like they are standing in the middle of the scene, breathing its air, seeing its colors, hearing its quiet.

Travel Teaches You That People Are More Similar Than Different

The more you travel, the more you realize that while landscapes and languages change, hearts do not.

No matter where you go:

People want to be understood.

People want to be valued.

People want connection.

People want healing.

People want hope.

People want love that feels safe and real.

This truth shapes how I write characters.

Siyu and Richard come from different worlds—culturally, socially, emotionally—but their longing is universal:

to be seen, to be understood, and to be loved for who they really are.

Travel taught me to honor this universal humanity in my characters.

The Emotional Geography of a Story

Every story has two geographies:

The external landscape—the mountains, cities, rivers, roads.

The internal landscape—the wounds, hopes, fears, dreams.

In the best stories, these two landscapes mirror each other.

Lijiang’s slow rhythm mirrors Siyu’s gradual healing.

Its bridges mirror Richard’s emotional rebuilding.

Its lanterns mirror hope.

Its water mirrors clarity and release.

Setting isn’t scenery—it’s symbolism.

And Lijiang symbolizes the kind of love that grows gently, faithfully, and quietly.

Want to Travel Through Story?

If you enjoy travel-rich, emotionally layered storytelling…

If you want to step into lantern-lit nights, misty mountains, quiet canals, and the slow-burn romance between two deeply human characters…

If you want a story that blends culture, heart, and healing…

Then I invite you to dive into Love in Lijiang.

And join my email community for behind-the-scenes travel notes, photography, character extras, and updates on the sequel.

There are many more journeys ahead.