I don't know. When I'm forced to go to Paris on my mandatory annual vacation, I keep a framed photo of my boss and coworkers on the nightstand to stare at wistfully while wondering what I'm missing out on. I also have a gaming app called "Sim Accounting" so I can have fun pretending to fill out forms and spreadsheets so I don't get bored. Looking out of the hotel window, I feel kinda bad for the poor Parisians. They don't know the pride of having a neatly manicured lawn under the close scrutiny of an HOA or the excitement of maintaining, insuring, registering, and driving a large 8-seat SUV. When I think of all the fun I've had navigating traffic on the highway and downtown on the way to the office, I feel a little pang of regret that these French people might never know that joy. I wonder if we did the right thing. Maybe if we had stayed longer in Europe at the end of the war, we could have helped them remodel their cities with proper highways, suburbs, and strip malls. Nonetheless, the past is the past. I'm here for nearly two weeks. At least it will teach me to appreciate home more, if nothing else.