Take the Burj Khalifa in Dubai, for example. It’s absurdly tall, like a skyscraper that decided to become a mountain. I remember watching a video of someone going up to the observation deck, and their ears popped like they were on an airplane. That’s just funny. But it’s also humbling—standing at the bottom, craning your neck, you feel like an ant with a Google Maps app. It reminds you that humans can dream big, even in a desert.
Then there’s the Sydney Opera House. It looks like a bunch of sails having a friendly argument with the harbor. My cousin visited once and said the roof tiles are so shiny they look like giant spoons. I can’t unsee that now, and honestly, I love it. It’s a building that doesn’t take itself too seriously, and that’s a lesson for all of us.
Living in a Postcard
Consider the Taj Mahal. You’ve seen a million photos, but hearing that it changes color throughout the day—pink at dawn, milky white at noon—makes it feel like a living thing. It was built out of love, which sounds cheesy, but cheesy is real. Next time you’re painting your living room, remember: someone built an entire marble palace because they missed their wife. We can’t all do that, but we can appreciate a commitment to the aesthetic.
The Colosseum in Rome is the original disaster-proof structure. It’s almost 2,000 years old, and it still stands there, shrugging off earthquakes like a grumpy uncle. My friend took a selfie there and got yelled at by a pigeon. That’s the energy. It’s a reminder that some things are worth preserving, even if they’re a little battered. Kind of like your favorite coffee mug with the chipped handle.
