Geneva might be the closest thing to a utopian society that I have ever experienced.
The roads are clean. The cars navigate the streets in an orderly and careful manner—no honking, swerving, or speeding. The water is calm, boats and swans and ducks glide across the top of it seamlessly. The sun peeks through clouds, casting rays of light onto the city itself. I interpret this as a divine symbol, an indication that this city is favored by God.
Everyone seems genuinely content, their happiness neither forced nor overly excited. It’s as if everyone agreed that they would all be comfortable and relaxed together for the evening. People are smiling, laughing, telling jokes to their friends. They are swimming in the lake. A group of men, shirts off, engage in a pickup soccer match. Nobody is distressed, angry, frustrated, wound up, or sad. It is quite a beautiful spectacle to admire.
And then, there's the diversity—a harmonious blend of races, ethnicities, and nationalities. French, English, Spanish, Italian, and a handful of other Asian and African languages swirl around me like a living, breathing Rosetta Stone. And it's not only the young who are out on this Friday night. Middle-aged and even older individuals—families, friends—gather on picnic blankets to share food, drinks, and stories. Everyone seems to be having a perfect evening.
I can't help but wonder how growing up in such an environment would have shaped me. I imagine my propensity for freaking out would be far lower if I had been nurtured in such a serene environment.
But of course, this place is not a utopia. It is a city, and I’m sure it has issues just like any other place. However, if it does, I haven’t seen any.
And that is remarkable.
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Geneva might be the closest thing to a utopian society that I have ever experienced.
The roads are clean. The cars navigate the streets in an orderly and careful manner—no honking, swerving, or speeding. The water is calm, boats and swans and ducks glide across the top of it seamlessly. The sun peeks through clouds, casting rays of light onto the city itself. I interpret this as a divine symbol, an indication that this city is favored by God.
Everyone seems genuinely content, their happiness neither forced nor overly excited. It’s as if everyone agreed that they would all be comfortable and relaxed together for the evening. People are smiling, laughing, telling jokes to their friends. They are swimming in the lake. A group of men, shirts off, engage in a pickup soccer match. Nobody is distressed, angry, frustrated, wound up, or sad. It is quite a beautiful spectacle to admire.
And then, there's the diversity—a harmonious blend of races, ethnicities, and nationalities. French, English, Spanish, Italian, and a handful of other Asian and African languages swirl around me like a living, breathing Rosetta Stone. And it's not only the young who are out on this Friday night. Middle-aged and even older individuals—families, friends—gather on picnic blankets to share food, drinks, and stories. Everyone seems to be having a perfect evening.
I can't help but wonder how growing up in such an environment would have shaped me. I imagine my propensity for freaking out would be far lower if I had been nurtured in such a serene environment.
But of course, this place is not a utopia. It is a city, and I’m sure it has issues just like any other place. However, if it does, I haven’t seen any.
And that is remarkable.
