FOR THE PAST WEEK, I joined a team from Tokyo on a sojourn to San Francisco to help work on a documentary about specialty coffee and chocolate.

I returned to Tokyo yesterday, so I apologize if this story feels like paint splattered on a canvas. The content’s there, as are the varying shades and color, but it’s a bit messy. That’s how my life feels right now, and, well, that’s okay.

I learned so much on this trip about myself, about the world, about people of all stripes from different walks of life.

It was hilarious to be a part of this motley crew made up of four Tokyoites, an expert chocolatier from France, a San Franciscan who would guide us around the city for the week, and me.

Our guide was around my age, someone I would have been friends with during university, which I attended on California’s central coast. Much of the undergrad population came from either southern or northern California. Several of my best friends are from the San Francisco area.

It was cool to have someone to relate to in an environment where I often felt somewhat out of place.

I gotta say, our guide told me a few days into the shoot, I didn’t expect to see you with this crew. I laughed. These sorts of situations are where I’m feeling more and more at home.

It reminded me of a scene from the book I’m writing about my summer volunteering in Europe two years ago.

I sat around a living room in the hills of southern Italy with a group comprising my host and her son, who were Dutch expats; her Dutch friends, also expats in Italy; an Italian father and son; and a young woman who was another volunteer from Turkey.

What am I doing here? I remember thinking.

The feeling on this trip was the same.

What am I doing here?

For some inexplicable reason, these situations and the melding of worlds are what I love.

I’m from Los Angeles, yet San Francisco is a city that’s held a special place in my heart since I was a kid. Growing up, I was enamored by San Francisco’s rich history and sports culture, its mercurial weather and grit.

I spent countless foggy weekends up there during university with my best friends, attending music festivals and sports events. It was like a second home.

But being there now was strange.

Emotions came and went in waves; both the city and I have changed. It didn’t really hit me fully until the last day.

We were driving down south to the town of Santa Cruz for our final shoot at 6:30am. I fell into a nostalgic mood, appreciating dawn on the freeway, the golden sunlight, cold air rushing through open windows, coffee in the cup holder, its aroma filling the car, and no conversation, only the sound of the wind, each of us lost in our own thoughts or dozing off.

We don’t need to have the answers, I thought. Life doesn’t need to be perfectly sorted out.

Just appreciate this — whatever it is — as much as you possibly can.

No matter where I wander in this life, California will always be home.

Unfortunately my back broke down halfway through the trip, sending me into a rather heavy mindset I had to battle for the last few days.

I cried alone in the morning after breaking down, and to one of my best friends, Greg, on FaceTime, thirty minutes before I had to head to work.

The pain makes everything feel dramatic, and I think I felt a lot of pressure not wanting to mess up on this job. It all hit me: the complex emotions of being home, the pain, trying to make a good impression on this job, yet just trying to hold it together.

Something beautiful always comes out of these low moments, I told Greg, meaning it.

If I don’t see life this way, I’m finished. The challenge of living life while battling pain is just too much. I have to see the good in it, as difficult as it is.

I know that the pain is temporary, but I’ll carry what it’s taught me for as long as I live. The pain causes me to slow down. To be there. Breaking down asks me to surrender.

But it’s hard.

It seems like every time I try to move forward, my back flares up. It’s tough to handle physically, but even more so, mentally and emotionally. There’s so much good coming, I can feel it; but damn, this has been one hell of a battle.

Still, I carry on.

I’m proud to let life break me. I’m striving to find my path in life, my purpose; that’s why I put a lot of pressure on this trip. It felt like a significant step in my career. But the pain checks me.

It says: perhaps we don’t have some divine purpose, some higher calling, some accomplishment which will finally satisfy our inner longing. 

Perhaps our purpose is nothing more than to feel life deeply in all of its vicissitudes. I’m proud to laugh and cry and surrender to this unbelievable fucking lesson that the universe is trying to teach me.

If nothing else, it’s taught me to surrender to what we can’t control, and to feel. 

I’m back in Tokyo. Today was a beautiful day, clear and blue. I got out, explored a bit, and breathed deeply.

I’m proud to let life break me.
But I’ll never stay broken.
I just wanna make something beautiful out of all this.
So I got some paints
And a canvas and I
Walked through some trees.
As I did I felt them say,
Everything is gonna be okay.
Keep moving forth with faith,
Compassion for yourself and others,
And curiosity, and everything will
Work out as it’s meant to.