I LOVE TO run on fresh, wintry mornings. I haven’t done so in a while. Yesterday, I ran along the train tracks at 5 am, chasing after the full and pale morning moon. The humidity was brutal after about an hour, and I thought to myself, well, it only gets better from here.

Autumn, winter and spring in Tokyo, running through the city.

But the Japanese summer has got the better of me. After three intense months, I need a breather. I’m itching for the crisp late-autumn air. An exhale.

I need to see my family and friends to recharge after much time alone in my head. So I’m going back to Los Angeles to have some fun.​

The travel day begins.

When traveling, all you gotta do is get there. Enjoy the ride. This is the beauty of travel. It’s an excuse to just be. You don’t have to do anything, even though it’s tempting to do with all of the downtime while on the move.

In the moments on the train, in the airport, and waiting in lines, I don’t put pressure on myself to do anything. I don’t have to write and I don’t have to read. I can listen to music, gaze out of the window, and watch the world go by for 24 hours if that’s what I want.

I’m inspired right now, man. I’m excited. I’ll turn 29 while I’m back home in early September. It’s safe to say that 28 was the most challenging and transformative year of my life. I fell apart, as it was time to build a new foundation.

I’m confident that 29 will be the best year yet. I’m strong and secure in me and where I’m at. Full of joy and love.

I arrive at the airport, and after a seamless experience at the front of house (check-in counter, security) I have ample time to wander the international terminal.

By the way, there is a caveat. If I want to read or write during this time, I may, just for fun.

What do I feel being here?

I’m home in Tokyo. I don’t know what that means. I don’t know how to explain it, but it just feels like I’m on an adventure.

It’s almost like I feel at home in this international terminal. Both because of what the terminal is, and what it signifies. Leaving one place to go to another. We’re more connected than we realize, our fates entwined.

I walk back and forth from the furthest gate at one end to the furthest gate at the other. I’ll be sitting for a long time soon, might as well get the steps in. I pull off from my walk and write. I observe.

People from all walks of life pass me by. A thought arises, and then gone, both the human and the thought. They’re no longer in my life, unless we’re on the same plane? And then who knows?

But we’re in this place together, removed from normality. People run past me to their gates. Babies cry in the strange jungle gym area amongst the pervasive scent of strong perfume, which drifts like morning fog from the sea of luxury shops.

I peruse comics of Pokémon and Dragon-Ball Z and then pick up a travel book on Japan, The Roads to Sata, by Alan Booth, in which Booth tells the tale of his walk through Japan from Cape Sōya, the northernmost tip of Japan on the island Hokkaidō, to Cape Sata, the southernmost tip of the country on Kyūshū.

Why did Booth write this book? Because, like me, he craved an experience — for him it was walking the entirety of Japan. I’m excited to see how this book influences me.​

A woman just approached and asked if I’m on the flight to LA, which apparently I should have boarded already. It made me pause, even though I thought I had another hour at least. No, not my flight.

Maybe I seem lost, wandering the terminal back and forth. Yet as a poem goes in Lord of the Rings, not all who wander are lost. I just wanna wander. I was fighting this. When it all comes down to it, that’s what I wanna do right now.

My experiences wandering make me who I am. New sights, people, and ways of being. And then sometimes I’ll wander home and be reminded of who I was and where I come from.

That kid is still a part of me, and it’s strange and beautiful to feel that your life is changing, that the things you thought you knew are shifting. It’s wild to feel yourself growing, the seams of your past ripping away that no longer serve you.

I love being home, yet when I’m home, I realize that I’m not meant to be home forever. That’s when I feel the need to reembark and lose myself again.

It’s tough. I think this created some of the pain I’ve felt for years in my body. I have this intrinsic longing to experience the world, one I can’t fight anymore. Yet that means leaving home. It’s always sad to say goodbye. But I’ll always return.​

Been going through highs and lows for a long time because of back pain, which I now know represents everything I’ve been fighting in life.

Now that I’m coming out of that, I feel like the lows won’t dip so low, and the baseline of what I can handle will rise. I’m truly starting to understand myself. I’ve learned so fucking much from the pain. From this path. It’s led me here.

I’ve learned who I am, and who I long to be.

The pain has caused me to live with my heart on my sleeve. I’ve made it this far; things are changing. It’s seldom clear or straightforward, but the path is mine, and it’s led to the international terminal feeling happier than I’ve been in so fucking long.

Now it’s time to board.

Tokyo, be well. I’ll be back soon, hopefully when the autumn leaves are beginning to blaze. I’m dancing through the terminal, because it’s a glorious day to be alive.

I guess I gotta just keep going, because it’s about to get good.