I’VE LOVED AUTUMN since I was a kid. The other seasons are rather distinct: summers at the beach, comprising late nights and barbecues. Winter’s framed by memories of crunching snow, piercing sunsets and frigid city nights.

Spring’s the start of something new, a breath of nourishing air.

Autumn’s my favorite for nights like this.

I come out of the train station on a Thursday night and notice the paved black road, glistening with rain.

On my walk home, I listen to the sound of rain on a tin roof: da da da da da. The air is fresh and clean, and I watch the falling rain beneath a yellow streetlight, aglow with static like an old film.

Summer’s in the echoes of yesterday, a page burnt in the red flame of autumn leaves. Winter’s in the light of tomorrow; but now, now, now is all there is.

Autumn asks us to listen, really listen, to what’s within and all around us.

We seldom stop to perceive the extraordinary improbability of our world. We rarely appreciate what we have until it’s gone.

Autumn’s a reminder to not take life for granted — regardless of if this moment hurts or if it’s everything we could ever hope for — to be where our feet are.

Cherish this season.

In the morning, I lay in bed considering the past week. The stars of my existence alight as I think back on what I’ve learned and done.

The stars are those salient moments, feelings, experiences, relationships, ideas, failures and victories, which connect in a way that only we can understand.

Reflection causes those stars to glow, fashioning the constellation of our soul — our Life Energy. 

Studying nature and the seemingly quotidian world fills me with awe. The recognition of this is a star that’s integral to who I am, where I long to go, and the joy I found as a kid, enamored by a rainy day.

Through the darkness of an empty sky, my appreciation for our world converges with another star, a moment, an experience, seemingly unrelated.

But these things are related.

Early in the week one of my best friends, Morgan, sent me an anecdote from the exceptional writer, Robert Greene, on The Huberman Lab Podcast.

My brother didn’t know it, but thinking of me and sending that quote provided the inspiration for my entire week.

Listening to that podcast — which is awesome — encouraged me to reflect on a book by Greene, Mastery, one of my absolute favorites.

Each of these little decisions — for my friend to send the quote, for me to listen to the podcast, and to then look back into my notes on Mastery — are stars blinking in empty space, producing Life Energy where there was nothing before.

I know this because each of these actions gives me energy, moving me in a direction.

It may take years, even decades for our constellation — our Life Energy — to take full form; yet every time we take a chance on ourselves, listen to our heart over the noise or dig a little deeper, the stars burn brighter.

It isn’t a straight and narrow path which defines who you’ll become. You don’t discover your life’s purpose and hit the ground running towards the future.

It’s an extremely gradual process full of mystery, frustration and exploration.

“You want to learn as many skills as possible, following the direction that circumstances lead you to, but only if they are related to your deepest interests,” Greene writes in Mastery. 

“You avoid the trap of following one set career path. You are not sure where this will all lead, but you are taking full advantage of the openness of information, all of the knowledge about skills now at our disposal. You see what kind of work suits you and what you want to avoid at all cost. You move by trial and error. This is how you pass your twenties.”

“You may settle on this one place or idea for several years, accumulating in the process even more skills, then move in a slightly different direction when the time is appropriate. In this new age, those who follow a rigid, singular path in their youth often find themselves in a career dead end in their forties, or overwhelmed with boredom. The wide-ranging apprenticeship of your twenties will yield the opposite — expanding possibilities as you get older.”

We’re here on this planet to bring our Life Energy to fruition, making the constellation of who we are shine as brightly as we possibly can.

We try things related to what we are genuinely interested in. We move, we explore, we have fun and we fail.

But we never give in to the pressure to conform; if something doesn’t feel right, we leave. If we continue on the path to understand our Life Energy above all else, one day, our soul will become lucid enough for us to say, I truly know who I am.

 Even when it’s dark, even when the world is painful, even when I feel alone — this is me.

I will shine through anything.

To understand our nature, we must look to who we were before the world tried to make us what we’re not; this is difficult, as playing a role may often result in an overt display of success.

Yet even if the world tells us we’re progressing, that doesn’t mean we’re cultivating our Life Energy.

It’s not what the world says, but how we feel — a visceral sensitivity in our heart and soul. 

Sometimes it’s subtle — a sense of peace in the morning instead of angst. Sometimes it’s overwhelming as laying in the sea, drifting with a mighty current.

Either way, we feel something.

Even if things don’t make complete sense, it just feels right.

In Japan, I feel moved by this tide of emotion nearly every single day; the feeling in my body is unexplainable.

It’s Life Energy flowing through my being, watered by the light of the moon, the inspiration of a foreign environment, the connections I’ve made and the tides of my character generating.

I don’t know exactly where my path is heading, and I’m okay with that. I’m here in Japan because I’ve followed my intuition to get out into the world; now that I have, stars are aligning which I can’t comprehend.

In the final days of autumn, before the trees go bare, the mountains blaze in crimson and gold. On the train looking into the distance, we gaze upon the forests, not the trees; when walking through the woods we notice the trees, not the leaves until we saunter close and ponder their individuality.

This past weekend I had a wander in Osaka.

Unlike in the forests, when an autumn leaf drifts beside buildings of steel you notice each one like a drop of rich paint on an artist’s empty palette; each leaf is not just one amongst an endless forest, but a mountain of its own, a wave in a silver sea.

I love autumn leaves in the city; I haven’t sought them out like I might when going for a hike. Rather, they become a part of the environment, adding color to the daily, depth to the commons.

That’s autumn: coming and going amongst unexpected beauty.

Like us, the fallen leaves carry something, even when caught in a sewage grate or barely clinging to a branch in a park. They make me stop and wonder.

I rise with the sun to pen these words, for the fluttering autumn leaves have inspired thought, and the notion that I must share these thoughts regarding nature and Mastery and purpose instills in me a will to live.

Our Life Energy is that very desire to get out of bed in the morning.

I have my doubts, just as much as anybody.

I have my fears and worries, my pain; but I’m curious, insatiably curious about what my spirit longs to say, what this constellation could become if — despite the inevitable setbacks that come from being human — I just kept looking for the stars.

I urge you to do the same:

If you could do anything, what would get you out of bed in the morning time, after time, after time, regardless of if the world noticed? 

I did a calligraphy class last weekend, an experience I’ve wanted to have since my interest in Japan began to bloom years ago.

Black ink and newspaper laid strewn across a table in my friend Kauru’s matcha shop, Osaka Chakai. My sensei Shiho Imagara is a master, and I was very lucky that Kauru — who’s like my Japanese mother — arranged this lesson.

In her artwork, Shiho San uses a matcha chasen, the bamboo whisk, as a brush; this is her fingerprint upon the cosmos.

For my first character I chose Life Energy, feeling it encapsulates all the emotions we bear: anger and elation, pride and courage, melancholy and wit, all resounding from the same soul, the same wave, the same red burning autumn leaf, drifting against the wet grey pavement of a lonely city road.

This was a day before Mo sent me the quote from Robert Greene, which sent me on this train of thought. This character spoke to me.

I pushed the black ink of a bamboo brush against a thin veil of parchment, drawn with a unique style and force. I slashed my signature besides the characters of Life Energy, Spirit, and Dragon, representing the coming year.

It’s all connected. It has to be. 

Embrace the journey to know who you are, with every ounce of will you have.

It doesn’t happen overnight, and it won’t happen without effort. Yet if we remain tenacious and aware, cultivating our Life Energy should be the greatest adventure of our lives.

As I’m writing about Life Energy, I have to replace the ink of my pen.

I’ve had my pen for years; my heart’s in the now dry ink; my search for what makes this life worth living is in its need to be replaced.

Active Life Energy, made manifest in the unscrewing of the cap and the satisfaction that provides. It means the tool’s being used, the spirit drawn, not stagnant but growing — the words scratched on the page are seldom clear, nor is my path forward; yet the constellation’s impossible to ignore.

I look to it, sprawling in the vacant night as I replace the ink and ask the question:

What makes me who I am?

The sun has risen. The constellation fades; the words on the page come to life as I put down the pen and step through the door, eager to face another day.