THE SUN IS SETTING on my time in Osaka; a page is turning. Throughout December, my last month as an English teacher in Japan, I did my best to cherish the lessons, the last days of work, the connections made.

I’d seldom sit there in rapt enjoyment, but I tried to be present with love for everything my first job in a foreign country had given me over the past fifteen months.

It moved my life across the world, the most meaningful leap in my story thus far.

Teaching English opened my heart and has brought me into the orbit of countless individuals I’m so glad to call friends. For that, I’m forever grateful.

I’ll miss the one-on-one classes with human beings I’d never have the chance to talk to if not for this job. We’d mull over our weekend plans and interests and what we like to cook; sometimes, if the language barrier wasn’t too thick, the stones would fall which obscure who we are, and light would shine through.

One of my favorite weekly conversations was with Hiro, a man twice my age. In our last lesson I told him my plans; I told him about who I am. His eyes ballooned and he laughed heartily.

Maybe my mustache made me look older, but I took his surprise as a compliment.

I’m a writer — I told Hiro. I gotta experience life in Tokyo.

Go for it, he encouraged me, smiling.

I’m thankful to be in the position where people smile when I tell them my age and what I long to do. Or they look at me not exactly smiling, but perhaps reflecting on their youth, seeing something of themself.

Maybe it’s regret they feel, a wish to turn back time and do it over. There’s a sort of pressure I feel, too. I have this dream of who I can be, my ideal career and lifestyle, a path I redefine every day in which the sun rises and drenches me in slightly more clarity. I want to give it my all. I want to get it right. But is there such a thing as getting it right?

There’s only human experience, no two the same, no one correct; yet to experience we must try, and in that we discover a bit here and a bit more there, and then one day looking back, we may realize that we got it right — we lived. We made it to where we are now, with the chance to get it right again.

Within the individual pages of our lives there are chapters, seasons, decades; in those seasons our experiences relate.

In our twenties, we dance the fine line between youth and adulthood, freedom and responsibility, adventure and security, wisdom and irreverence; the endless array of choices of things we’re supposed to do are daunting.

Maybe that’s the misconception about our twenties: It’s the chapter of our lives when we’ll likely have fewer responsibilities than we’ll ever have again — but that doesn’t make them easy, exactly.

It makes them unique, foundational. Our relatively few responsibilities, coupled with energy and health if we’re lucky to have these things provide an opportunity to make drastic life changes we likely won’t be able to pull off as easily with the responsibilities which accrue as we get older.

Life is lived in seasons.

Each has its sun and rain.

I seriously look forward to a more steady life where I know who I am with my feet firmly in the ground; where I have a partner to journey alongside and kids to share in what makes this world so beautiful.

But I have a long way to go.

I’m building my foundation, one that I hope to establish from the fullest breadth of experience I can muster. Our twenties, our thirties — this is the time to throw caution in the wind and take the chances that we feel in our hearts we must.

These are formative years not because we’ll succeed as a hungry entrepreneur, find our soul mate or party every weekend hangover free.

They are formative because if we act as the student, using our twenties for learning and growth and adventure, we’ll fail. We’ll feel pain and in that, wisdom. We’ll grow to become the person we’re ultimately meant to be, the person worthy of the success we dream of, whatever that may be to you.

It can feel like there’s this tension between what our twenties and our thirties are supposed to be, and what, for countless, they really are.

In theory, we’re supposed to be the healthiest we’ll ever be, the most carefree; but should that make it the best time of our lives? Our twenties don’t have to be the best time of our lives — let’s take the pressure off.

It actually seems things really get better as we get older. Obviously that’s different for everybody, but I love hearing it gets better from those who seem graceful, content with where life has led, no matter how complex that journey has inevitably been.

Hopefully we continue to learn, let go, improve and find meaning in more profound ways.

I’m looking forward to that, but shit, I’m twenty-eight.

These are the years to discover what we’re made of.

Since graduating from college in 2017, I’ve devoured guidance from books, podcasts and lectures; I’ve learned from the writers of Stoicism and other philosophies, as well as from historical figures such as Anne Frank and Viktor Frankl, true heroes who were nothing more than human beings who underwent the unimaginable in the 20th-century and still, still, composed a beautiful existence through the power of their thought and the resilience of their spirit.

I’ve learned that we’ve forever sought one thing above all else, and that is meaning. That’s what it all comes down to — our quest for richness, depth, love and fulfillment in our lives. These things make life, whatever it comprises, matter.

Meaning can, and likely will, be garnered differently in each season. We may look to the natural world to understand this, how its constant change makes us feel.

Perhaps in autumn meaning comes as stillness and warmth, the poignant color of blazing hills. In the winter, meaning comes in rest and contemplation.

In the spring, meaning comes from letting go and flowing; in the summer, meaning comes in productivity, the energy of sunlight and the glistening strength of the sea.

I’ve learned from my own experience and from the wisdom I’ve gleaned that meaning will often come not from seeking happiness, but from overcoming difficulty.

The podcasts, books and wisdom I consume are, for the most part, reflections from those who have made it. Now, they share what they’ve learned with those like me, hungry for direction.

Those I look to are mostly in their mid to late thirties, some older, some younger. On the surface they’re successful; from the outside looking in they’ve made it through their trials by fire, and now they may divulge the hardships that made them.

Of course they still are dealing with shit — but from my limited insight into their lives, they’ve defeated their demons.

That’s why I look to them: I long to know if the fight will be worth it.

There isn’t just one route through hardship, and there’s no guarantee that it will make you better in the end. Many of us don’t make it through whatever we battle without being burned. Some don’t make it through it at all without being totally consumed.

On a podcast, it may take two or three hours to discuss the most painful season of one’s life. But living through that season could last for a year, a decade, half a century.

My partner in crime, Gregory Benedikt, and I started The Dare to Dream Podcast to show what it’s like not just looking back from the other side of the fire, but dancing in the flames.

I’m talking about two different kinds of challenges. The first is the self-imposed struggle of going for your dreams, working hard at something, striving to find your true place in the world.

It’s a privilege to have these problems, for it’s the adventure in the unknown that the CEOs and athletes and doers and shakers relive with glinting smiles. They miss them, for the meaningful adventure of a worthwhile challenge, I believe, is the point of our youth.

It’s on that journey where we forge, become, and earn who we’re ultimately meant to be. But we don’t see that. We see successful people who have made it through the desert and think we’re doing something wrong if we’re struggling, not where we expect to be.

We think these years should be easy because that’s how it seems on social media; everybody else seems to be crushing it, when we only see the best of each other’s lives.

Underneath the surface, beneath the facade of many an Instagram, lies the truth, that it’s fucking hard just keeping it together.

The second kind of struggle might be self-imposed, but it’s often given to us by some unforeseen force. It’s pain. Suffering. Catastrophe. Illness.

I haven’t been through any real catastrophe, no unexpected illness or life shattering events; still, my twenties have been both meaningful and formative because they have been difficult.

I battle with chronic back pain which came about seven years ago after an injury. It hasn’t stopped me from pursuing my dreams or from doing some of the things I want to do physically — but I do them, more often than not, while in some degree of pain.

I’m usually just riding it out, but every so often I break down completely.

Like many out there, I live with chronic pain every day of my life. As an athletic teen I never expected it to be me, but it is, and my striving to heal has provided the greatest lessons I could possibly ask for in my youth.

We are all going through something, no matter how it seems on the surface. We have or we will, and that can’t stop us from living our lives.

I don’t enjoy writing about my pain, but it’s real, and I know it’s valuable, and I pray it helps those who need these words.

Through dealing with this, I’ve proven to myself that I’m resilient. What does that mean? Not that I’m tough or unfazed, but the opposite. This challenge has wrecked me over the years. It’s brought me to my lowest lows, feelings of sheer hopelessness.

But I’m here.

I wake up every morning and I try again, no matter the trials of yesterday.

I’m currently proving to myself that if I can pursue whatever I’m meant to do in life while navigating my path to healing, there’s nothing that can stop me. More than that, if I can stay grateful and joyful irrespective of my pain, then nothing can destroy me.

Every day, the pain wants all of my attention. But I have other things to worry about: my future, my aspirations, all the blessings I have. That’s what I choose to focus on. This life is a proving ground; my spirit will forever shine.

Six months ago, I found the first realistic answer in seven years to get me out of chronic pain.

Brendan Backstrom and his Back Ability Blueprint have shown me that there is a way out. It’s a journey that takes patience, dedication and faith. But for the first time in my twenties, I have genuine hope.

For the past couple of months, when considering my next steps post teaching, I oscillated between two ideas. One was to go home back to LA to be with my family and dedicate myself one hundred percent to healing my back. Then, once healed — maybe in a year — I could continue this adventure.

My other option was to use the time I have left on my three year Japanese visa to go for it. Tokyo beckons, and I don’t know if I could live with myself if I didn’t give it a shot, here and now.

I recently came across one of my favorite writers and thinkers, Douglas Murray, on the podcast Modern Wisdom.

Murray and the host Chris Williamson discuss a speech given by C.S. Lewis in 1939, titled “Learning in War-Time.”

Lewis says:

It’s a bit pretentious for our modern day, yet this powerful excerpt from one of histories greatest writers and theologians would surely fire me up if I was a British lad in the audience, wondering how to go about my life at the outbreak of WWII.

It wasn’t that exactly, but Murray’s next point, which gave me my answer. He says:

Going home to heal was enticing; I’d be with my family, and perhaps I could expedite putting this pain behind me. But I’ve proven to myself that I can heal while pursuing my dreams in a foreign country.

I’ve seen countless professionals over the years, yet Brendan is the first that has actually been in my position. He dealt with years of chronic pain and turned it around through direct lower back training.

Years ago he was destroyed, just as I’ve felt countless times. Athletics were and continue to be his life, and when that was taken away without any clear answer of how to recover, he felt completely lost.

Now he’s training for the Olympics while changing the world with his empathetic, practical philosophy.

I still have a far way to go. But I’m not going to stop, no matter where I am or what else life presents. I have no choice but to heal, and to live.

I dream of the day when I can once again play sports and train pain free. I dream of being strong and carefree, better than ever before. I know I’m going to get there, but I won’t stop living in the meantime.

That is, I believe, what our twenties are for.

Living.

My love of life burns so strongly, my passion for people, my faith in the human spirit; I know I’ve been given this challenge for a reason, like Brendan, because I can handle it. We’re made for the challenge, built to overcome whatever obstacles we face, for we are human, and human beings are miraculous creatures.

I gotta give Tokyo a shot.

I have to continue on this path I’m on with the faith that things will happen as they’re meant to. I have to pursue the life of my dreams, carrying with me my pain, my healing, my joy, my love, my darkness and my faith.

I know, I fucking know it so deeply, that one day I’ll look back on my season of pain from the other side of the flames, imparting that within our struggle is the meaning of our lives, that within our challenges lies our destiny.

But right now, I’m in it. These words are for me, too, to help me through. I don’t know exactly when I’m going to be out of pain — none of us know with certainty what the future holds.

We have where we are at this very moment. We have what we feel; we have what little we can control, which is our attention, our aim, our courage, our love. We have today, and only today.

It’s another morning, a chance to write and tell my story.

It’s a chance to do something kind to a stranger or a friend.

It’s another opportunity to see the sun, and the blue, endless sky, as if for the first time.

That’s all this could ever be, a chance to live, no matter the season you’re in. So go — live your life with all the courage you possess; timing will never be perfect to do what you’re meant to do.

There’s no time to waste.