The Thoughts We Rarely Admit
Observations from two decades of Japan life, from the nuances of teaching and farming to the comfort of a small home and everyday routines.
Yesterday, I cycled to work in the pouring rain. At 56, it felt both liberating and slightly absurd. Part of me felt like a happy kid. Another part wondered if this is “failure to launch.”
Some mornings at 4 AM, walking to 7-Eleven, I have a conversation with something larger than myself. It is not formal prayer. It is just acknowledging that I have enough for today.
At 3 AM, I wasn’t awake from stress. I was awake because I am addicted to hope. At nearly 60, I am still chasing dreams instead of sleeping. Is this healthy optimism or just avoidance?
Even with friends, there is a hidden cost to constantly “adjusting” ourselves. Solitude is the only time we can stop performing. Here is why I crave the silence of the farm.
People say we are “rich” if we have a dream, regardless of our bank account. But sometimes I wonder if that is just a story we tell ourselves to feel better about living paycheck to paycheck.
For 20 years, my wife was my reality check. When she left, I lost my mirror. Now, 552 days into living alone, I have to perform my own daily audits to make sure I haven’t disappeared.
I have lived in Japan for 20 years. I have a 567-day Duolingo streak. Yet, I still panic at the tax office. Here is the complicated truth about why I am not fluent.
I caught myself rushing through my morning walk, calculating how soon I could start being “productive.” Even my free time felt like something I had to justify. When did being busy become a badge of honor?
We have a bad habit of ruining good moments. We say “That was nice, but…” and immediately worry about tomorrow. Here is why you need to stop talking yourself out of feeling good.
