Written from Japan, January 2026
Christmas Day. Thirty-five minutes into a peaceful call with my 85-year-old father in the UK about returning home to help him. We’d talked openly about his needs, my possible return, and what that life might look like. Then I mentioned my dream motorcycle – a Yamaha Niken GT with two front wheels, something that feels symbolic of a new chapter if I ever return. His response: “Everyone will laugh at you. It looks like something you sell ice creams from. Definitely something you shouldn’t get!”
It wasn’t the comment itself; it was the reminder of how differently we all see the world. Of why leaving the UK 20 years ago wasn’t difficult. And of the question I still haven’t answered, even at my age: the struggle of living abroad vs returning home, how to balance belonging vs duty, and where I actually fit.
Table of Contents
When a Dream Becomes the Next Chapter
For me, the Niken isn’t about proving anything or appearing a certain way. It’s simpler than that. It’s excitement and freedom, and a hobby that feels like a gift to myself after years of being more of a dreamer than a doer. When I was younger, driving and riding motorcycles were a lot of fun. I’d volunteer to drive so friends could drink and go for drives on nightshift lunch breaks. I once went for a solo motorcycle ride to take a break from my own house party.
After twenty years in Japan only riding trains, bicycles, and tractors on private farmland, the Niken feels like something new. It’s about what it represents: a fresh chapter that isn’t just a repeat of my 2-wheeled past.
So when my father dismissed it, what landed wasn’t criticism of a motorcycle – it was that familiar feeling that some parts of me still don’t translate back home.
Maybe he still sees a version of me from decades ago, the one he didn’t quite understand, the one who didn’t quite measure up to his idea of what a man should be. Maybe the bike looks like an extension of that. I’ll never really know.
But the comment told me something: my spiritual alignment might still be here in Japan.
From the simple phone call, I felt misunderstood. Not devastated. Not furious. Just… reminded. That the things that make sense to me may look strange to others.
Is there something you want that doesn’t make sense to others, but still feels right to you?
Living Abroad vs Returning Home: The Return vs. The Repeat
Moving back to the UK wouldn’t just be a relocation, it might risk returning me to an earlier version of myself. That self-deprecating working-class narrative that lives in TV voices, pub jokes, and the national habit of expecting less from life “so you aren’t disappointed.” I’m not above it; I was raised in it. But I’ve spent years learning not to let that narrative limit my thinking.
Japan lets me think outside of the box. When you don’t speak a language fluently, you don’t overshare. There’s privacy in that. You get a kind of quietness to think differently. That’s one of the strange gifts of living abroad – and one of the reasons the question of living abroad vs returning home feels so complicated. When your language is limited, you live more internally. It’s actually been useful for me.
Returning to the UK could be meaningful. I could help my father. I could drive again. I could feel the adrenaline and independence of being back on the road – something I’ve quietly missed for two decades. But the risk is that I don’t just return. I revert. Or, I feel stuck and miss Japan.
What’s the difference between going home – and going back?
When Love and Logic Just Don’t See Eye to Eye
My father wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t trying to crush anything. He was being practical in the way his generation and upbringing taught him to be. I guess he values protecting against embarrassment, avoiding risks that look foolish, or how things might be perceived by others.
But, that’s not how I think anymore.
Where he sees impracticality, I see a next chapter.
Where he sees the risk of ridicule, I see the risk of stagnation.
Where he sees “out of the question,” I see a question worth asking.
Before the comment, we’d spoken plainly. No drama, no over-explanation from me. Just two people trying. I respected that moment. Maybe that’s why the dismissal stung a little and not because I needed approval, but because I hoped for a conversation, a question, or even just curiosity to hear my opinion.
Do you speak the same emotional language as the people you care about?
Where I Belong vs Where I’m Needed
Places have shaped me as much as choices have.
From Britain to the USA to Japan. Every move was an attempt to follow a purpose and evolve.
Japan isn’t perfect. Staying here without evolving could hollow out the life I’ve built. But returning could lead me back into a version of myself I’ve outgrown. That’s the problem with crossroads – either direction can go wrong. That’s the tension at the heart of living abroad vs returning home. One path carries distance from family. The other risks stepping back into a life that no longer fits.
If there was no guilt, I’d stay in Japan.
If there was no fear, I’d stay in Japan.
I’ve written before about being the “family outsider”. Not unloved, just living differently, and that thread runs through this too.
That probably says something. I’m still hoping for more signs from the universe.
No one prepares you for the age where choosing where to live becomes a moral decision.
Japan is where I learned to breathe differently.
The UK is where I might be needed.
Somewhere between those two truths is the life I haven’t chosen yet.
Where does your sense of belonging point – and where does your sense of duty point?
Everyone Has a Niken
In this post, a “Niken” is simply the name of my dream – the one that has two wheels at the front and doesn’t line up with other people’s expectations. Your dream probably has a different name. But most of us have one. It might be any ambition that sounds foolish to others. It might be any identity that confuses the people you care about.
Yours might look like:
- Going back to school at 50.
- Staying single when everyone asks why.
- Leaving a stable job for something uncertain.
- Moving away from your family, or moving back.
- Starting a business that doesn’t look sensible.
- Learning to live quietly in a culture that’s not your own.
Here’s a thing about our dreams:
Not everything that looks foolish is.
Sometimes it’s just ahead of its time.
Sometimes it’s just ahead of everyone else’s imagination.
What’s your Niken?
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Conclusion
I’ll see how things play out in the coming months. One school has already closed, although some students switched to online lessons. Family keeps me up to date (mostly). I’m hoping for obvious signs from the universe.
Maybe the next step isn’t a clear answer. The question of living abroad or returning home may take time to sort itself out.
If you’re standing at a crossroads too, you’re not alone.
You don’t have to explain your dream for it to be real.
If you’d like, tell me what you’re working toward.
If it doesn’t make sense to others, chances are it will make sense to me.
PS: If you’re curious about the Yamaha Niken itself, I keep a small website called NikenPeeps where I’ve documented my obsession, useful links, and why the bike matters to me. No pressure – just there if you enjoy rabbit holes.
