It's the last day of winter. A few minutes until spring begins.
I like reflecting and connecting.
One year ago at this time, I was sprinting down the road full speed in Tokyo, Japan, breathing as hard as I could, trying to catch the final train before midnight. I had been out celebrating my final day as a kindergarten teacher, completing my first ever true work contract with a designated time period that had to be completed. After ten months I was ready to spend my savings on one more freedom ride through my country. That's one reason I was running so hard, because I didn't want to spend $60 of that hard earned money on a taxi so I could get home and pack for my upcoming week-long trip around Japan before going home to America. I'd been out with my Australian friend, Nelson, drinking 333 beer from Vietnam and celebrating our freedom and the future. We were having a lot of fun, so I had to excuse myself at the last minute and sprint for the last train. It's not like New York where they run all night. The problem was that I didn't remember exactly how I got there, because Nelson had just started running full speed when he met me at the train station a few hours earlier, and I'd just run after him. So I kept running and running, and having no idea really which to turn except a general direction, and doubled back a few times, but eventually I saw the train station and seriously slipped through the doors as they were closing.
Then I opened a story about Teddy Roosevelt. I like stories. I was on the final three pages, where they were summarizing all of his accomplishments. He loved adventures, the wilderness, and making the world better as he saw fit. He preserved the Grand Canyon so humans like me could enjoy it in all its glory, like I had on Thanksgiving 2010, the last time I'd journeyed across America. Now I was about to do it again. I'd succeeded at my task, and now I could finally have an adventure in Japan before having an adventurous move to San Francisco. You could say I was searching hard core for my homeland.
I rested on the first day of spring and enjoyed my resumed freedom and imagined all of the beautiful experiences that would be ahead of me if I stuck to the approach and did my best to live out the plan, as open-ended as it may have been.
That evening I went out to dinner at an Indian restaurant with my friends Kadumi and Toshi. It had seemed like ages since we'd all had Japanese food together my first night in Tokyo, and now we were saying good bye, although I still had ten days left in the country. Kadumi told me to go Art Island, Naoshima, and stay in a yurt while checking out the Benesse Art Museum.
So I did. I got on the Shinkansen the next day, and I wrote about the journey before hopping a ferry, waiting two hours for a bus and finding a yurt. Then I talked to an architecture student from Harvard on the beach, and she told me my life would be so layered and rich because of all of my experiences that began with the journey to India. The next day I checked out several art museums in the rain, and then took the train to Osaka, which I hadn't visited yet. I'd already been to Kyoto twice, so that was good enough for me. Osaka is crazy with lights and canals and crowds and sounds. I stayed in one of those tiny little capsule hotels from the depressing overpopulated future, and spent as much time as possible out of that capsule when I wasn't sleeping.
The following day, March 24, I went up to Oku-no-in, a spiritual area called Koya-saan. It was very misty with many mysterious trees and shrines to the Buddha. I remember kneeling in one temple which had ten thousand lanterns, and no one else was there, not even a monk, so I just removed my shoes and meditated on where I came from, where I was, and where I was going. Then I returned to my little robot capsule in Osaka.
The next day, March 25, I tried to see Osaka Castle, but they had covered it with a giant sheet for construction, but the water around the castle was beautiful and sparkling with sunshine.
I woke up in a capsule on March 26, and finally decided to buy a new camera after losing mine at the beginning. I got my new camera, and then headed over to the Aquarium so I could see the biggest fish in the world, the whale shark. Then I got a train back to Tokyo, but made a quick visit to Hamamatsu to see what it was like. I tried to find this castle, but I got confused on the bus and instead found myself on the outskirts of town, but staring at an enormous moon smile. I looked around for a bus schedule and saw a sign that said in English, "Your Alive". Then another bus came to take me back to the station, and I got a train back to Tokyo.
The next day I went to Kamakura to see the enormous beautiful Buddha and get my passport kissed by the holy fool. I loved standing by the ocean, the Pacific Ocean, and knowing that on the other side was not only my homeland, but my new home, California.
On March 28th I had my final conversations with my older students, and then said some very difficult farewell's after speaking twice a week to many of the same humans, friends and students for ten months. Since my third day in the country, actually. I didn't know how to teach English until I got there and started with the beginning: a conversation. Finding out who we were, where we came from, and where we wanted to go. It turned into the most beautiful job of my life. Even so, I was ecstatic to be free and steering my destiny.
The next day I put the finishing touches on packing, which led to me discovering about $200 worth of change lying around, which we placed into large plastic bags with dollar signs on them and brought to the bank. Then I saw my friend play a great rock/blues show in this tiny tiny tiny little bar with New Orleans Jazz and Rolling Stones and Bob Marley posters everywhere, with absolutely beautiful and amazing Japanese musicians who understood the music that came from my homeland better than I did. They covered Bob Dylan and Neil Young and wore cowboy hats, and I almost didn't want to leave. But then they sang "Helpless": "there is a town... all of my changes were there. Blue blue windows behind the stars, yellow moon on the rise, big birds flying across the sky, throwing shadows on our eyes... leave us helpless..." I knew it was time to go home. I love the stars too much to live in the most populated city on the love ball. Even so, it was very difficult to say good bye to my new friends who I had just started getting to know.
On March 30th I got on a plane back to America and arrived in the City of Angels. The first tree I saw was a cherry blossom tree. I had been bummed about leaving Japan right before the blooming season, but I was right on time in America.
Then I flew to Austin, Texas, the live music capital of the world (supposedly), to see my oldest friends, my cousins Mike and Dan. Mike was getting married in two days. I slept in the backyard in my sleeping bag because someone was snoring too loud in the living room. It kind of set the tone for my 2012 America Journey.
Today I called Dan to firm up plans for his wedding this May, since I finally have a job and can afford to go.
Hmm... I guess it's the first day of spring now.
That's what I get for writing late at night.
Today I start a book about the greatest adventures I've experienced and the greatest lessons I've learned.
I think it's time to start running for the train. I'm not worried about catching it, because the future's always so confusing with all of its many roads to walk down.
But it feels good to run for a train.
You breathe harder.
It's more fun that way.
I like reflecting and connecting.
One year ago at this time, I was sprinting down the road full speed in Tokyo, Japan, breathing as hard as I could, trying to catch the final train before midnight. I had been out celebrating my final day as a kindergarten teacher, completing my first ever true work contract with a designated time period that had to be completed. After ten months I was ready to spend my savings on one more freedom ride through my country. That's one reason I was running so hard, because I didn't want to spend $60 of that hard earned money on a taxi so I could get home and pack for my upcoming week-long trip around Japan before going home to America. I'd been out with my Australian friend, Nelson, drinking 333 beer from Vietnam and celebrating our freedom and the future. We were having a lot of fun, so I had to excuse myself at the last minute and sprint for the last train. It's not like New York where they run all night. The problem was that I didn't remember exactly how I got there, because Nelson had just started running full speed when he met me at the train station a few hours earlier, and I'd just run after him. So I kept running and running, and having no idea really which to turn except a general direction, and doubled back a few times, but eventually I saw the train station and seriously slipped through the doors as they were closing.
Then I opened a story about Teddy Roosevelt. I like stories. I was on the final three pages, where they were summarizing all of his accomplishments. He loved adventures, the wilderness, and making the world better as he saw fit. He preserved the Grand Canyon so humans like me could enjoy it in all its glory, like I had on Thanksgiving 2010, the last time I'd journeyed across America. Now I was about to do it again. I'd succeeded at my task, and now I could finally have an adventure in Japan before having an adventurous move to San Francisco. You could say I was searching hard core for my homeland.
I rested on the first day of spring and enjoyed my resumed freedom and imagined all of the beautiful experiences that would be ahead of me if I stuck to the approach and did my best to live out the plan, as open-ended as it may have been.
That evening I went out to dinner at an Indian restaurant with my friends Kadumi and Toshi. It had seemed like ages since we'd all had Japanese food together my first night in Tokyo, and now we were saying good bye, although I still had ten days left in the country. Kadumi told me to go Art Island, Naoshima, and stay in a yurt while checking out the Benesse Art Museum.
So I did. I got on the Shinkansen the next day, and I wrote about the journey before hopping a ferry, waiting two hours for a bus and finding a yurt. Then I talked to an architecture student from Harvard on the beach, and she told me my life would be so layered and rich because of all of my experiences that began with the journey to India. The next day I checked out several art museums in the rain, and then took the train to Osaka, which I hadn't visited yet. I'd already been to Kyoto twice, so that was good enough for me. Osaka is crazy with lights and canals and crowds and sounds. I stayed in one of those tiny little capsule hotels from the depressing overpopulated future, and spent as much time as possible out of that capsule when I wasn't sleeping.
The following day, March 24, I went up to Oku-no-in, a spiritual area called Koya-saan. It was very misty with many mysterious trees and shrines to the Buddha. I remember kneeling in one temple which had ten thousand lanterns, and no one else was there, not even a monk, so I just removed my shoes and meditated on where I came from, where I was, and where I was going. Then I returned to my little robot capsule in Osaka.
The next day, March 25, I tried to see Osaka Castle, but they had covered it with a giant sheet for construction, but the water around the castle was beautiful and sparkling with sunshine.
I woke up in a capsule on March 26, and finally decided to buy a new camera after losing mine at the beginning. I got my new camera, and then headed over to the Aquarium so I could see the biggest fish in the world, the whale shark. Then I got a train back to Tokyo, but made a quick visit to Hamamatsu to see what it was like. I tried to find this castle, but I got confused on the bus and instead found myself on the outskirts of town, but staring at an enormous moon smile. I looked around for a bus schedule and saw a sign that said in English, "Your Alive". Then another bus came to take me back to the station, and I got a train back to Tokyo.
The next day I went to Kamakura to see the enormous beautiful Buddha and get my passport kissed by the holy fool. I loved standing by the ocean, the Pacific Ocean, and knowing that on the other side was not only my homeland, but my new home, California.
On March 28th I had my final conversations with my older students, and then said some very difficult farewell's after speaking twice a week to many of the same humans, friends and students for ten months. Since my third day in the country, actually. I didn't know how to teach English until I got there and started with the beginning: a conversation. Finding out who we were, where we came from, and where we wanted to go. It turned into the most beautiful job of my life. Even so, I was ecstatic to be free and steering my destiny.
The next day I put the finishing touches on packing, which led to me discovering about $200 worth of change lying around, which we placed into large plastic bags with dollar signs on them and brought to the bank. Then I saw my friend play a great rock/blues show in this tiny tiny tiny little bar with New Orleans Jazz and Rolling Stones and Bob Marley posters everywhere, with absolutely beautiful and amazing Japanese musicians who understood the music that came from my homeland better than I did. They covered Bob Dylan and Neil Young and wore cowboy hats, and I almost didn't want to leave. But then they sang "Helpless": "there is a town... all of my changes were there. Blue blue windows behind the stars, yellow moon on the rise, big birds flying across the sky, throwing shadows on our eyes... leave us helpless..." I knew it was time to go home. I love the stars too much to live in the most populated city on the love ball. Even so, it was very difficult to say good bye to my new friends who I had just started getting to know.
On March 30th I got on a plane back to America and arrived in the City of Angels. The first tree I saw was a cherry blossom tree. I had been bummed about leaving Japan right before the blooming season, but I was right on time in America.
Then I flew to Austin, Texas, the live music capital of the world (supposedly), to see my oldest friends, my cousins Mike and Dan. Mike was getting married in two days. I slept in the backyard in my sleeping bag because someone was snoring too loud in the living room. It kind of set the tone for my 2012 America Journey.
Today I called Dan to firm up plans for his wedding this May, since I finally have a job and can afford to go.
Hmm... I guess it's the first day of spring now.
That's what I get for writing late at night.
Today I start a book about the greatest adventures I've experienced and the greatest lessons I've learned.
I think it's time to start running for the train. I'm not worried about catching it, because the future's always so confusing with all of its many roads to walk down.
But it feels good to run for a train.
You breathe harder.
It's more fun that way.
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