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A Year In Atlanta: Home, Community, and Work

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Magic Is Something You Make

My journal cover exclaims, “Magic is something you make.” It has been a year and a week since I returned to Atlanta. The moments I recorded in my journal attest to the magic and mayhem of my making. The past week in review speaks to the efforts of the year. On Tuesday, April 11, 2023, I led 15 hungry cyclists to my favorite Indian restaurant in Decatur. That Thursday, I added a third bookshelf to the collection at my townhouse. On Saturday, by dumb chance and good luck, I spent an afternoon sailing Lake Lanier with friends. Finally, I joined local Bike Grid enthusiasts for a slow roll up Peachtree Street Sunday. The magic is ON, and I continue to cast a few designs forward.

Bikers Can Boat

On April 11, 2022, I shipped my collection of old journals and mementos from my ex-boyfriend’s apartment in Tokyo to my mother’s home in Tucker. Shortly after that, at customs & control in Narita, I turned in my Japanese residence card. Then, with both anxiety and goals as carry-ons, I set off to my hometown. My three-prong goals for Atlanta were: to make a home, participate in the community, and to do meaningful work. Here are my thoughts on a few critical magic milestones from this return.

1. Home

For the first five months of my return, I took up a garden-facing room at my mother’s house. Over the pandemic and in Japan, I had longed for an oven. Beyond that, my ideas of home were transformed by my experience going from a 1,100 square foot house (Bluffton, South Carolina) to a 200 square foot efficiency (Suginami-ku, Tokyo). The Atlanta I returned to was (is?) in a white-hot housing market. Things were expensive and going fast. I wanted something cozy and inside the perimeter.

Eventually, I bought a townhouse in a Chamblee-area community to store my books and souvenirs. In this complex, I can hear birds chirp from nearby woods while I drink coffee in the mornings. On the grounds in the rear of the property is a park that follows a creek that later connects to more water. This place is a great place to get my footing.

2. Community

In pre-COVID Tokyo, I was part of a thriving international community of ex-pats. My social silence grew as our gathering spaces and social outlets diminished post-Pandemic. I missed eavesdropping in the grocery line and making conversations with strangers. On returning to America, I looked forward to creating and being in community again.

Desi Decatur Ride

Through a CouchSurfing(CS) event last summer, I made friends with a group of the Atlanta cycling community. Through group riding here, I have found another sort of home. Atlanta by bike looks different. I began to appreciate the nitty-gritty needs for cycle infrastructure. On the Beltline, cruising through the newly connected areas of Atlanta, it is much easier to see historically underfunded areas in the grip of gentrification. My cyclist amigos share a sense of civic duty. We made good chit-chat with a city official on our Sunday ride. As we deepen community relationships through fun and advocacy, I suspect I will continue to appreciate the new takes on Atlanta.

 

 

3. Meaningful Work

When I left the US in 2017, I was tired of the direct services legal work I had been doing in southern Georgia (across the river from Bluffton, SC, where I lived at the time). Thankfully, the sabbatical from law practice (and respite from Trump) brought me a new way to examine my professional capabilities. From there, I found joy in teaching, coaching, and consulting.

Along the Beltline

Time in Tokyo also transformed what I dared to envision for Atlanta (granted, Atlanta may never be as progressive. It sits in red Georgia, after all.) Upon my return last year, I started attending seminars at the intersection of housing and justice. I volunteered for a conference where I met GSU Professor and Housing Scholar Dan Immergluck and got a copy of his book Red Hot City. Atlanta’s car-centeredness points to the complex interplay of transport, housing, and access. In another seminar, I crossed paths with an old Atlanta CS friend who was Dan’s student and just finished his master’s in urban studies. At such a seminar, I learned about the movement to Stop Cop City. Finally, through the right partnerships, I feel lucky to have identified work for a community-based small-scale developer in Atlanta bringing affordable housing to under-developed parts of the city.

4. Tough Stuff

One of the most challenging parts of my move has been the saga of my journals. Since age 7, I have intermittently written words in journals to deal with life, changes, and reflections. In Tokyo, I took on the task of reading and notating about 25 lbs of handwritten diaries. Unfortunately, those journals I sent from Japan last year did not make it to Tucker—thanks to the US Postal Service. Then, to add salt to the wound, my family lost three generations of jewelry in a burglary from my mother’s home around Christmas time. As I figure out how to carry these losses, I am grateful that I can still appreciate what is in front of me now.

Boats or Bikes?

From my complex’s backwoods, we can eventually get to Briarcliff Road. My family has lived on various parts of this road during our 30+ years in Atlanta. If you take Briarcliff Road and travel on it south, you can eventually see the changes brought about by the Beltline. In a sense, I rode back home without knowing precisely what it would bring.

Opening up to a breeze can refresh your room or your life. The capacity to restore is at the heart of my beliefs and hopes about home. To live as you dream requires determination. It helps to have supporters and to build in community. Reflecting on the intermittent roller coaster of the last year, I feel blessed to have found a warm sense of community. After long perseverance, I am engaged in work that I believe makes the world a better place. Finally, as I continue my personal mission of flourishing to the bounds of my human potential, I hope to make more time to write and share as I organize, educate, and empower.

Fun with Flowers

Italy in the Rear View, Reminiscing to Fully Enjoy Travel: Part 3 of 3

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Teatro Alla Scala: Closed

In early March 2020, I found myself unwittingly in Milan as the pandemic lockdowns began there. I completed a three-week adventure through southern Italy, and Milan was the last stop on my way back to Japan. My former beau and I flew from Sicily to Milan on a Saturday, the last day domestic flights were allowed into Milan. Two days later, we were meant to fly to Tokyo. Those strange and glorious days left a memorable impression. Many other tourists had left Milan when the city-wide lockdown took effect. As we toured the city on bikes, Milan felt quiet and subdued. At that time, I had no idea that cross-border travel would become much more difficult. Three weeks after I arrived in Tokyo, the U.S. Embassy there sent out an ominous message asking Americans to either leave Japan or plan on staying in Japan indefinitely.

Take My Breath Away, Amalfi Coast

 

During this pandemic, then, I have been doing less suitcase packing and a bit more contemplation. I am grateful for my past adventures within this window of less moving. I mindfully re-live and rejoice in old travels. I am convinced that this capacity to feel gratitude is directly related to our ability to enjoy life in general. After my most meaningful trips, I am grateful for new experiences, intriguing trinkets, new human connections, and the chance to learn a new perspective. For me, this is the third way to enjoy travel fully. As I reflect and reminisce on travels past, I appreciate: (1) moments of surprise, (2) physical mementos, (3) human connections, and (4) perspectives gleaned. This after-adventure pause, with mindful gratitude, is a life-affirming practice.

Shortly after I returned to Tokyo from Italy, the Japanese began to take the pandemic seriously. I was asked to work from home. Social events went on hiatus. Restaurants closed early. Bars were completely shuttered; music venues went mute. With nowhere to go for a while, I reflected on my glorious Italian experience. I had planned well and found flow in my time in Italy. Now, I was in my third phase of travel joy: the remembrances.

 

1. Cherish Moments of Surprise

On this trip to Italy, I traveled with my British beau (the first boyfriend to join me abroad). On a few occasions, I observed our styles were different. I could eat at any time; he seemed never to get hungry. Eventually, Italian food broke his restraint. But our first (and only) spat during dating was based very squarely on the capacity to enjoy the moment.

Boat Joy

After insisting that we should watch the sunset from the island of Syracuse (as opposed to returning to our Airbnb so he could send emails), a tense yelling match ensued. Finally, we agreed. We would NOT leave before the sunset. After this, he bought me a truce-gelato, and we walked along an ancient bridge toward a marina in the old town. By pure luck, my eye caught a boat captain rigging a small vessel to take out into the water. I inadvertently smiled at the captain, and he smiled back. Then, he signaled us over to join his voyage. In retrospect, this unplanned boat ride was one of the highlights of our trip. After our domestic tension, a boat ride was just the salve we needed. The captain was taking another couple around the island and into a few caves. We luckily tagged along. This memory ended up being one of our favorite moments. It reminded us how important it is to keep the eyes and the heart open during travel (and also in life).

2. Momentos & Knick-Knacks

Over the years, I have moved between many homes and apartments. Carrying about your things is an excellent reminder that less is more. When I travel, I tend to pack light. As a minimalist, I have become much more selective about the trinkets I bring home. From significant to small, my main criterion is that the item is relevant to the local culture. Eiffel tower key chains do not meet my definition. In some places, a sticker feels more appropriate than a knick-knack!

No Pineapple on Pizza
Reading Materials
Feminist Health
Amalgamation

Naples Takes Art Seriously

One of my favorite things to pick up is local art. In Italy, there is no shortage of local arts and crafts. In Naples, hip street art adorns dilapidated buildings. Along a pedestrian path, we saw an artist selling her watercolor paintings. Both my boyfriend and I loved the style of her work. He purchased an image for each of us. Her work was unique, and I began to follow the artist on Instagram. This way, I could see the artist’s progression and keep a loose connection with our chance encounter.

Mermaid Floating in Frame

On the day before our return to Japan, I also picked up a pair of suede boots in Milan. Each time I wore them in Tokyo. I was grateful for the small splurge. Now that I am in Atlanta, I have framed my Napoli mermaid with blue and gold. In this small way, I remember my adventures. Both the boots and the art were chance purchases. Still, they have now morphed with meaning. It reminded me how lovely it was to prance around Italy before the pandemic changed our world.

 

3. Human Connections

“Do not talk to strangers” is easily the worst advice I have ever heard. Whether traveling, at a networking event or doing mundane errands, I love chatting with people. Many former strangers are now my friends. I believe each individual holds some unique perspective within them; it is a matter of talking through their reservations. Thus, when I travel, I become slightly more extroverted. I want to connect with locals and hear the inside scoop. In some instances, even after I have left a place, some of those human connections keep me in touch with an adventure.

Our Dinner Came from a Generous Heart

A caring stranger met us at lunch on our last full day in Milan. For our final restaurant meal in Italy, we went to a back-to-basics lunch café. Handmade pasta and simple ingredients with a classic feel were on the menu. As we chatted with the waitress, we learned we were her only foreign tourists in the last two weeks. We expressed our surprise about the lockdown and learned from her that restaurants in Milan would be closed after that afternoon. Our waitress inquired about the amenities at our hotel. She was genuinely worried about what we would have for dinner. On our way out, she gifted us dinner to go. She separately packed a container of pasta, marinara sauce, and fresh basil to prepare at our Airbnb. Her kindness and dedication left a warm glow. I followed her restaurant on Facebook afterward. Unfortunately, the café ended up closing down during the pandemic. But her act of kindness left long reverberations.

4. The Exchange of Ideas

The most important reason I love to travel is that I return to my `default` life with a changed perspective. For example, I learned a whole new way to live in Tokyo. For the first time ever, I found city living enjoyable! My quality of life was enhanced by being car-free. My lifestyle with a smaller home and more recycling was more sustainable. I left Japan eager to reform American car bloat and with a desire to promote pluralism through better design.

 

War Torn and Proud Naples

 

While my visit to Italy was much shorter, I still left with new ideas about thoroughly enjoying life. Naples, for example, was war-torn after WW2 and yet, it still holds on to the pride of its days of glory. Buildings partially destroyed stand tall. Graffiti, murals, and posters decorate and scream with fight and spirit. In the small town of Sapri, I noticed how couples walked the promenade in the late afternoon. They elevated the act of watching the sky change colors dressed in their Sunday best. In Milan, though restaurants were closed, Italians could not be separated from their pizza. A line of cyclists’ couriers waited for takeout orders in front of pizzerias.

Sweet Memories

This practice of keeping good memories in the front of our minds is a key to getting through tough times. Nostalgia, recollection, and appreciation can be a nourishing afterglow of travel. I have often noticed that good memories are essential for keeping us upbeat. In many moments, my moods ebb and flow. Having pleasant and meaningful travel memories makes looking forward to better days easier. Between frequently depressed people and those more resilient to the changing tides, I notice this capacity to reflect and enjoy the past. It is a practice I have keyed into and one I aim to hone.

 

Thank you for reading. May your travels also bring you sweet recollections.

The Joy in Planning an Adventure: Fully Enjoying Travel, Part 1 of 3

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As I prepared for my first solo road trip in over 5 years, I found joy in browsing Google Maps for good campsites. I wrote out a packing list. I cleaned and tested my camp stove. Later, when I gathered and checked off my list, I sorted my supplies by *uses*. The joy in preparation ignited my musings from a previous post; I reflected on how to distinguish a casual weekend vacation from a deep purpose-driven trip. One difference I find is that meaningful travel is something of a treat. Like romance, there is a tingling feeling in anticipation.

Hammock Time. A key motivator on the Blue Ridge Parkway

If you let it, one adventure can bring three entirely separate ways to appreciate and relish meaningful travel. A well-curated trip elevates the experience of travel; the trip becomes more than a physical adventure. It becomes a treasure trove for the psyche. I will explore these three separate ways to find joy in meaningful travel in a three-part series. These are the special joys in: (1) planning the trip, joy in (2) staying present in the moment of travel, and (3) later reflecting on those moments.

The planning and anticipation stage is the first component of enjoying a trip. Here is the difference between that quick drive-thru meal on your way home and going to a special, reservation-required restaurant. You consider several reviews, pick the ambiance, and the cuisine, and set out the right outfit. You were excited in advance and then chose a complementing bottle for your meal. Then you find the right nook with a vista to sit and enjoy your moments with glee. To dine for a special occasion, then, is to relish with anticipation, take in with appreciation, and then reminisce. The whole experience can be cherished by setting aside space for enjoyment.

Lining Up the Goodies

In the planning stage of an adventure, I start by thinking through the contours of a trip. What shape, in the best case scenario, will this trip take? The Container of my travel includes the big W questions:  where, what, who, and why details of any destination. This naive planning stage is one of my favorite parts of travel. Here we are full of anticipation and opportunity to make a dream come true. A clear idea of what you want from a trip creates the space for the imagination to dream up and fill in the colorful details.

 

For the contours of my recent road trip, I knew the first W. I was leaving Atlanta to get my dose of nature. The WHY was that I missed hanging under trees. Hence, the WHAT: I brought with me a hammock. On this road trip, I intended to see my cousin in Maryland. Thus, my route for natural beauty was calculated with her home as an eventual endpoint. I had about one week free, so I developed a rough itinerary of stops, balancing driving times with full-frontal green being.

What do I need?

As you plan a meaningful trip, consider your W questions: Will you pick a wide container? Or a tall one? The foundations of your adventure plus your imagination get you enjoying your travel even before you have begun. For me, the big questions and considerations go roughly in this order:

  • Why are you going? What are your main motivations? What do you want to do?

For example: do you imagine storefronts to shop? Do you need it quiet to relax? Or craggy mountains to explore? Perhaps you are on the hunt for a particular flavor.

  • Who will you go with?

Another key parameter is who will you travel with. As I am very used to solo trips, it takes a bit more adjustment to include loved ones. Soon I will take my mother and step-father on a city adventure; I need to consider good pit stops while street strolling so they can cool off and recharge. When I recently went to DC for a family member’s wedding, my nearly two-year-old niece, Jenna changed the very shape of our trip to DC. My family juggled planned outings with mandatory nap times for the little one.

  • Where will you go?

This to me often ties into #1. If your why is to relax, perhaps Thailand is calling your name in the form of beaches and massages. If your time away is to indulge your history hobby, perhaps Colonial Williamsburg is appealing to you. For Cajun cuisine set against a jazz background, New Orleans might be the right tune.

If you are a bit bookish, there are so many joys that come from getting a good background scoop pre-adventure. Many great travel guides will have a historical or political context primer. My family once traveled to Turkey during the middle of an internal civil rebellion. We didn’t do much research beforehand and it took us by surprise when we ended up in the middle of a protest on the Asian side of Istanbul. I would not recommend that to a novice traveler.

  • Time-related questions: When? And how long? This consideration is key for festivals, and seasonal activities.

The contour and agenda of a trip are entirely shaped by how much time you have. For example, when I wanted to see India, I knew a week or two was not going to cut it.  I spent about five months backpacking the country over a decade ago; it was great. I would need at least another year before I covered even half of the states.

If you are into a seasonal activity, remember the opposite hemisphere has an opposite season. For example, summer in the USA means wintertime in Australia. These considerations are important if you are trying to catch a ski or sweat. The cherry blossoms in Japan bloom only in early spring.

  • What will you do?

All this thinking ahead can be exciting. The caveat is to avoid being overbooked on a holiday. I try to balance plan and openness with the parameters in mind.  For example, as I learned the hard way, if I were to return to Cusco and want to hike the Inca Trail, I will need reservations well in advance. But the meals and city strolling, I would keep open to adjustment.

Long rolling vistas. Check.

As I reflect now, my solo road trip went well. I find myself giving thanks for thinking through the elements of my drive. I am pleased with my plan. Because I had no unexpected items missing, I had no irritating Walmart wanderings. I had extra water, dish soap, and even a plastic bag to collect trash. As a result, I enjoyed a glorious sense of autonomy and nature reunion. I enjoyed the feeling of self-sufficiency camping in remote places. The preparation portion took about 10% of travel time, but it made hiccups on the trip easier to manage.

I encourage any traveler to think through their excursion. All good journeys require a bit of wiggle room. Still, that is no excuse to show up ignorant and ill-prepared. The very anticipation of the destination is the beginning of enjoying your travels. Happy plotting.

Musings on Travel

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Meaningful Travel or Boredom Vacation

Between leaving my birthplace and growing up in Atlanta, I had a five-year residence in Tanzania.  From Canadian birth to my green years in Dar-es-Salaam, I lived on a trajectory that continues today.  Between studying abroad and my international roots, it looked natural to travel from place to place.

Pondering

I had little say over my early childhood moves, but I can trace some purpose behind the effort in these recent ones.  Japan was both the fruition of a lifelong ambition and a stepping stone.  I had always imagined living abroad.  America under Trump was (and continues to be) damaging to the global image of this country.  I felt my time in Japan served a professional and personal purpose.  I presented a perspective that was both American and unique at the same time.  Being based in Tokyo opened my eyes to healthy urban and car-free living.  I also learned from the experiences and interactions with a global community of expats. Of course, Tokyo was also a great place to explore other parts of Asia.

While initially, I traveled with joy, during this pandemic, it feels a bit self-indulgent and exhausting.  The purpose and style of travel have a lot to do with it.  If I am traveling just to tick off a list, it seems a bit slimy.  I would love to go prancing around Paris, but is there a purpose to it?  I once traveled to Morocco, where I ate only fancy hotel omelets because I was scared to try the street food.  How about the all-inclusive resorts of Mexico?  I am not sure that Cancun resorts even qualify as the real Mexico.  Even that moment when you roll off the tourist conveyor belt and buy a cold $1 Corona, this little introduction to Mexico seems like an impoverishment of the country and culture.

I suspect people travel for many reasons.  Some, involuntarily, others with ambition.  Many for an escapist vacation, and some for adrenaline fueling adventure.  Casual travel lately is getting a bad name.  Wasteful jet fuel consumption and Instagram-location-whoring aside, can there be any reasonable justification for voluntary trips nowadays?

In special situations, travel provides an opportunity to expand our humanity.  This, for me, is really the most compelling reason to travel.  If you take your 5th trip to Oman and jump between luxury hotels and canapés, I wonder what you bring home.  While the Four Seasons can introduce a local herb to your cocktail, heart-expanding travel includes smelling leather hides treated with human attention.  This kind of experience can differentiate between objectifying a culture versus connecting with others.

I can see a lot of what happens in travel nowadays as an extended spending spree.  Instead of partying with fancy cocktails in a big American city, you can drink in a foreign capital with the same socio-economic class.  Travel, now, seems like an indulgent extension of consumerist capitalism.  Is there a limit to living for the `gram?  How do you balance the potential for deep, meaningful travel with blind indulgence?

I look forward to any other travelers willing to share their insights.

What motivates your travels?

Welcome Back to America: Between Begonias & Construction

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“Where are you coming from today?” she demanded.

After so much anticipation on my return visit to America, the ICE officer’s tone was the opposite of what I expected from my first conversation. Going into secondary inspection immediately after arriving in America felt anticlimactic. After nearly two years of staying in the same country, I was so excited to visit America that I hadn’t considered any letdowns.

A tiny ikebana celebrating garden finds.

I explained myself to the lady: I have lived there (Japan) for four years. Ok. What do you do there? I am professor. What do you teach? Law. Japan is pretty safe, isn’t it? Yes, it is. Why is your bag so heavy? What is this? Pointing at my stacks of books. Do you have more than $10,000 USD cash in your bag? No. I wish. How much in yen do you have? About a $100 worth…. And then she looked through my carry-on purse too. She thanked me afterwards, as if I had any choice.

As I exited the terminal in Honolulu, I passed through the remaining lines without clear procedure and around clumps of confused people. I see already that I have become accustomed to Japan with her clear, demanding arrows to process human chaos.

“Where are you from?” is a loaded question. Do you mean “where was my body immediately before this?” “Where do I live now?” The origin of my ancestors? I often want to ask as a counter question, “What is it to you?”

Though I consider myself an open book, I have a special sensitivity to that question. I would love to think about this question, and could answer a sincere questioner with deep thoughts. However, most people who ask this question, “Where are you from?” are NOT actually interested in my origin story, my theory of self, or my immediate life situation. Some people are actually asking, in their own way, “What are YOU doing here?”

Thankfully, I stayed in the homes of friends and family during this pandemic. Familiar faces and a base of understanding! A few warm people can still show kindness despite valid fears about the pandemic. Inside these homes, I saw loved ones coming to terms with adjustments in their internal life. Realities have changed and attitudes with them.

And everywhere outside, everyone has new neighbors. In each place I stayed, from Hawaii, to along the western and eastern parts of Canada and the USA, residential home construction has accelerated. I found myself cautiously saving another great view in my mind’s eye in case it soon changes into a construction site. In due course then, I will get the chance to inquire, “Where are you from?” Except that, I want to hear all types of answers.

 

Biking By Shinjuku Station

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About four years ago, I boarded a one-way flight from Atlanta, Georgia to Tokyo.

Today, I fly out of Tokyo (after two COVID vaccines and one negative PCR test) and make my way to visit folks in the Americas. I will return to Japan in some months but still feel nostalgic leaving this place. Despite the Olympics debacle, urban life in Tokyo is surprisingly enjoyable. As a sweet ‘see you later’ I took a friend for fancy high-tea at the Peak Lounge last afternoon. We arrived by bike and parked just across the Park Hyatt. From the 42nd floor, the city sprawled in all 360 degrees around the three pyramid topped towers. We luckily caught a glimpse of Fuji-san as the sun was setting.

              This last evening in Tokyo epitomizes what I love about life in Japan. My daring blue mamachari has been my most reliable companion. After tea, we biked into Shinjuku to see the holographic cat outside of the JR east exit. Though I was biking around the world’s busiest train station, it felt refreshingly care free. Cars are cautious, and a few bike lanes exist. Compared to the United Sates, it is an absolute joy to move around in Japanese urban areas. Here, there are sidewalks, greenways, and crosswalks throughout the city. I have the choice to walk, bike, or use excellent public transport.

              Since I have been here, I cut my self-free from the responsibilities of car ownership. For 3 years, I biked from my apartment to work. The 10-minute morning cycle ride through Suginami-ku included two blocks of street traffic closed off to cars and made available for elementary and middle school students walking to school in the morning. The quintessential backpacks, cute yellow hats, and chatter put me in the right mindset for work. After teaching, I often headed to Inokashira park. The ride there was pure bliss. I pedaled along the Kanda River greenway which has one side reserved for pedestrians and cyclists. As I biked west, on one side was the river, and all around me, a near canopy of trees and flowers.

              The American cities I grew up in and lived in were always car based. Invariably, this made for urban challenges. I once tried to live in Atlanta without a car. As a pedestrian, I sometimes had to walk on tiny shoulders on busy main streets. There were inattentive SUV drivers that endangered my life on every prosaic walk.  As a law student in Baltimore, my experience driving was not much better. The Wire’s portrayal of Baltimore crime is spot on. After searching for directions on Google maps, I had to be careful not to park nor stop in dangerous neighborhoods. Property theft and car vandalism were common in the Inner Harbor area.

              Here in Tokyo, when I don’t bike, I can easily hop on the train. As I explore a new area, I know that I can roam free. I can be certain there is no risk of mugging, nor any need to be over vigilant for my belongings. There is a liberty in physical safety that is totally new to me. As a frequent traveler, this sense of security is transformative. I can enjoy the leisure of getting lost without worrying about my physical safety. It is immensely freeing to focus my mental energy on enjoying a place and becoming absorbed in city life. I notice the bonsai trees on tiny front yards, the torii gates before a shrine, and over-the-top window displays at boutiques. Without worrying ‘do I look lost?’ I can lean into a fun exploration of my surroundings. Anywhere I go, I can always count on a bus or train later.  I am confident that even from unknown neighborhoods, I will eventually make my way home.

              After nearly four years in Japan, I am convinced moving here in 2017 was one of the best decisions I have ever made. While Americans dug into their political partisanship and Trump helped push America to its darkest days, I knew I need a break from America. At the same time, I had little idea of what I would find here.  I wrote a piece for Verge magazine describing my minimal knowledge of Japan, but my enthusiasm for new experiences. Then, I did not know the magic of Tokyo. Being here has given me insights into myself, my adopted country, and the Americas which I watched carefully from abroad. Living in Tokyo has inspired a whole host of ideas on what city life can be. I hope that American car-focused cities look east for some inspiration.