In one week, I’ll be turning twenty-nine years old. It’ll mark one whole year in Japan and my second birthday over here.

I came over to Japan with minimal expectations. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

I think it’s impossible to not have expectations.

But moving to a rural island that’s a fair clip away from the main islands of Japan itself? I knew I’d be bound for a different sort of experience than many in the program.

Twenty-nine years old arrives with the year of twenty-eight delivering more harrowing moments than the last five years combined— at least that’s how it’s felt.

There was a comedic routine of knockdown blow, stand up, rinse and repeat. All without the support you’d expect if you were back at home.

There’s a wry nod I’ll give to this past year. I know much of the lessons I’ve learned will stick with me. The raw ache of loneliness in winter. The doubt. The confusion. And of course, the mountain of grief from a stream of events that felt like the universe checking off a list of back loans I was due to pay off all at once.

Harder still, to recognize a bitterness that was born out of a simple, yet profoundly powerful hurt. And that only through gratitude and interaction would it disparate.

I can’t pretend to have an ongoing handle of any sort of accumulated wisdom. I think the lessons we learn ebb and flow as we make our way through life. What poignant teachings in one season, may prove dull rehearsals in the next.

I don’t know what twenty-nine has in store for me. But certainly, it won’t be lacking in adventure if history has anything to show me.