I sometimes forget in the midst of daily life— that I’m halfway across the world from my home. The realization will catch me unaware like a toddler jumping down steps to frighten a sun sprawled cat. I forget that everything I’m doing has an added layer of difficulty to it. There’s a completely different language and culture I’m operating in— and even mundane tasks can feel immense at times.

A week ago homesickness caught me like a sledgehammer to the guts. Knocked off my feet like a cartoon character slammed by a rubber mallet.

I’ve spent a decent amount of time considering what I want out of this experience— as well challenging myself to consider I’m keeping my scope too narrow.

This is not a realm where perfect answers exist. All you can do is reflect on what brings you joy— and where you add the most positive contributions to society.

One of the reasons I came to Japan was to close this nebulous gap inside me. I had a deep rooted belief that I had to push myself so immensely far out of my comfort zone, that by the time I’d return, I’d have a solid lock on what I want to focus my energies on. Easier said than done.

I live on a breathtakingly gorgeous island where there are historical sites that stretch back before A.D. was a thing. There are shrines that stake their claim as some of the oldest in Japan. Spots where humans have been going for a couple thousand years. That’s an incredible thing to get to experience.

As I navigate over here I ask myself “what do you find yourself thinking of most?” and it’s an easy answer. I think about spending time with my friends the most. Out of all the things that have come from moving across the world— not being able to spend time with my friends in person is easily the worst part. But it makes me grateful for all the time I’ve had— and the time I hope to have again in the future.

In many ways I came to this island to experience the transition from loneliness to solitude. To find my center and feel settled for the next steps that life will bring. It’s therapeutic to sit on a tatami mat and consider the path that’s taken you to this moment. There’s not much room to hide on an island where you stick out like a neon pony.

While you’re on a grand adventure— you realize that you had forgotten you were already on one. I know that sounds like some two A.M. stoner guidance— but we often forget our mortality— taking things for granted and assuming we have more time than we do. We do it because facing our mortality is fucking terrifying. Sitting with death is not an encouraged practice in our society— and there aren’t many tools for the average person to handle it with. One of the biggest parts is that it’s natural. It is an intrinsic part of life that we will eventually die. It is what makes everything sparkle— because by nature— it’s finite. That’s what makes it special.

The fear— the fear is us forgetting that we are not separate from nature. We are not separate from the rest of the universe. What we are composed of is the same material as the sun and the stars. We will change shape— but we will not be destroyed. Death is simply a transition we don’t understand. But that’s okay— it’s not the job of the living to understand it. That’s the vaulted task of the dead.

This mortal clock plays heavy on the theme of homesickness. It coincides with feelings of gratitude— and the irrepressible joy that we get to exist (if just for a little bit).