It feels like nothing at all. Perhaps even mundane to be living in one of my dream corners of the world. It is only natural.
I commute mostly by bicycle. A swift little fixie, colored like a shark. Paid extra for it to be label-free. It waits patiently under the bridges of Shibuya or in the creepy multi-level bicycle parking garages of the city. Every morning it’s sitting on my verandah and then we go. Off to the office, traveling with the rising sun, the rays in my eyes, no caffeine, and the chilly air in my hair. It is my companion. Sancho Panza with wheels.
Lately I’ve surprised myself. “Be a little selfish,” I was told. “Ah, so you’re a risk-taker!” I was also told, with glee. “Of course I have a lawyer, I’m an American!” I said, with indignation, hands on my hips. In the gaps between those three sentences is the story of how I quit my job.
Two days ago, as a direct result of that decision, I found myself on the roof of a mansion, being served wine and cheese, as the fireworks glittered above the dark ocean below.
I have worked hard to get here. And I will work harder to do more. The work never stops. That is beautiful.
There is a certain satisfaction to having accomplished these things alone. I am tough as nails. I am slowly becoming what I’ve dreamt or fretted was impossible. I am a cynic sometimes, between the hours of nine to five. I am surrounded by the love and support of so many. I am overwhelmed with love.
My heart, though, is a stubborn thing. It wants what it wants. Right now it is making my brain a little sad, wanting what it wants. Always wanting it all, timing be damned.
Timing is everything.
This is the only way I know how to feel. The only way I can be. Pedaling through the streets of Tokyo, heart pumping, alone, loved, unaware of the exciting moments, distracted by the flickering lights. This is me.
I’ll call it cautious optimism.