We exited the crowded subway car and burst onto the platform, filled with energy and excitement. “Shibuya, Shibuya!” This district buzzed with possibility. Beyond my wildest dreams, I found myself wandering around Tokyo.
Lured by brilliant lights and tasty smells, we wandered the alleyways and streets. I introduced my friend to Mochi for the first time and really enjoyed the “authentic” version of the desert as well. Ultimately, we found ourselves at the foot of Tower Records in Shibuya, one of the largest record stores in the world.
My colleague and I travelled to Japan to attend one of the world’s largest robotics
conferences. Half the trip focused on pleasure (sightseeing) and the other half focused on business (the conference). The unplanned third half revolved around my own personal ghosts and regrets.
Roughly two years prior, I completed my masters degree and wrote a paper that was accepted into a different robotics conference in Japan. I wanted to go, but wound up skipping it for a few reasons: the dates conflicted with the start of my new job working at “the dream” startup and I was a bit of a mess. I got caught up in a hectic startup life and lost contact with some truly wonderful people. I wondered if any of them would be at the conference this year and how I would break the ice as I flipped through the stack of records.
Among the vinyls, I saw a blend of Japanese artists and artists from home. I hunted for a unique souvenir, but ultimately selected the tourist-trap album. I loved it anyway. Since we lost track of time, I quickly purchased the record and we dashed to the station to take the last train back to our hotel in Shinjuku. The next morning, we caught the Nozomi Shinkansen bullet train to Kyoto.
Far from the bright lights of Tokyo, Kyoto felt like an entirely different world. Steeped in history with many palaces, temples, and shrines dotting the Kyoto landscape. I felt at peace wandering around centuries-old districts. I rarely find such tranquility and mental presence in urban environments; I normally find my best moments of clarity immersed in nature. The ancient timbers supporting the decorative arches reminded me how insignificant my triumphs and failures are in the grand scheme of things. I often dwell on my mistakes and second guess my decisions, so I found this thought absolutely freeing. I need to be reminded about this more often: there’s nothing to lose and nothing to prove.
Eventually, the vacation time ended and the conference began in Yokohama. We exchanged our tourist mindset for the corporate engineer. The conference was fantastic, and I was able to reconnect with some of my old lab mates from graduate school.
I also began to confront the reality that my current path may no longer be the right one for me. I initially accepted the job offer at a rough time and I committed to working at this particular startup with a chip on my shoulder due to a chain of events that broke my heart and I lost faith in myself. Many posts over the past two years on this blog reframed these events in multiple ways, trying to compose a nice story that would fit within some grand, cinematic narrative. Sometimes I struggle to accept the lack of a script; shit just happens that I cannot control.
Since then, I have thrown myself into my work, tested my limits, and rebuilt my self-confidence. I have had many high points and low points. Now, especially after turning 30, I need to reassess my trajectory and take the next steps to build the life I want. Traces of this thread have filtered through my mind for the past two years or so, but I hid behind the excuse of being too busy with “important” work. After recent health scares for family members and the passing of a dear friend’s dad, my perspective and priorities shifted rapidly.
Yet, it took many months, a trip halfway around the world, and many misty early morning and late night walks through Tokyo for the truth to seep through in brief moments of clarity. Now is the time to let go and finally make the changes I need to make.
It’s time to ask the world to dance.
