Well, it’s finally here: After months of planning and weeks of relentless struggle and heartbreak, I’ll finally be on my way tomorrow morning. Assuming the taxi turns up, and there’s no screw-ups at the airport, of course. It’s always unwise to underestimate this country’s ability to scupper the best-laid plans, so until my bum is firmly ensconced in seat 50K bound for Tokyo, I think my blood pressure will remain at the “High” setting.
I feel a bit in limbo at the moment. Not quite here, but not there either. I truly don’t know what’s waiting for me in Japan. I don’t know what will happen with the business over the next 6 months. I really am flying by the seat of my pants; risking absolutely everything on a wing and a prayer. But whatever happens, it’s sure to be an adventure – and the adventure of a lifetime at that.
I keep questioning myself over my motivation; why am I doing it? Why, at 46 am I not content with slippers and the 9 to 5? The truth is, I don’t really know. There is something inside me that just keeps driving me on. I don’t know what I’m searching for, or even if I’ll know when I find it. But search I must. One part of me really yearns for the stability of the unadventurous, the provincial; craving only routine and the certainty that nothing will ever happen to upset that cosy, safe existence. But there’s no way I could ever live like that; I’ve always pushed further, reached higher and dreamt bigger than my contemporaries. Perhaps foolishly so.
I think the force that overrides the inertia of my passive side can be simply summarised: I want to able to say on my death-bed, that I really did seize every opportunity to experience life; I really did take every chance to learn and grow and expand my mind to take in as much of this crazy world as I could. If attaining wisdom, becoming a more experienced, capable, benevolent and understanding human being is not the goal of life, then I have indeed been a fool. However, I have a hunch I won’t be proved wrong in the end.