A change in environment can do a lot of good. Last week, Ayumi and I formally moved from Chiba Prefecture back to Aichi, closing the chapter on a 20-month period of personal discovery and development. Looking back at everything accomplished during this short span, I'm amazed at how much has changed. My anxiety is gone. My stutter has disappeared, along with the headaches. My vision has improved, as has my outlook on life. The cost has been tremendous in terms of relationships and time, but the outcome is undeniably positive.
However, there is always more to do.
Over the past few months, I've been struggling with various distractions that have called into question some of my plans for the near future. Should I leave my current employer to work at a startup? Should I quit tech altogether and pursue something different? Should I stop thinking for my employer and simply do as I'm told, saving my creative energies for personal projects? Questions like these run through my head constantly as I consider the implications of possible directions. Although it's just Ayumi and me at home, I still have responsibilities to others that cannot be ignored. A consistent income and traditional employment are still required. One thing is clear: I need to get back to basics.
These past 20 months have brought a remarkable number of changes and experiences in a short period. A parade of people, places, puppies, and priorities have come and gone, leaving behind echoes of our brief interplays. What has stood out?
Preliminary complexity encourages eventual failure.
Almost everything we do starts simple and gradually becomes more complex over time. This is true for friendships, cooking, and hobbies. When I was most anxious, it was because I was trying to avoid any sort of failure. Failure seemed to invite ceaseless criticism, both externally and internally. To avoid this, I often over-planned before starting anything, ensuring every potential outcome was accounted for—a form of paralysis.
As silly as it may seem, it was my dog that showed me how unproductive this pattern of over-analysis was.
Before picking Ayumi up from the pet store, I had already bought a cage, toys, towels, shampoos, food, treats, and a pair of leashes. Her name was chosen because I liked the underlying meaning of the kanji: 歩光 (歩 = Progress / 光 = Light). I was leaning towards a white Shiba Inu but also considering a larger breed, like a Husky. I researched the necessary paperwork to register a dog with the city and investigated the reputations of various pet shops.
This culminated in a trip to a Kojima pet shop in Adachi, on the outskirts of Tokyo. They had posted a picture of a young puppy that met all my criteria and were offering a respectable discount of several hundred dollars. Given that buying a dog or cat in Japan generally costs several thousand dollars, saving a few hundred is a good deal. I asked the store clerk numerous questions: Does this dog bark a lot? Does it play well with others? Does it appear aggressive when playing? I had written down a dozen questions to ensure my Japanese was understood. Eventually, the puppy came home with me, and life has never been the same.
I quickly learned that the detailed plans I had crafted were untenable with a puppy. Ayumi was not a machine. She disliked many things I was trying hard to implement and insisted, in her own way, that I make changes.
Over the next six months, I scrapped nearly every plan made before Ayumi came home. We started going out into the world with just a skeleton of an objective. A destination was decided, maybe a few waypoints along the way, but nothing set in stone. This level of flexibility required me to overcome the anxiety that had plagued me for a decade. It felt good to be open to the unexpected again. Our treks evolved from being about reaching a specific place to enjoying the journey itself. Sometimes we would leave for a 3-hour trip to a mountain park, only to stop at a riverside rest stop and spend the afternoon playing with other dogs and taking pictures. Other times, a "quick" walk around the neighbourhood turned into a 10km adventure because we met someone along the way.
Life has become unpredictable and interesting again. It doesn't need to be scheduled, regimented, or overthought, even if we're travelling hundreds of kilometres and sleeping in a tent](https://matigo.ca/2024/04/08/going-camping). While some things should be done deliberately, this is no way to conduct every day.
Ayumi has reminded me of the importance of getting back to basics. Although I still overthink and over-plan occasionally, it's much less of a problem now than last year. Hopefully, this trend will continue.