Yesterday, I received a New Year card from a friend. Holding it at year's end brings a sense that everything from this year has gently settled, worthy of revisiting—though I'd like to turn back a bit further, starting from the year before last.
2022 marked a significant turning point for me. Exhausted in both body and spirit, I left the workplace, only to return this year. Over these two years, I've spent much time asking myself and friends what they truly "love." That "something" takes many forms—it could be work, a living space, a hobby like painting, or devotion to children.
This reflects my own inner confusion: What do I really love, and what do I want? From work to various hobbies and skills I've mastered, being good at something doesn't mean I love it, and vice versa. And loving something doesn't guarantee I can sustain it long-term. Love, aptitude, and sustainability—these combinations always confound us.
Throughout these years, what I've done most is explore and set life goals to achieve. One of them was walking the Kumano Kodō. I had visited this ancient pilgrimage route five years ago, but on the second day, I got lost and ended up taking a ride from the guesthouse owner straight to the destination. It became a lingering regret.
In 2023, I returned to the Kumano Kodō with friends. We chased cherry blossoms at season's end, experiencing together what remained unfinished from before. We visited the cafe owner who sheltered me in the heavy rain, took photos with the guesthouse's pet sheep, and enjoyed the packed lunch the owner prepared for us along the trail.
When we finally reached Kumano Hongū Taisha, I thought I'd be moved to tears. But I wasn't. The moment I checked off an item on my life's bucket list, what I felt was a calm yet lingering complexity—joy tinged with bewilderment. But I'm grateful to have accomplished this with like-minded friends. Without reaching Kumano Hongū Taisha together, I would never have experienced this intricately woven emotion.
Through these years of various attempts, I feel I'm gradually getting to know who I am, like turning the pages of a novel. Except the protagonist is still on the journey. Even as some mysteries unravel, the ending remains unknown—much like the experience of staying at Kamikura-Hideaway. Travel, bouldering, even the random conversations at Ganlu Coffee in Toucheng—to me, they're all forms of self-exploration.
As 2024 comes to a close, if I ask myself again: What kind of person am I, and what do I love? I still don't have a simple answer. But I certainly understand myself better than I did two years ago.
Receiving this New Year card truly warmed my heart, and I'm genuinely happy for my friend. I know he has another project—designing his own T-shirts. Seeing this designed card that merges his interests makes me realize: we're all on the path of seeking ourselves. That self's outline is always blurry, but through creation and practice, we gradually move toward that ideal contour—whether by changing our future outline through experience, or by transforming our present selves to match our ideal outline.
And now, the new chapter of 2025 is about to begin. The next page remains blank. Perhaps there's an outline in mind, perhaps not—but that won't stop us from embarking on a new journey. Along the way, we might encounter earth-shattering waves, or simply appreciate the pale blue wildflowers by the roadside.
Either way, when we meet again in some city or village in the world, let's share our stories once more.