by Carson Reynolds
I am now a resident of Tokyo.
Having only been off the plane for a few days I find myself either flotsam or jetsam for swirling crowds. A constant litany of sentences moves through my head: stay on the left while walking, say 済みません (not ‘excuse me’), and try to internalize your new home.
December found me saying goodbye as if it were a new occupation.
In between I saw Iron and Wine, read The Push Man, Gang of One, as well as Kafka on the Shore. The holidays found me gliding across the white sands missile range toward my parents’ new mountain home. Whilst there I managed to sneak in a side trip to Hueco Tanks. I talked some other bouldering kids into letting me tag along and on-sight No One Gets Out Alive (V2). Time was short though, so it was really only a scouting trip. Next time I will come back with a crash pad and some time to kill.
I didn’t feel any different when the New Year came and didn’t resolve much. Marshall saw to it that my time in Boulder and my last days in the states were full of the necessary nostalgia-inducing items: a breakfast of hashbrowns, an evening of beers and thumb-twiddling, a rainbow trout, a dawn with my bags at the curb.
But now I am looking ahead. I have a new wallet for a new life. Instead of having yen clumsily poking out of my tired billfold and change clinking aimlessly in my pocket, I now have a new wallet that says “producing district is the world.”