Trip Notes: In My Life

Out into nature with old friends.

It wasn’t deep wilderness—just a large park in Tokyo. Still, the faint scent of trees drifted through the air, and before I knew it, my breathing had naturally deepened. The light had already begun to fade, and a fairly cold wind was blowing. Like children, we gathered dry leaves in both hands and gently set them on fire. The flames rose up with a roaring sound, like an eager puppy bursting into life. Once the fire spread to the logs, it settled down like a well-trained horse. Under the cold sky, in the darkness, we were given the gift of warm light. That alone made it feel like the world had changed completely.

Time moved slowly, flowing with us. We grilled meat and vegetables over the fire, seasoned only with salt. We took turns playing songs that meant something to each of us, laughed together, and kept talking about things that seemed either meaningless or meaningful—no one really knew. Sometimes, we even talked about truths of this world. We fetched water, tended the fire, and took our time brewing hot coffee. As I sipped it slowly, watching the flames, my glasses fogged up and my view turned white and blurry. I felt like I had slipped into another world.

One of my friends played “In My Life” by the Beatles. The nostalgic intro and warm vocals felt like they wrapped around the entire space we were in. I remembered hearing that song from the cassette player in my father’s car when I was a child. My father, sitting in the driver’s seat, was quiet and shy, but always kind—like the moon. My mother, who usually sat in the back seat, had suddenly passed away from illness a year ago. She was always cheerful and got along with everyone—like the sun. I never really knew where we were heading, but the car carrying the three of us just kept moving forward. It felt like we were driving with no destination, and at the same time, like we were simply going home. Part of me wanted to arrive quickly, but another part of me wished it could stay that way forever.

Crack! The red-burning firewood let out a sound as it shot several sparks into the sky. The orange glowing flecks drifted through the air and vanished—cleanly, without hesitation. My friend added a new log to the fire. The coffee cup in my hands was still warm. In that moment, I realized I was feeling something I couldn’t quite name. I didn’t know why, and I had no proof. But maybe—just maybe—we’ve been here, with these people, in this place, in this moment, thousands and tens of thousands of times before.

I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply through my nose, and slowly exhaled through my nose.

“This is enough. This is right.”

I didn’t just hold the thought in my heart—I said it out loud quietly.

Surely, that In My Life is still drifting through the trees, gently wrapping around us in that place, in that moment, again and again, thousands and tens of thousands of times.