Dec. 27, 2022. I find myself alone in a retro cafe where just two hours ago there had been a full house. I passed this place earlier, on my way to the Yayoi Kusama Museum. It was packed, and I thought I’d just come back for it. So I did. Now I’m sitting here with an americano (500 yen), listening to this haunting music that’s suddenly making me tear up. I’m watching life unfold from my window seat: people finding their way to somewhere (home, most likely); walking, cycling or driving; watching lights and crossing streets; carrying groceries; doing what they do on late December afternoons like this. And then it dawns on me how perfectly content I am in this moment: alone in Matsumoto, hot coffee in my cold hands – not knowing anything, not wanting anything but to stay in this calm, unburdened space. Free to to cry or laugh, safe in anonymity. I recognize the extraordinariness of such times. When you’re a grownup doing grownup things, it is a luxury to be …