3. My Ideal Life, and Those Meaningless Everyday Moments

My current way of living is already close to the life I’ve always wanted.

In 2024, I bought a house in Japan. It was a bit impulsive, but I’m extremely satisfied living here. I feel like it would be great to spend my whole life in a place like this; there’s no need for some huge mansion. As a developer working at a stable company, I’ve had more room to explore the possibilities in life.

Even so, why resign?

Because this job doesn’t fit the life I want. The salary is relatively high, though the taxes are too (Japan really does tax everything), but as I mentioned in the first post, that’s not the kind of lifestyle I want.

1. Quitting at Thirty

I still think I’m very close to the life I want.

A room where I can focus on work, a living room and kitchen with plenty of natural light, the ability to take baths and enjoy the quality of life in Japan, the occasional game night with friends, and the next challenge in life—becoming a freelance contractor and exploring my next direction in life; trying music, playing electric guitar, running my own media accounts, writing, and strength training. These are things I never even imagined five years ago, but over time they’ve become clearer and clearer. Some of them even began by sheer coincidence.

I want to make a wish to the universe: I hope to meet more interesting friends; I hope I can keep walking the path I want to focus on; I hope I can try more things and experiences I’m interested in; I hope to gain more resources and connections so I can contribute my part to the world.

Whenever I write, I deliberately hide my emotions, as if expressing my desires and feelings were something embarrassing or shameful, always fearing criticism from others. Even in my own space, I still feel like I have to be timid. I hate that version of myself, as if I must be striving all the time.

Growing up in a traditional Chinese family has done a number on me, and it’s easy to get trapped in a cycle of self-consuming inner conflict.

Now things are different. I want to share with everyone that I’m really happy. The morning sunlight puts me in a good mood. Seeing a group of students commuting in the cold wind when I wake up early inspires me. Hearing a song on the street that I haven’t heard in a long time fills me with emotion. Pulling weeds in the backyard gives me a real sense of being alive.

These small feelings are meaningless, even a little ridiculous, but I still want to share them with you.

Just like throughout my career, what made me happiest and most moved wasn’t necessarily finishing some major project or feature, but rather the little tools I wrote without thinking that helped QA; going to Costco with my manager to shop, and eating pudding in Itoshima; going with coworkers to an oyster hut and eating huge, plump oysters; the concern my manager showed when I was preparing to resign and got a knock on the door from a stranger in the middle of the night; chatting with coworkers at Hakata Christmas Market on a cold day; and when I had packed up everything, my manager told me, “Thank you for choosing us,” and on the way home I ran into a coworker who had just learned I was leaving and hurriedly gave me a farewell gift.

I love those memories so, so much. But at the time, I kept telling myself I was a developer, and I shouldn’t show my emotions so easily.

I’ve let myself off the hook. I want to tell everyone that I love you all, even though I’m not as good at expressing emotions as I imagined; I also want to tell you that I’m doing well (though I’m a little uneasy). Focusing my limited attention on these tiny, unremarkable things and feeling life with care may be far more important than the titles we chase in the workplace.

生き方は決めた。あとは自分にできることを精一杯やるさ。

I’ll do my utmost to do everything I can.