3. My Ideal Life, and Those Meaningless Daily Moments

The way I live now is already close to my ideal life.

In 2024, I bought a house in Japan. While it was a bit impulsive, I’m thoroughly satisfied living here; I feel living in a place like this for the rest of my life would be wonderful—there’s no need for a massive luxury mansion. As a developer, working at a stable company gave me more leeway to explore life’s possibilities.

Even so, why still quit?

Because this job doesn’t align with my ideal life. Although the salary is relatively high (along with heavy taxes—Japan really taxes everything), as I mentioned in the first post, it’s not the way of life I want.

1. Quitting with No Backup Plan at 30

I still believe I’m very close to my ideal life.

I have a room where I can focus on work, a well-lit living room and kitchen, a bath to soak in, and the living quality Japan offers. I can play games with friends now and then, and take on life’s next challenge—becoming a freelancer, exploring my next direction. Experimenting with music, playing electric guitar, creating content, writing, weight training… None of these were things five-years-ago-me ever imagined. Over time, they have become clearer and clearer, with some even starting completely by accident.

I want to make a wish to the universe: I hope to meet more interesting friends, hope to stay committed to the path I want to focus on, hope to explore more people and things I’m genuinely interested in, and hope to gain more resources and connections so I can contribute something back to the world.

When writing, I used to deliberately hide my emotions, as if expressing my desires or feelings was something embarrassing or shameful, terrified of being criticized. Even in my own space, I walked on eggshells. I hated that version of myself—the one that felt the need to strive relentlessly every single second.

Having grown up steeped in the toxic patterns of a traditional Chinese upbringing, it was all too easy to get trapped in an endless loop of internal friction and self-doubt.

Things are different now. I want to share that I’m living happily. Seeing the morning sun lifts my spirits; waking up early and seeing students commuting in the chilly wind inspires me; hearing a long-forgotten favorite song on the street fills me with emotion; pulling weeds in the backyard gives me a real, tangible sense of being alive.

These tiny feelings may seem meaningless, perhaps even a little silly, but I still want to share them with you.

Just as throughout my career, the things that made me happiest and touched me the most weren’t necessarily shipping major projects or features. Instead, it was an offhand tool I wrote that helped QA; grocery shopping at Costco with my manager, or going to Itoshima for pudding; heading to an oyster hut with colleagues to eat fat, juicy oysters; my manager checking in on me when a stranger knocked on my door in the middle of the night around the time I was resigning; chatting with coworkers at Hakata Christmas Market on a freezing day; and as I packed my things, my manager saying, “Thank you for choosing us,” followed by running into a colleague who had just found out I was leaving and hurriedly handed me a farewell gift on the way out.

I cherish those memories so deeply. Back then, though, I kept telling myself I was a developer and shouldn’t show my emotions so easily.

I’ve made peace with myself. I want to tell everyone that I love you all, even if I’m not as good at expressing my emotions as I’d like to think. I also want to tell you that I’m doing well (though a little anxious at times). Focusing my limited attention on these seemingly insignificant things and truly feeling life is perhaps far more important than any job title.

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。

Give my all to doing every single thing within my power.