Today was a good day—the kind that sneaks up on you when you’re just open to rolling with whatever the wind decides to blow your way.
I found myself missing work, oddly enough. So at 6AM, I logged into a call to get some hours in—just enough to keep funding this dreamy little residency I’ve landed myself in. Sleepy-eyed, coffee in hand, and surprisingly energized.
The house is full again. Five of us new to this space, slowly learning each other’s names and rhythms. There’s Betsy from Scotland, Ali from Australia, Lyndon from Quebec, and Anita from Florida. Naturally, I did a light Instagram creep—and yep, it’s another house brimming with wildly talented humans.
Meeting new people always makes me a bit nervous—maybe it’s the artist version of first-day-of-school jitters. And of course, I had a headache. Not metaphorically—literally. I scoured the neighborhood for Tylenol, assuming 7-Eleven would have it. It did not. But Betsy came to the rescue and handed me some from her stash, instantly making her my favorite person of the day.
The last two days were rough. I won’t go into details, but let’s just say the universe wrung me out like a dishrag. I even found myself wondering how hospitals work here, and had a mini panic about whether I bought travel insurance. (Still unclear.)
But today? I sat upright, headache-free, and the world looked radiant again. Isn’t it wild how being sick—even briefly—can make you fall in love with simply feeling normal?
So here I am. A little blissed out.
I’ve been feeling a bit stuck with my music lately. The songs just aren’t flowing, so I’ve shifted gears into design. I didn’t expect this project to go in such a visual direction, but here we are. I’ve been fussing over a little board to hold my apothecary items and laser-cutting a holder for my Playtronica. Hiro helped me with the laser cutter for hours—so I decided I needed to find him a proper thank-you gift.
Enter: the beer mission.
Lyndon mentioned a local craft brewery—supposedly just a 20-minute walk. He offered to come along, and spoiler: it was more like an hour there (and another hour back). But what a lovely two hours it was. We wandered through rice fields, passed tucked-away temples, listened to birds, and talked like old friends—even though we’d only just met.
When we arrived, the brewery was in full swing—everyone buzzing around, busy with their beer-making magic. I picked out a few bottles: three beautifully packaged in a little gift box for Hiro, and one for myself, of course.
It wasn’t a tasting room—it was clearly a work zone. But it was so hot, and I was so thirsty, that I asked if we could drink the beer right there. I figured we’d just sit on the steps. But instead, they brought out a small table and two chairs—full service, out of nowhere. That’s the magic of Japan.
We sat and sipped, surrounded by the hustle of people brewing beer from wheat grown right here in the region. Lyndon mentioned feeling a bit guilty for sitting there while everyone else was hard at work—but honestly, I don’t really feel guilty about that stuff anymore. Maybe it’s the gift of age, but if people don’t want to do something, they just say no. Simple. And in this case, everyone wanted us there. The staff came out to chat, the energy was light, and the whole moment was unexpectedly joyful.
The owner eventually joined us, and we had one of those charming back-and-forths via a translation app. I told him I wanted to play some music before my residency ends—and, as it turns out, he’s a guitar player and owns a spot in Fukuoka that hosts open mics. A few workers even jumped in to help translate as we chatted about the possibility of doing a little show right there at the brewery.
It might happen, it might not. But just dreaming it into the air felt like something special.
And so, that’s where I find myself now.
The headache is gone. The fog has lifted. And the world feels open again.
These small moments—a shared beer, a chance meeting, a walk through rice fields—have a way of rearranging things inside. After feeling sick, stuck, and tangled in my own head, everything feels a little lighter. A little warmer. A little more possible.