By Christopher Morucci (Posted April 12, 2016)

The future has been on my mind quite a lot as of late. At this point in life it seems to be the bases for most things. I never felt a sense of permanence in my home town. I always knew that sooner or later this dance piece or production would be replaced with another. Going to college, even though quite a commitment, really only stays the same for about 4 months at a time. Then you’re on to new classes, people drop out, new students transfer, and a new weekly schedule gets slated. I feel overly aware of the temporariness of my current life. I can’t quantify if it is due to the fact that city life is constantly changing, the NPO has had constant turn over for staff, or the fact that my time sitting in the park under the sakura with my close friends, going on day trips, eating at my favorite restaurants, and even walking the bright streets at night are all marked with an expiration date that goes by the name of a return flight from Tokyo to Portland, and then Portland to Missoula.

It’s caused me to think a lot about what my future looks like and what I want to get out of it. I have twelve or thirteen tabs open on my browser right now with job descriptions at various organizations and their minimum requirements for application, none of which are in the realm of careers I would have pictured myself reading up on even last year. I set search requirements for “Humanitarian” and “Global” and “Mental Health” or “Counseling”. I pictured myself as a “Mental Health and Psychosocial Support Manager” in Nepal, or the coordinator in Syria, both of which require advanced graduate degrees of social sciences in one field or another. Then I pictured myself in graduate school. Pushing on to get my Masters, publishing research articles, doing both a pre and post doc internship. Finally being awarded my Philosophy Doctorate of Psychology. That person I picture is different from the person I feel like I currently am. It’s not in any obvious way, but still it’s there. I think it has to do with a level of mindfulness that I don’t currently have but hope to reach. He’s no longer the kid who listens to meditation podcasts while filling out excel spreadsheets at work. He’s the person that has dedicated a part of his day solely to his practice. He doesn’t walk around watching beautiful things happen and be afraid to put himself out far enough to make something of his own. He has a sense of understanding for other’s cultures that allows him to not only communicate fully, but understand people to an extent in which positive growth can be made for both parties involved. A person who’s things. But not a person that knows so much he can stop learning.

Accompanied by one of my roommates I went for a hiking trip up Mt. Takao this weekend. The whole experience was very much unlike any hike I have ever done before. The paths were paved. There were vending machines along the route. There was even a lift that you could use a train pass to get on if you didn’t want to take the time to actually walk all the way up. About half way to the top there was an observatory, which is to be expected, however, there was also a plethora of shops and restaurants filling the paths that felt like they came out of nowhere. Feeling like it was unnecessary to do your shopping for the day we continued forward until we reached a garden, a monkey garden. There was no way I was going to pass up my chance to hang out with these lively fellas. As a trainer gave a presentation I could in no way understand, my roommate and I flocked to the railing in order to obtain the best view possible of or primate brethren. we watched the interactions of the monkey community for far longer than two grown men probably should have. Afterwards we regained our composure and continued on our trek. Once at the top you could see the expansive metropolis that goes by the name of Tokyo in the distance. It was odd to think about how little of this space I have covered despite my constant efforts to get as lost inside of it as I could. It also reminded me of being back home in Montana and being able to look out at my surroundings from atop a mountain peak. It was comforting and felt familiar. Maybe minus the vending machine 10 meters away from me.

Read more of Christopher’s blog at christophermorucci.wordpress.com.