People often ask me which country has been my favorite. It’s a question I never quite know how to answer. Every country carries its own atmosphere, its own rhythm, its own way of revealing beauty. How do you compare the silence of the Himalayas to the warmth of Italy, or the elegance of Japan to the vastness of Mongolia?

As I was clearing out old papers in my office, I came across something I almost didn’t keep. A simple card. It was from a trip to New Zealand many years ago. At the end of that journey, the group handed it to me — a card filled with handwritten notes from each traveler.

In the autumn of 2024, I began a journey that stayed with me long after I left. I walked part of the Shikoku 88 Temple Pilgrimage, completing the first 28 temples. At the time, I didn’t fully understand why it felt so meaningful. I only knew that something inside me became quieter, softer, and more present with every step.

High in the mountains of Nepal, we woke before dawn to make our way toward Poon Hill for sunrise.

MAR 18, 2027 – APR 5, 2027