I was about five minutes into what would have been a 30-minute walk when I decided to turn around. Ice cream was on my mind. Something sweet, hopefully of the coffee-flavored variety. The cold of the night, the ice on the streets, and my already long day had me second-guessing whether that coffee-poured-over-ice-cream-looking-concoction was truly worth it. Perhaps it would have been. Perhaps I made a terrible mistake. The "rich tiramisu crunch" Häagen-Dazs bar from the convenience store would have to suffice. Was it good? Yes. Was it as good as the coffee-poured-over-ice-cream-looking-concoction would have been? I'll never know. To think, this all started during lunch, when my eyes met with a coffee gelato sold at a ski resort café. I was stuffed from my Sanzohu-yaki on curry and rice, but I should have gotten it anyway. Damn did it look like it would hit all the right spots and then some.

This is Explorations, a monthly-ish newsletter about confronting what it means to be human. I am Cody Schultz, your guide through this missive, and this month I've been thinking a lot about Japan. If you're no longer interested in hearing from me, you may exit stage left. Come back any time.

I miss Japan.

I should have stayed, done everything in my power to. Cancel my return flight; apply for a visa; have my parents ship me what little from home I needed; and cut ties with those whose strings were already frayed. My feelings were only heightened upon entering American territory — my anxiety hurtled toward me like a semi with no brakes. All of my responsibilities, all of my struggles, came back into plain view. Japan could comfort me no longer. I simply had to face it all.

It’s difficult to say what about Japan kept my anxiety at bay. I know there’s more to it than the switch from “work mode” to “vacation mode” — although I could argue against such a switch in my mind — and I know it wasn’t due to the environmental/geographic change. At least not entirely. Exploring new places bring about both excitement and stress, to varying degrees. Escapism comes to mind as one factor; the idea that I not only no longer had to worry about at-home responsibilities, I was also thirteen hours ahead of everyone at home. That time-blocked contact meant I didn’t need to face personal grievances, either. It’s not the healthiest way to deal with things, but often that space away is clarifying.

A year on from this trip I still debate what life would look like, how the rest of 2025 would have turned out, had I stayed. Would I be in the same mental space I have been trapped in these past eight months? Could I have healed faster, more efficiently? There are so many questions I will never know the answers to. Even if I had the tens of thousands of dollars necessary to move Jax and myself to Japan now, the questions would remain and new ones would evolve.

This philosophizing over life, over what it means to be human, aligns well with the various essays I plan to write (though we all know how that goes). Back when Alone Atop Mt Fuji was active, I mentioned turning the daily missives into longer essays. Essays not only about my photographic experience in Japan, but also about: the cultural differences; the lack of anxiety; the curry and quail eggs; and so much more. Topics that feel alive and truly matter (to me, at least).

I’ve given this shift a lot of thought through the past year. Probably too much thinking, given the lack of writing. For some reason I felt insecure to branch away from photography-forward topics, toward what may seem like nonsensical, unlinked topics. At the same time, I told myself and others that “people follow people.” Even amidst the biggest shifts, your core audience remains. Just look at Bring Me The Horizon: they remain a top band across the globe despite constantly playing with their style.

Besides, this isn’t a major shift — not if you consider what my work, across all sectors, has always focused on: what it means to be human.

As much as I wish I could say exactly what this means moving forward, I tire of false promises — both those given and those received. The past year has been downright frightening, and I have not yet escaped the storm’s grip. That won’t happen for a while yet. Creating more regularly is likely to help, though, especially when it means being in nature. If I didn’t believe that at least a little, Starting the Conversation wouldn’t exist. Revitalizing it certainly wouldn’t be on my to-do list.

Speaking of which, the list is long and overbearing. Every year begins with the same thought recycled: This year I’ll write daily and publish more essays and send newsletters more regularly and…. By month six, any semblance of motivation left fizzles out, like a can of coke forgotten on the kitchen table on a warm summer day. 2026 has been much the same. Consuming more than creating. Rotting more than … whatever the opposite of rotting is. Growing?

As we look toward the back half of the year, wouldn’t it be nice to see these changes happen, rather than talk of them?

No matter how the rest of the year shapes up, the biggest change is the most important, and the scariest: moving to Montana.

I'm missing Japan this month. That isn't likely to change.

Maybe one day...

— C