Every night, after I wearily stumble into bed, exhausted from attempting to teach the principles of English communication using only a 1983 grammar textbook, I grapple with the same dilemma. It's a fairly universal situation; The Clash wrote a song about it. The question is this: when you know you're unhappy, should you stand your ground and try to work things out, or go after something better?

I've gotten tons of advice, most of which I agree with, even the contradictory stuff. Should I stay? Some friends point out that it takes time to carve out a satisfactory groove through life, that if I were to change cities every time I had the blues, I'd only make myself lonelier. They argue that fulfillment comes from somewhere deep inside, not from your zip code, or even your job. Should I go? Other friends remind me that my career—indeed, my life, as I define it—can't even begin until I leave this place for a more suitable environment. They suggest that there's a fine line between self-improvement and procrastination, and that I may well be on the wrong side of it.

But my friends can't make my decisions for me. Only I can. The problem is, I've begun losing faith in my own decisions. I keep telling everyone that I have to move to New York so I can begin making movies. And I really believe this. But I'm not sure how much stock I should place in my beliefs. They have a pretty crappy track record.

In 1994, I decided that the logical path to a career in film was film school. So I headed off to CalArts, in L.A., and spent the next two years fighting against a Directing program so bizarrely anti-creativity that, as far as I know, not a single one of its graduates has ever worked as a professional director.

I dropped out in 1996 and decided that the best thing to do was to move to Toronto, where I tried to rekindle an old relationship and seek out work in the Canadian film industry. The relationship crashed and burned after six months, and I never even spent a day working on films.

I moved on. I decided that I needed to go somewhere where I could relax and live a healthier life; that somewhere turned out to be San Francisco. I was basically right about that one, it was relaxing and healthy. But I wasn't happy there either. No matter how much crazy Internet money I was making, I just couldn't fit into California's legendary navel-gazing, I'm-okay-you're-okay way of life. And I still wasn't working in film. In the end, I stayed there for six years, the last three of which were joyless and empty.

I was under no illusions that moving to Tokyo was going to make me a filmmaker, but I was in pretty bad shape by that point. It was starting to look like I was going to spend the rest of my life designing clickable onscreen buttons, and I knew I had to do something different, something that would re-energize me and give me the shift in perspective that I so desperately needed.

Instead, one year later, I find that my job is sucking the life out of me, and that my perspective, if anything, is shrinking. Every night, as I stare at the ceiling, a voice in my head yells at me to get out—just go, move to New York, buy a video camera, make friends with the berets-and-cigarettes crowd and get on with my life. And I've always listened to that voice before.

It's just that, lately, I can't help noticing that's it's almost never been right.

Well, it's official. I've been here for 365 days. I had a whole year-in-review thing planned for this entry—highs and lows, self-analysis, speculations on the future.

Then I noticed that's pretty much all I've been posting for months. I'll assume we've all had our fill.

So let's turn this around. I've already told you guys all about what I'm going through and what I've been up to. So what about you? I haven't heard from some of you in ages! If you'd be so kind, I invite you to post here and tell me some of the highlights and lowlights of your time since May 22, 2003.

Besides all of you getting married, I mean.

Folks, today is Ann's birthday, so I'd like to take this opportunity to tell you a little story. Almost exactly one year ago, Ann and Rachel drove me to the airport and helped soothe my panicky nerves as I set off on my grand Japanese adventure. Their sendoff meant more to me than I could ever express, especially considering the world of alienation I was about to inhabit. They were the two first friends I made in San Francisco, and Ann was almost crying when I left.

In the months that followed, the two of them, each in their own way, tried to help ease the pain of my transition. (Read back to this blog's earliest entries for an idea of what life in Tsuruse was like.) Rachel proffered her trademark tough-love advice, while Ann countered with one of the coolest ideas anyone's ever proposed to an expatriate suffering from culture shock: a photo scavenger hunt.

Can you take digital PICTURES? Or get yourself a disposable and take pics and send it out here. I wanna see: the building that you work in, one roomate, your train station, your favorite japanese packaged product, inside a grocery store, the street sign for the street where your apartment is, a japanese mailbox, a japanese cop, and a fire hydrant anything else that is an everyday object that is different from the states.

It was all ostensibly for her benefit, but what she was really proposing was a way out of the doldrums—a distraction intended to get me off my ass and exploring my surroundings, documenting all the while. I was so grateful. It was quite possibly the perfect suggestion, and I recognized that immediately.

So when I proceeded to spend the following months obsessively staying home, depressed, and not taking pictures, I felt lower than dirt. Not only had I betrayed myself, I'd betrayed Ann. She'd handed me salvation, and I was too self-involved to take it.

For months, I kept telling myself that I was going to write her back as soon as I finished the series, but as my loserness became increasingly obvious, guilt and shame overtook me. She was like a saint, and I'd abandoned her. How was I supposed to face her now?

Eleven months later, as her birthday approached, I realized there was only one thing I could possibly do. Finish the hunt.

Ann, I've been a terrible friend. Moshiwake arimasen. Here are some pictures for you. Happy birthday!

The building that I work in:

Wakoshi Nova HQ. As far as buildings go, it's pretty boring and drab, much like the job itself.

One roommate:

As many of you know, I live alone now, so my only companions are this Japanese daruma and a stuffed GIR.

My train station:

Yeah. It's kinda like that.

Favorite Japanese packaged product:

This varies. There's an incredible variety of packaged products here, with new ones coming out every week, adorning shelves for a couple of months, then disappearing. My previous favorite was Scorpion, a Coca-Cola-produced ginger-ale/lemonade/Red Bull with a bad-ass scorpion on the can. But it's gone already, so I've switched to Shinoa, an exquisite oolong tea in a spiral bottle.

I wouldn't say it's that good, but it is pretty smooth.

Inside a grocery store:

You want a grocery store? I give you a grocery store. Tobu's one of the biggest department stores in Japan, and their basement grocery area is second-to-none. Three sub-levels of the ritziest foodstuffs you can put into a shopping cart.

Does the Safeway where you live have aisle displays like this? No. No, it does not.

One day, I'm gonna be back in America, tossing cereal into my shopping cart, and suddenly I'll realize that I can't buy tentacles anymore. And I'll be sad, because, you know, tentacles.

The street sign for the street where my apartment is:

Trick question. Tokyo streets don't have signs, 'cause they don't have names.

A Japanese mailbox:

Yup, they look like this. Now you know.

A Japanese cop:

Look. For the last time. Stop asking me why the Shibuya police operate out of a building that looks like a giant owl head. Or why they need four officers on duty in an office the size of a broom closet. Because it's Japan, all right? It makes sense when you live here.

Great Scott! A citizen needs our help! TO THE OWLMOBILE!

A fire hydrant:

It took me a while to find one, and you can see why. Tokyo hydrants are quite a bit different from the ones in, say, Brooklyn. They're built into the sides of buildings pretty much all over the city.

Here's a closer look. I have no idea how I managed to get a picture like this, but it's going straight to the stock-photo agencies.

Anything else that is an everyday object that is different from the States:

Um... Our Eiffel Tower is orange?

As long as I'm feeling blue, here are some shots I took a couple of weeks ago on a warm, rainy evening. My camera is capable of taking some excellent night shots, though it's a complicated procedure, since it needs to be held absolutely still for about two seconds while the shutter's open. In general this means bracing it on something, and when it's raining that's next to impossible. But those rain-slicked streets look so good, I have to try.

That's not an optical illusion; most of the feral cats in my neighborhood are Japanese bobtails like this one.

It took me forever to get this shot. I had to lean against a no-parking sign, camera in one hand, umbrella in the other. Rain kept running down my neck as I stood there, waiting for just the right overlapping of cars...

Man, I can't wait until I'm making movies again.

A Godzilla's-eye view of traffic.

I thought losing my cell phone was going to be a week-long inconvenience, but that was before everything went all Kafka on me.

In a nutshell, many companies in Japan won't sell you anything that involves monthly billing if your residency visa is due to expire in less than three months. That's right, not even if you already have an active account with them, and just want to replace a wayward phone. (In defense of Japan and its legendary xenophobia, they do let you use your credit card instead. If you have one.)

I'm just glad I didn't lose it two months ago, in which case I'd be expected, if I'm understanding this correctly, to simply go without a phone. For a quarter of a year. In Tokyo. Cell phone are to Tokyo what cars are to Los Angeles. I teach four-year-olds who have their own phones.

Fortunately, as things stand, my visa renewal is already in progress, and I should receive a piece of paper in the mail that I can use as a substitute in a week or two. In the meantime, anyone out there who wants to call me can do so—for free—if they've got Apple's iChat AV 2.1 or AIM 5.5. Just drop me an e-mail and we'll set up a time.