37 – A New Kind of “Debt”
Of course, saying yes to that room meant something else, too.
It meant rent—
every month,
even before a single guest sat down at my counter.
It meant committing to a future that hadn’t arrived yet.
Japan’s borders were still closed.
Tourists were still absent.
No one could promise exactly when things would return to “normal”
or what “normal” would even look like.
On paper, it was too risky a decision actually.
But strangely, I didn’t feel crushed by the risk.
I felt… awake.
That second room became a kind of positive debt to my future self:
“You’ve taken this on.
Now you must grow into the person who can fill it.”
I had walked away from the safety of a salary.
I had survived a pandemic by reinventing myself as a food photographer.
I had gone back to school to rebuild my skills from the ground up.
Now I was adding another layer:
A key to a room that was still completely empty—
but already full of expectations.
I didn’t have the furniture yet.
I didn’t have the equipment yet.
I didn’t have bookings yet.
But I had walls.
I had a floor.
I had permission.
And I had a clear, simple promise to myself:
“When the borders reopen,
this room will not be empty anymore.”
I closed my hand around the new key,
felt the weight of the metal in my palm,
and knew:
This was not just real estate.
It was another step in my journey from guide to teacher,
from student of sushi
to host of a new kind of Edomae experience.
I didn’t know it yet,
but the next time I opened that door,
I wouldn’t just be walking into a room—
I’d be walking into the next chapter of my life.