I had three chances to get Tokyo right. Four if you count the hours between my return from Ishigaki and my flight home, wandering Haneda. But let’s say three. Each one felt different—not just because of timing, but because of why I was there.

Sitting here in Ishigaki, I can’t help but chuckle when I think back on Osaka. The two couldn’t feel more different, especially after the quiet simplicity of Taketomi, a small island just off Ishigaki where I had spent a night.

In Patagonia, our mornings went something like this: the night before, over dinner, our instructor would outline the next day’s plan. There was always a sunrise shoot—because why not?