I’m supposed to be embarking on a quest of self-discovery, but I keep getting lost. I don’t mean that in the super introspective, “let’s talk about my feelings” kind of way. I mean I literally don’t know where I am.

It’s my first day as a spring break tourist in Japan (on a Super Important Quest of Self-Discovery) and I’ve taken the train from my grandparents’ tiny town to Kyoto, hoping to walk something called Philosopher’s Path. That sounded peaceful and contemplative and like just the thing to do when you need to figure out your life. Instead I ended up wandering in the wrong direction because I saw a girl wearing a tiered skirt made out of two different kinds of material—wispy tulle contrasting with heavy wool—and she looked so incredibly cool, I just had to know where she was going. Then I got caught up studying the cherry blossoms overhead, a glorious canopy of pink and white fluff that seemed to go on forever. Now my distracted wanderings have led me to an outdoor market with food stands frying, steaming, and boiling everything from delectably salty squid to buttery sweet taiyaki.

There are tons of people jostling around these stands, and the burble of their excited chatter mingles with the hiss and sizzle of food cooking. The smells crash into each other, a mishmash of clashing scents that assaults my nostrils. I feel overwhelmed by the sights and sounds and the sheer mass of humanity.

“Irasshaimase!” a man bellows to people approaching the food stall I’m standing next to, and I let out a pathetic-sounding “Meep!” then shuffle awkwardly out of the way. But there’s not much room to shuffle and I bump into an elderly, stoop-shouldered lady in a giant sun hat.

“Sorry!” I blurt out. “I mean, um … pardon? I mean …” I realize that I have no idea how to apologize in Japanese. She gives me a classic Disapproving Auntie Stare and moves on to the next food stall.

I take a deep breath and stand still, trying to reorient myself. I don’t want to bust out my map; I’ll look like a tourist. (Okay, okay: even more like a tourist.) I could use my phone, but I’m still not entirely sure how the international data plan works, since Dad had to add it on last minute and all. I don’t want to run up a huge bill my first day here just because I accidentally wandered off.

You mean: Because you allowed yourself to get distracted by frivolous things instead of focusing on what you’re supposed to be doing, my mother says in my head. Get your head out of the clouds, Kimi-chan: You have important things to figure out.

I know, Mom.

I find a bench on the very edge of the market and plop myself down. I had high hopes for today when I got dressed this morning. I’d donned one of my favorite dresses—a midnight blue concoction of asymmetric layers and sparkly buttons that I’d constructed out of the bones of an old prom gown. Wearing it always gives me that extra shot of confidence when I’m feeling low. But right now, surrounded by the overwhelming bustle of the market, I just feel … well, lost.

I suppose I could try sketching. Sketching always soothes me. Sketching is what I meant to do on Philosopher’s Path, figuring all those peaceful drawings of nature would somehow spark major life revelations.

I reach into my messenger bag, pull out my sketchbook and pencils, and flip to a blank page. I spy the girl I saw before, the one in the tiered skirt. She’s met up with a whole group of friends and they’re all wearing awesomely creative street fashion: dramatic layers and unexpected materials and fun little accessories. They look like fashion superheroes, and if I were feeling braver and less out of place, I’d—well. Actually, I probably wouldn’t go talk to them.

Because, as my best friend Atsuko is fond of pointing out, it’s always easier for me to live in this space where I haven’t made something real yet. It’s easier for me to sit here and think about talking to those girls because that way it remains a perfect fantasy, where we laugh and exchange cool fashion ideas and I magically know perfect Japanese. The minute I make it a reality by actually talking to them … I’ll ruin it.

I take a deep breath and try to refocus on my quest of self-discovery. I came to Japan hoping to find answers to big, important questions. Like:

Who am I?

What am I supposed to do with my life?

What do I really want out of my future?

I thought arriving here would spark major revelations, but instead I’m sitting on some random bench, staring at a blank page. I press my pencil to paper, willing the revelations to come.

They don’t.

Crap. Did I really just travel halfway around the world on a whim to a place I know nothing about?

I may have just ruined everything.