After I had spent three years in Japan, a co-worker said to me – “When you came, I imagined it must have been hard for you – you had to learn everything by yourself. But you were so positive, that I was never that concerned about you.”

But, I remember a certain lonliness coming in waves. My outlook would be boosted by things going well at work, or weighed by missing my family and friends. When I spoke with one of my American friends about this, she said she felt the lonliness come in cycles, too, of one to two weeks – the best thing she could do would be to schedule dinner parties to break the solitude. For us the solitude like it was the weather: something that came in cycles of sunny and cloudy, but something that we were somewhat powerless to change, and that might make us feel worse if we dwelt upon it.

When I moved to Japan, it was a move to a foreign city where I had no friends or family, where the language was one that I had only studied for one semester. But it was exciting for me. When people would ask me how I was, I would always say fantastic. There were times when this may not have been true, but I found that once I said fantastic, I felt different. Hasidic Jews and religious Muslims, in response to “How are you?” respond with “Thanks be to God!” For them, it is a statement of thanks to God for having given them life and the very ability to reflect on the question “How are you?” For me, it was a way to start the conversation on a positively – I could always think of some minor victory or surprise to kick-start the conversation. Fantastic was a positive statement that encompassed gratutude for having been given the opportunity to work in Japan, and gratitude for the very presence of someone to be with so that I did not have to be alone.

I used to be vigilant when people spoke of the weather. In California south of the San Francisco bay, famous for it’s balmy summers and mild winters, people would complain about the weather, and I would say “You don’t know how good you’ve got it,” and then cite the temperature that week in my homeland of Georgia. Georgia summers are so hot and humid that one of our colonial governors would dangle a thermometer from a parasol that he carried around, so that at any moment, he would be able to complain about the heat with precision, and Georgia winters are so cold that when I would go jogging with thin fleece gloves, the heat inside my body contrasted with hands that were stiff and hurt from the cold. I still enjoy this feeling, because it lasts only until I take a hot shower, and makes me feel alive.

In Tokyo, as in California, people complain about the heat and cold. When people complained about the summer, I used to remind them of the winter, and in the winter, of the summer. I was never in a rush for the seasons to change. I was vigilant to let no bad thoughts enter my mind, even as my internal weather changed.

I am asking you to be vigilant: conversations are energy transactions: people either speak of something they feel positively about or negatively about. So you can start a conversation on a positive or negative note. And when someone makes a positive or negative statement about an idea, a person, or a thing, when you add your own thoughts, you have the power to direct it in a positive or negative direction. Other people are generally like mirrors: they will reflect what you project out.

Your internal weather is just like the weather outside – it will pass. Women have mood swings that come in monthly cycles. My own cycles, as a man, seem much less regular than that. Your internal weather is different from emotions, which are meant to guide your actions, and you must learn to tell the difference.

On my trip on the high-speed ferry between Ishigaki Is. and Kohama Is., I noticed there were two ways to ride. There were those who fought the waves, who hung on tightly to the handle attached to the chair in front of them whenever we hit a bump. And there were those who decided to go to sleep, or to sit relaxedly during the ride, letting their upper bodies float as their seats move under them. The who got seasick were of the ones who tried to fought the waves. Ride out your internal waves, adjusting speed as necessary, and keep an eye on your heading.

Away from a company job now, after years of not experiencing the solitude of the sort I had when I first came to Japan, I am finding that the waves come and go again, and I am reminding myself that the only thing I can do is to ride them out, by calling home regularly, by meeting friends, and by ensuring that I project positive energy.