I’ve decided to start blogging again after a nearly fifteen-year hiatus.

Much has changed since then. For one thing, instead of carrying around what now seems like an enormous camera, I have made a habit of taking snapshots with my smartphone. The little slab in my pocket quietly records the light of each passing day. Often, the least self-conscious photographs turn out to be the most eloquent when you look back at them later. In this blog, I hope to collect those fragments of everyday life and write about them alongside the photographs.

I spent the first half of this summer in Southern Oregon.

The climate is, quite simply, extraordinary. The mornings are cool, the dry midday sun feels wonderful, and by late afternoon, a breeze comes down from the mountains. The air is so crisp and dry that you forget humidity even exists. All you have to do is stand there and let the wind wash over you.

Every morning, when I step outside, there is a fawn somewhere nearby. It feels like a scene from a Disney film, and somehow, that alone is enough to make the day feel complete.

I have a confession to make. There are three things I have never been able to give up.

Great music. Good coffee. And a climate blessed with a pleasant breeze.

With enough effort, the first two can be found in Tokyo or Bangkok. The last one, however, is beyond anyone’s control. No matter how wealthy you are, you cannot buy the climate. You can build a mansion, but you cannot order the air that hangs above it.

The reason I keep moving from place to place is simple: I am a climate addict.

When you think about it, we live in an age of magic. In a matter of hours, we can travel thousands of kilometers. Someone can wake up in a sweltering city in the morning and fall asleep that same night in the dry breeze of a mountain plateau. What no medieval king could have achieved, even by surrendering his entire fortune, can now be accomplished with a single plane ticket.

If you cannot buy the climate, you can transport yourself to where the climate you want already exists. I know of no more reliable way to attain such a profound sense of happiness.

And this is not merely about pleasure.

It is well known that during winters at higher latitudes, shorter daylight hours can reduce serotonin activity and contribute to seasonal depression. Sleep research has repeatedly shown that bedroom temperature and humidity can significantly affect sleep quality through the rhythms of core body temperature. Studies have also reported noticeable declines in cognitive performance and judgment in cities enduring prolonged periods of extreme heat.

And the fact that so many regions known for longevity are located in Mediterranean climates is unlikely to be explained by diet alone.

In other words, placing yourself in a pleasant climate is not a luxury. It is a genuine form of healthcare—perhaps even the shortest path to happiness.

Of course, all this reasoning is at least partly an excuse.

The truth is much simpler. Once the body has experienced a perfect climate, it can never quite go back. That intoxicating feeling when a dry breeze brushes against your cheek—if you have never known it, you can live almost anywhere. But once you have, it is over. Before long, you find yourself packing your bags in search of the next breeze.

A doctor would probably say that the first step in treating addiction is admitting that you have one.

So here is my confession:

I am a climate addict.

And I have absolutely no intention of seeking treatment.

After all, the longer I indulge this particular addiction, the better I feel—and the more often I find myself overcome by happiness.