I hadn’t expected to walk into a cemetery. One afternoon in Tokyo, I put aside my map and followed a tree-lined path away from the noise.

A young family picnicked among graves, gentle laughter echoing across silent tombstones. At the end of the street stood a cafe with red awnings. I sat outside and drank a velvety hot chocolate, heart warmed by the sun.

But the road less travelled isn’t always joyous. In Incheon, I chased ceramics for a photography project, only to find shuttered workshops, dust settling in the air like disappointment. I waited for a bus, whose arrival was as inscrutable as the village map.

So I understand the appeal of the well-trodden road. A favourite store, an everyday bowl of noodles, a dog-eared book – these are waypoints that never disappoint. Sometimes, after a long day, I want to sink into well-known comforts.

Even the familiar can still contain secrets. Reading a book for the tenth time uncovers an overlooked sentence. Returning to a dish I’ve eaten for years reveals a new aroma. If discovery is finding what we didn’t expect, deepening is finding anew in the expected.

Sometimes we stray and sometimes we stay. One path invites surprise, the other, depth. But either can fail to open us if we’re not paying attention. Ultimately, it’s not the movement that matters, but the place within where attention meets presence. Whether we’re truly there, wherever “there” is.

The map to wonder lies in the space between presence and absence.