I have to say that I consider myself a pretty independent
person. I don’t like to ask for help, would much rather figure things out on my
own, and often take pride in how self- sufficient I am. But recently, in Japan,
I realized that my independence makes me kind of lonely; and that my dependence, makes me feel connected.
I arrived in Japan with absolutely no knowledge of it. I didn’t speak the language, knew nothing about its transportation or accommodation system, and honestly, had no idea how to get to where I was going for my first night’s stay. So, I did what I do when I'm not sure what to do at the zen center: looked around and followed the crowd. This got me through customs, but after that, I had to start asking for help. And I did. I went to the tourist information spot, told them where I was going, and they gave me the map of the Tokyo Metro system and sent me on my way.
From there, I asked everyone what to do. I asked how to buy a ticket, then I showed the ticket to the people at the gates to make sure I was walking in to the right place. Then, while I was waiting for the train, I showed my ticket to the people near me to confirm I was getting on the right train and, finally, when I thought it was my stop, I asked the people around me to make sure it was right. Once I got off the train, I started walking in the directions they said on the website but also approached some nice policeman and, eventually, made my way to the hostel. Once I got there, I asked for help in finding a place to eat. Then, after dinner, I got lost. So I asked a stranger on the street and he walked me back to my hostel.
The next day, when I went in to Tokyo, I did the same thing at each metro stop and was gently guided to downtown Tokyo. Then that night, on my way home, without me knowing that I would get lost, a stranger walked me through the transfer station so that I could actually get back to the stop near my hostel. Then I headed up to Ei Hei Ji and had a similar situation- me trying to make my way by asking questions, people seeing this, and them stepping in to make sure I got where I was going.
Then I spent four lovely days in sangha with the other members of the sanzensha (zen training program) at Ei Hei Ji where there was even more of this. Since I was the only one who didn’t speak Japanese, everyone was looking out for me, checking to make sure I had my chant book, reminding me to bring my oryoki bowls, showing me how to make my bed, etc.
In all of these situations, there was barely any speech. Well, actually, that’s not true. In many situations, people did speak to me, only it was in Japanese, and I truly did not understand a word, not even a syllable of it. And I didn’t speak anything either. I still don’t know any Japanese except: good morning, good afternoon, thank you, and I’m sorry. Seriously, for the first two weeks of my stay here, that’s all I said, and I said it in Japanese.
And all of this was fine and good. I actually felt really safe and happy and totally fine in Japan. I was surprised by this- surprised that I hadn’t gotten homesick yet, surprised that I wasn’t feeling lonely. But it was just true- I was totally fine. Last year, at the same point in my trip in Malaysia, I was feeling unsettled and didn’t understand why until I heard Ray LaMontagne on the radio and saw a Golden Retriever and understood that I was desperately missing the familiar: I was homesick. And that was when I was traveling with a friend, who spoke the language and could actually help us navigate our way around so I shouldn’t have felt lost at all.
But here I was, completely alone in Japan with absolutely no one to talk with and I felt fine.
I spent one more week visiting a couple of small cities in the north, and then I headed back to Tokyo to visit with a former student of mine and his family and then spent the weekend with my cousin who lives in Okinawa. I have to admit that it was really nice to have people to talk to. Being able to just talk in English- to make jokes, to ask questions about the language and customs, and to just be myself- was a really nice break from being so dependent on gestures and so limited to “functional speech.”
But after the weekend was over, I had to go back to navigating my way around the country. At this point, I had a pretty good understanding of the railway system in Japan. I also had figured out convenience stores, shopping malls, ATMs, and restaurants. I actually started feeling pretty confident in my ability to make my way around Japan- so I stopped asking for help. I started figuring out my own way from metro stop to metro stop. I started going on line to figure out the price of tickets and, instead of asking, would tell the train station agent where I wanted to go and how much I would spend. I started looking at street signs and using maps instead of asking for help. Basically, I started to become self- sufficient in Japan… and it totally backfired.
I was totally alone. I was riding my bike, making my way around town, visiting temples on my own, but I had absolutely no interaction with anyone. I just showed up, did what I wanted, and went home. I have to admit that I really liked this feeling of knowledge, this feeling of knowing that I could figure out how to get from one place to another- in some ways, it made me feel safe. But I also know that I really did start to get lonely. And I noticed, that the times when I did feel energized or connected, were those times when people approached me to ask if I needed help or when we would share looks of confusion and laughter as they would speak to me in Japanese and I would shrug my shoulders and say that I didn’t speak Japanese.
I noticed this- noticed that my desire to ”master” Japan, to “figure out” how things works here so that I could “find my own way”- was pulling me away from others. It was stroking my ego, it was giving me a sense of self- efficacy, freedom, and safety. But it also removed from me any feeling of being taken care of or connected to others. In all those times when I had to ask for help, I was reminded of the kindness and caring of others. In asking for help, I kept getting helped, which, honestly, makes you feel cared for, and safe.
But this is not my normal association with being helped. Normally being helped feels like being weak, being dependent, owing someone, feeling powerless. But in Japan, when I had no choice but to ask for help, I was constantly helped which meant that I was constantly being taken care of and that left me feeling connected and not alone at all even when no one spoke to me (nor I to them).
I don’t know. It makes me think twice about the value I place on being able to take care of myself, in being able to do things on my own. It’s true, I don’t rely on others or make them do things for me but I also end up not interacting with them at all, and that probably contributes to me feeling lonely.
I arrived in Japan with absolutely no knowledge of it. I didn’t speak the language, knew nothing about its transportation or accommodation system, and honestly, had no idea how to get to where I was going for my first night’s stay. So, I did what I do when I'm not sure what to do at the zen center: looked around and followed the crowd. This got me through customs, but after that, I had to start asking for help. And I did. I went to the tourist information spot, told them where I was going, and they gave me the map of the Tokyo Metro system and sent me on my way.
From there, I asked everyone what to do. I asked how to buy a ticket, then I showed the ticket to the people at the gates to make sure I was walking in to the right place. Then, while I was waiting for the train, I showed my ticket to the people near me to confirm I was getting on the right train and, finally, when I thought it was my stop, I asked the people around me to make sure it was right. Once I got off the train, I started walking in the directions they said on the website but also approached some nice policeman and, eventually, made my way to the hostel. Once I got there, I asked for help in finding a place to eat. Then, after dinner, I got lost. So I asked a stranger on the street and he walked me back to my hostel.
The next day, when I went in to Tokyo, I did the same thing at each metro stop and was gently guided to downtown Tokyo. Then that night, on my way home, without me knowing that I would get lost, a stranger walked me through the transfer station so that I could actually get back to the stop near my hostel. Then I headed up to Ei Hei Ji and had a similar situation- me trying to make my way by asking questions, people seeing this, and them stepping in to make sure I got where I was going.
Then I spent four lovely days in sangha with the other members of the sanzensha (zen training program) at Ei Hei Ji where there was even more of this. Since I was the only one who didn’t speak Japanese, everyone was looking out for me, checking to make sure I had my chant book, reminding me to bring my oryoki bowls, showing me how to make my bed, etc.
In all of these situations, there was barely any speech. Well, actually, that’s not true. In many situations, people did speak to me, only it was in Japanese, and I truly did not understand a word, not even a syllable of it. And I didn’t speak anything either. I still don’t know any Japanese except: good morning, good afternoon, thank you, and I’m sorry. Seriously, for the first two weeks of my stay here, that’s all I said, and I said it in Japanese.
And all of this was fine and good. I actually felt really safe and happy and totally fine in Japan. I was surprised by this- surprised that I hadn’t gotten homesick yet, surprised that I wasn’t feeling lonely. But it was just true- I was totally fine. Last year, at the same point in my trip in Malaysia, I was feeling unsettled and didn’t understand why until I heard Ray LaMontagne on the radio and saw a Golden Retriever and understood that I was desperately missing the familiar: I was homesick. And that was when I was traveling with a friend, who spoke the language and could actually help us navigate our way around so I shouldn’t have felt lost at all.
But here I was, completely alone in Japan with absolutely no one to talk with and I felt fine.
I spent one more week visiting a couple of small cities in the north, and then I headed back to Tokyo to visit with a former student of mine and his family and then spent the weekend with my cousin who lives in Okinawa. I have to admit that it was really nice to have people to talk to. Being able to just talk in English- to make jokes, to ask questions about the language and customs, and to just be myself- was a really nice break from being so dependent on gestures and so limited to “functional speech.”
But after the weekend was over, I had to go back to navigating my way around the country. At this point, I had a pretty good understanding of the railway system in Japan. I also had figured out convenience stores, shopping malls, ATMs, and restaurants. I actually started feeling pretty confident in my ability to make my way around Japan- so I stopped asking for help. I started figuring out my own way from metro stop to metro stop. I started going on line to figure out the price of tickets and, instead of asking, would tell the train station agent where I wanted to go and how much I would spend. I started looking at street signs and using maps instead of asking for help. Basically, I started to become self- sufficient in Japan… and it totally backfired.
I was totally alone. I was riding my bike, making my way around town, visiting temples on my own, but I had absolutely no interaction with anyone. I just showed up, did what I wanted, and went home. I have to admit that I really liked this feeling of knowledge, this feeling of knowing that I could figure out how to get from one place to another- in some ways, it made me feel safe. But I also know that I really did start to get lonely. And I noticed, that the times when I did feel energized or connected, were those times when people approached me to ask if I needed help or when we would share looks of confusion and laughter as they would speak to me in Japanese and I would shrug my shoulders and say that I didn’t speak Japanese.
I noticed this- noticed that my desire to ”master” Japan, to “figure out” how things works here so that I could “find my own way”- was pulling me away from others. It was stroking my ego, it was giving me a sense of self- efficacy, freedom, and safety. But it also removed from me any feeling of being taken care of or connected to others. In all those times when I had to ask for help, I was reminded of the kindness and caring of others. In asking for help, I kept getting helped, which, honestly, makes you feel cared for, and safe.
But this is not my normal association with being helped. Normally being helped feels like being weak, being dependent, owing someone, feeling powerless. But in Japan, when I had no choice but to ask for help, I was constantly helped which meant that I was constantly being taken care of and that left me feeling connected and not alone at all even when no one spoke to me (nor I to them).
I don’t know. It makes me think twice about the value I place on being able to take care of myself, in being able to do things on my own. It’s true, I don’t rely on others or make them do things for me but I also end up not interacting with them at all, and that probably contributes to me feeling lonely.
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