Letting my Guard Down in Japan

“The wound is the place where the light enters you.” – Rumi

I’ve wanted to return to travel writing for a while. Although the original concept behind Coffee + Camo was a travel blog, it didn’t take me long to realize I’m not a great travel writer.

With the onset of the pandemic and travel coming to a near standstill, there haven’t been any trips to write about anyway.

Travel is such a driving force in my life that, despite my (current) lack of travel writing skill, I still feel a pull to write and reflect on some of what I’ve seen and done in the past. So, I’ve decided to have a once-a-month feature on the blog relating to travel.

I hope you’ll join me on this little adventure every month.

Everything Changes

We’ll be moving this year. It’s not unexpected. We knew as soon as we arrived our time in Japan would be limited.

But unlike our last duty station, I find myself dragging my feet and struggling to check things off the pre-moving-to-do list. I didn’t make a connection as to why this could be until a friend pointed it out to me.

Truthfully, I didn’t much like my last duty station.

There wasn’t anything wrong with the place itself, and the people I met were wonderful. It took time, but eventually, I found a small community of people I knew and trusted. And, if we were to go back in the future, it wouldn’t be the worst place to live.

But it’s no secret that my experience there left a lot of be desired.

I sent my husband off to war, unsure if he’d ever return.

I worked myself into such a stress tizzy that my body went on strike. No longer able to eat regular food, I lost 15 pounds.

For the first time, I found myself in the military world, full of acronyms and offices and commissary bags that just don’t open like normal grocery bags.

Once Upon a Trip

This time period was my first true moving-away-from-home experience. And in many ways, it broke me. The sudden shift of so many things all at once left me unsure of who I was or how I fit in.

While it didn’t feel like it at the time, looking back, I think maybe I had to be broken in order to be healed.

Ok, so what does this have to do with a travel theme? Stay with me.

Once upon a trip, I moved to Japan. This small island in Asia was about as far a place as I could go, both culturally and geographically. But in its own way, Japan offered me the healing I didn’t know I needed.

A Country of Contradictions

From an outsider’s perspective, Japan seems to be having an identity crisis. It’s a country of contradictions.

The city reveals masses of people, more people than I’ve ever seen in one place at one time. But the streets are almost always completely clean.

When traveling or going out, I don’t feel the need to clutch my bag or move things out of my back pocket. In Japan, more people doesn’t equal more crimes.

Japan is a technology powerhouse, yet it’s nearly impossible to conduct business remotely. So many things require a personal visit to an office, individual Hanko stamps, and face-to-face interaction.

Tradition sits side-by-side with modernity. Ancient temples and shrines hide in cities, surrounded by people and modern buildings and noise. Yet somehow, these places of worship are quiet and serene. Gardens nestled between buildings are often surprises, offering a small bit of respite from the hustle and bustle of the city.

I travel more often by train than by car, relinquishing the control I once craved. The home of one of the fastest trains in the world is, by its very nature, teaching me about trust.

The hurry-up-I-need-it-now mentality is balanced by an intentional noticing of the small and ordinary in life.

Stepping Outside the Walls

With all its seeming contradictions, Japan offered the chance for me to let my guard down.

I didn’t realize the wall I built was so high. Honestly, I didn’t see the wall at all. I knew my new life had changed me, but I thought life would feel more normal once Husband returned.

Instead, the wall I clung to while Husband was gone, left me feeling lost and afraid anytime I tried to leave its perimeter. I thought I needed it to protect me, but when the time came, I couldn’t figure out how to take it down.

When I was alone, everything brought me anxiety. Driving. Shopping. Sleeping alone. Work. Walking through a parking lot. Eating dinner at home.

Once Husband returned, things got a little better. But it was clear I had changed, and not for the better. I was jumpy and clingy – often both at once.

Often, the outside world admires Japan for its consistency, expectedness, and reliability. After more than a year of change, uncertainty, and unknowns, I needed the world around me to be consistent. I and my life couldn’t be anticipated. I longed for something tangible to rely on.

Now, compared to the States, my life in Japan is calm. Even boring. I have no formal job and can spend my time as I please. Taking space and time to find new rhythms, new normals, and heal from those first few years has been vital. And Japan has given me that space.

Finding Myself in Japan

With its kind people, accessible transportation, and contemplative religions, Japan invited me to start taking down my wall. It’s only in dismantling the wall that I’m learning to see the many facets of myself.

We each have multiple versions of ourselves – some we show to people and some we don’t. Japan is showing me how to hold space for all the versions of myself.

As it turns out, “finding myself” is a life-long process. We’re all always growing and changing, discovering new parts of ourselves all the time.

May we learn to be at peace with the people we are, while still reaching toward the person we want to become. Here’s to learning to hold space for all the parts of ourselves.