Last week, I went to Japan.
I ate like a prince, and witnessed the beauty and wonder of nature. I felt the buzz of the city nightlife. I sat in a lot of trains. And I met some incredible people whom I’ll never forget.
Then I came back.
I flew back on Thanksgiving, and went straight from rolls of nigiri to turkey and mashed potatoes.
Days after, with the tryptophan and jet lag waning, I’m still left with this heavy feeling. It’s more like a deep impression.
Japan...I was very impressed by you.
Now I write about you, so people will know of your wondrous ways.
Subways
The subways in Japan, to say the least, are complex.
If you were to look at a map inside the Tokyo station, you’d see something like lung cancer in rainbow. Lines branching out left, right, up and down, with white dots punched throughout the branches.
Few locals take taxis (Uber isn’t even a thing in Japan), with most relying on the subways and trains to get anywhere. The stations are crowded, and if it’s rush hour—God help you. (This is not an uncommon scenario.)
Even so, there’s a sense of calm within the madness. No one is shoving or cutting or moving out of turn. They’re like ants, marching in and out of lines with precision. You get the feeling that they’ll make it work, that everyone will scoot down, step aside, or suck in their bellies to make sure you get your space.
All of life is shared on these colored lines. Mothers with their babies in tow brush shoulders with salarymen who sit across from the elderly who feel a little wanderlust. At the right times, you’ll find pockets of students shuffling from instruction to tutoring or club activities.
Occasionally, there are tourists like me who'll come and try to mess things up. They'll bring big duffel bags and backpacks. Still, the locals will accommodate. They might look at you funny, like hey buddy that’s what the top shelf is for, but they won’t say anything.
People don’t tend to speak much on subways. They might chat, but the overall mood is quiet. Half of the people will be working in a quick nap, while the other half is stuck on their smartphone. Good chance it’s Pokemon Go. (It’s still really big in Japan.)
It’s like clockwork. All day. The lines flow in and out—Shinjuku, Osaki, Megumi.
The system works, and they believe in it. Because the system isn’t about efficient trains or conductors or subway lines—it’s about the people.
The Japanese
The Japanese are efficient, punctual, and polite—three words that first come to mind when I think of the people.
But there are lots of layers and complexity. Consider some of these juxtapositions.
They're progressive yet traditional.
Japan is the land where “I wonder why they haven’t thought of...” is often followed by “oh, of course they did.” Bullet trains (shinkansen), robot cafes, toilet seats that automatically heat up (and squirt you after if desired), and a dessert that features green tea ice cream, mochi, red bean, jelly and macaroons! (Why don’t you have this, America?)
Still, they seldom use credit cards. They schedule most of their events in book planners. Many women live as stay-at-home mothers. And depending on the app or technology, they may not be as willing to adopt it.
They're polite, but distant.
Throughout our entire stay, I didn’t hear a single word of negativity directed towards us or others. Then again, I don’t speak a lick of Japanese. But you can tell a lot from tone and body language.
They bow often, even if they don’t know you. It’s like their “Hey, what’s up dude?” in one dignified head-swoop. Our friend Will shared a funny story about witnessing an accidental "bowing chain" at a school ceremony...
One of the leaders got up from his chair, stumbled, and bowed to no one in particular. The front row, thinking he was bowing to them, all got up in concert and bowed. Which triggered the row opposite of them to get up and return the favor. And so this went for 10 minutes, until all the rows had been covered.
I’m aware I risk sounding disingenuous when I say they’re distant. It’s not completely fair. The people we spent quality time with in Japan are very warm and kind. And I didn’t make enough new friends to be a true judge. I suppose a real measure would have me living there for a couple years and seeing how my relationships developed.
But I sense distance in a way the Japanese look, move, and interact with their environment. Many keep to themselves. Not many laugh or smile. I hear they are suffering, often in silence. They are no strangers to loneliness, depression and anxiety. (For a developed economy, the suicide rates are surprising.)
People tell us that it’s hard to be vulnerable when there’s a real sense of saving face. Over there it’s about honor-and-shame. The Japanese live in a steam cooker, with constant pressure to be or appear successful starting from an early age.
In light of this, I’m humbled by my experiences with them. The Japanese simply strive to be good and helpful at whatever it is they’re doing. They will go out of their way to make sure you’re taken care of, and they take their work seriously.
They do this without drawing attention to themselves. They don’t do it for praise. Their effort simply speaks for itself. There’s something to marvel when everyone from the janitor to the train conductor to the line cook plays from the same sheet of music.
It’s refreshing to spend time in a culture where you just sort of disappear. Not everyone is fighting to be heard, not every opinion needs to matter. They just mind their own business and tend to their work.
The Japanese showed me what it means to apply yourself at full tilt. It’s like everybody believed in the Mamba Mentality—it was beautiful.
Silence
Most people take vacations to pause or escape from something. That’s not a bad thing.
But this trip felt oddly personal. I could not escape my life back home. I thought about my job, marriage, friendships, God, family and church throughout my trip.
Thanks to spotty internet and wifi, I was forced to disconnect. No distractions. So I observed people in silence. I stared out train windows.
After some time, I started hearing myself…
Or was it the still-soft voice?
I thought about my friendships over the years. People I’ve come to know and do life with, and people I’ve let slip away. And the friends who've stayed through the seasons…I’m grateful for them.
It made me think of people I should call when I got back home.
I thought about how I could be more helpful. How I could best use my energy, talent and passion to give life to the people around me.
I prayed to be less significant. To stop striving for attention or praise and to devote myself to my purpose. To listen more than I speak, to care about the little things as much as the big things.
To be what is best summed up by EJ, when he says "to be a fountain, and not a drain.”
I hadn’t expected things to get this deep. But when you're going through the motions, this is the stuff buried inside of you. You’re often busy, distracted, tired. In the stillness the inner voice rises up. And you can finally hear God or yourself (or whatever voice) speaking again.
If you’re willing to bring all of you on a trip—and willingly disconnect—it can be intensely gratifying.
Food
Oh, and of course...food.
Final Thoughts
Good trips give you memories of entertainment, adventure, and escape.
The best trips give you all of that, but they also leave with you an impression. They teach you something, open your eyes to life and fill your hands with wisdom so that you might have something to share with your people back home.
The impression stays with you, long after you've left that place...
I have a feeling Japan will stay with me for some time.