Gathering Gratitude
Tokyo—Izu Peninsula, Japan; July 2018.
As I look out of the bus window at the passing scenery of rural Japan, I think to myself, I can’t believe we’re here. I can’t believe we’re back here after all this time. It’s been twenty-five years since we lived in Tokyo.
A few weeks ago, Andrew asked me to meet him in Japan, on his way back from a business trip to Singapore. I rarely travel with him, but to visit Japan was an opportunity I knew I couldn’t miss.
“We can go to Tokyo and Kyoto,” he said.
I immediately felt resistance.
“We should do something different. Maybe near a beach or something,” I replied.
“I’m not going all the way to Japan for a beach vacation,” he said, clearly annoyed.
“Two big cities?... That’s too much energy for me. I need a way to cleanse. I need to be by water,” I replied firmly. I was finally starting to feel strong enough to be unapologetic about what I needed when we travel. I also knew without a doubt that Andrew would come to love the places I felt guided to.
We’re staying at a small ryokan (a Japanese inn) just outside of Tokyo. It’s nestled amongst the trees, in a remote area along the coast. We’re sleeping on futons on the tatami floor and eating traditional Japanese food. The ryokan has several private indoor and outdoor onsens (hot springs) where we’ve been soaking in the mineral waters. Yesterday, a short hike from the ryokan led us to the rugged coastline with rock pools that you can swim in.
It’s been a delightful experience of the Japanese countryside and culture. It has definitely met my need for water.
Today we’ve ventured further down the Izu Peninsula in search of a beach. We took the train from the ryokan, then this bus, and soon we’ll continue on foot along a quiet, “off-the-beaten-track” road.
The moment we step off the bus and begin to walk, the intense heat of the Japanese summer sticks to my clothes. Drops of sweat start rolling down my face like big sweaty tears. The only sounds I can hear are crickets chirping so loudly that they drown out my own thoughts. There’s not a soul in sight on such a hot day. It’s a completely different environment to Tokyo but it all still feels familiar.
We soon come across a small field of sunflowers swaying gently in the hot summer breeze. I’m mesmerized by them and stop to savor their beauty. It’s like the sunflowers are dancing without a care for the heat or their surroundings.
Suddenly it strikes me how universal sunflowers are. I’ve been captivated by them in Finland, Australia, the USA and now in Japan.
The sunflowers remind me that we’re all the same at some level, no matter where we’re from. Beneath our superficial differences we’re united by our shared humanity. We strive for happiness and peace even when life can be harsh, painful, and tragic at times. The sunflowers dance as if cheering us while we navigate through this earthly journey.
When we finally reach our destination, we find ourselves enchanted by a white sandy beach with clear ocean waters. I didn’t know anything like it existed so close to Tokyo. We immediately immerse ourselves in the sea and allow the cool water to revive us after the long walk in the intense heat. My intuition about the kind of trip I needed—centered around water—is completely affirmed.
After our stay at the ryokan, we spend a few days in Tokyo, retracing some of the steps we took twenty-five years ago. As we wander through familiar places, I come to realize that I left Japan all those years ago without fully understanding how much this country has given me. Its grace and quiet beauty, the kind and generous people, the care and attention to detail—all touched something deep within me.
I find myself gathering gratitude for both the past and the present.
