I felt very fortunate to have spent two weeks in Japan in the Autumn, travelling around a bit between different cities. Not a restful holiday in terms of step-count, but as my supervisor commented, restful in an opening-up sort of way. Commitments fallen away, I could relax into pursuing my own agenda, which often involved seeing and eating as much as is reasonably possible. I’ve been once before, and love spending time there. I was very aware on this visit that I didn’t want the holiday to have too much pressure attached to it, knowing that I have a limited time and can’t afford to visit regularly, so wanted to ‘make the most’ of my time there. I was also wary of the post-holiday blues, which can set-in after any holiday, especially returning to a wintery England with long nights, and cold and wet weather. This seemed like a good opportunity for a blog post having not prioritised it in a while, aware that many people (me too) have the Christmas holidays approaching.
One of my main avenues of thought at the moment is how I can continue to enjoy Japan when I’m not there. Which in turn has made me reflect on how I can continue to have a relationship with anything or anyone when I’m not in that place or with that person. I was saddened to see that disability activist and author Alice Wong died recently, and I was reminded of her article ‘Constant Cravings’. She wrote about the pleasure she still took from food, even if her disability meant she often couldn’t eat it – reading about food, watching videos, selecting meals for friends and being with them while they ate and so on. My inability to be on holiday all the time is of course incomparable to the nature of Alice Wong’s relationship with food and experience of disability, but I took great comfort from her writing. As I often write about, not accepting the ways things are can lead to suffering. And unlike resignment, acceptance is not about giving up. We always have our freedom within a limited reality. Freedom to change our relationship to food. Or in my case, rather than being sad when my holiday comes to an end, just being grateful I get to do that at all where I haven’t been able to in the past, might not be able to in the future, and with the knowledge that others don’t have that privilege.
Gratitude is one way of continuing my relationship to holiday, and to Japan in particular, but not the only way. I take pleasure from learning about the culture there too. If I remember rightly it was the author W. David Marx who pointed out there’s something quite orientalist in attributing away the differences in Japan and the West to ‘culture’ without exploring that further. As if the ease of opening a small bar in Tokyo is because of ‘culture’ or something inherent about being Japanese; as if Japanese people are just naturally more efficient than ‘we’ are. In reality, there are specific regulations and policies which allow aspects of culture to emerge over time. Regulations and policies which any country could adopt. As I understand it, and I’m not an expert, it’s easy enough to open a small bar in Tokyo because very small spaces are available, the rent is low, a liquor license is affordable and so on. These are circumstances which are affected by political decisions, and aren’t inherent to a specific country.
Of course, certain ways a city operates can become entrenched and unquestioned as time goes by. So to with our individual ways of being in the world, the ways we operate. I love the term from philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty that experiences get ‘sedimented’ down into our Being, with older layers of sand becoming more tightly packed as more layers build up on top. Whereas others may imagine layers of rock, I think it says something about my faith in change that I imagine layers of sand. Only when I imagine deeper into ancient experiences, built up and pressed down through generations (e.g. generational trauma, language, deep philosophical assumptions) do I imagine layers condensed into rock. Even then, dynamite exists… Of course I’m joking (or am I). Digging and dynamite are perhaps too violent as terms to capture the exploration of our internal assumptions about how to be in the world. And then again, when our assumptions about how to be in the world come unstuck, this can feel incredibly unsettling and even violent – as the solid ground beneath our feet turns to sand.
So one benefit of holiday for me is time to stop – again, even if my feet did not. There is time to look up and look in, to ask if my priorities are aligned. To explore what I enjoyed in Japan is to explore what brings me joy. Finding where I am orientated in the world helps me find my own feet. There was a moment in a Buddhist temple where I felt that every time I turned my head I saw one of the most beautiful vistas I had ever seen. And another. And another. While it was a special place, I know that part of why it was special was how much it brought attention to the present moment. And the present moment exists wherever I am (right here, for example, fingers typing on my laptop). It can be easy to think “if only I was…” (richer, had more time for holiday, better at writing etc) and overlook what is. I exist, I have fingers, I have the time to write, I have a laptop. None of these things are givens. Many generations of people have conspired to put me, with an able body, in front of this laptop. Many people have conspired to make this laptop. Many factors allow me to have time to write.
Onsen bathing is common in Japan, partly because of the prevalence of natural hot springs. Japan has a deep and specific connection with water, with links to spirituality, religion and ritual. Again I’m really not an expert but have enjoyed finding out a little about these links. Shedding all clothes to get into a public bath doesn’t initially feel comfortable as an English person, but surrounded by people treating it as no big deal made it quickly become comfortable. There are many different aspects to the practice which make it situational to Japan, but at the same time there are aspects of the experience I don’t have to leave there. The practice of spending time in hot water is easily done in the bath of course, and factoring in time for doing very little feels particularly important when rushed off my feet. There’s an old Zen proverb that says if you don’t have time to meditate for an hour a day, meditate for two hours a day… Not all holidays are filled with rest of course, and not everyone gets to have regular holidays. The Wim Wenders film ‘Perfect Days’ reminds me that you don’t need a holiday to find yourself in the present moment. The film follows a janitor who finds joy throughout his working day, while cleaning public toilets. Sometimes joys as simple as noticing the shadow of leaves on the bathroom wall.