I have been in Japan for a while now and I begin to witness some change. I see the rice fields are becoming thicker with grass, and are no longer empty reflections of the sky. People are event starting to recognise me at the places I frequent. They say hello, or they smile a little bigger when they see me, or give me a little nod. It’s a nice feeling, and it makes me feel that I am getting settled here.
This often happens, just before I am ready to pack up and leave again. It’s a strange but comfortable feeling, the feeling of not committing. Thinking about identity yesterday has made me reflect on the contrast between two different parts of my life. At first, I committed fully to one way of doing things: one man, one career, one house, one life. Then, when it all fell apart, I moved and I moved quickly. For a while in France, some people called me courant d’air and I suppose in a way I was. I would go somewhere, people would get used to me, and then I’d leave.
For a while, this kind of lifestyle was fun. I would try on different identities. Each version of me had a different career, a different set of goals, but always the desire to just move on to the next place. I felt bad about this deep down, as if I wasn’t capable of just choosing one thing, but on the surface I would show an image. The person who wanted to move around all the time, go on an adventure, meet new people and learn new things.
Even though there was an element of truth to that, it was mostly an excuse to cover up what I was really doing – searching for a place to call mine. My life may look different to a lot of people, but it’s actually not. I’m doing the same thing as everyone else, trying to figure out which version of me I wanted to be. Lost. Half accepting that fact as well as half feeling shame about it.
Now that I have found that place I call home, I feel all the anxieties associated with making such a commitment. It’s natural, but not for the reasons I used to think. In the past, I avoided commitment because I was afraid that the word “commit” somehow meant sacrifice, giving up and restriction. It’s only in the last couple of months that I learned, commitment is simply deciding to open a door and walk through it rather than hang out in the hallway all the time. When we make a decision to stick to something or someone or some place, we enter a whole different realm of possibilities. Commitment is not the death of something, it’s the birth of a new adventure. One where you’re not alone anymore. And I believe that if life is presenting me with the desire and opportunity to take this adventure, then I should take it.
To be absolutely honest with you, this trip to Japan has been great but it is not what I thought it would be. I have learned a lot, and I have seen beautiful things, but I have also learned that I don’t want to do this alone anymore. Although I love my independence, and I will not give that up, I want to be a part of a bigger whole. Maybe it’s just being around Japanese people, who always seem to have their mind on the collective, that makes me feel this way. But in truth, I think that I came here because it was a desire that already resided within me.
And in Japan, it sprouts… like the stalks of rice rising up from the muddy water of its fields. It makes me think of the farmers life… she stays in one place, doing the same thing every day. Every year she hopes to see the harvest grow in the same way, she makes the same prayer and watches the same cycle. Yet she’s happy, she’s satisfied and she knows the value of her contribution.
Leave a Reply