Issue 11:

Mountain Breeze and Lavender

Yesterday, as a prize of a series of pathetic daily emails home and five consecutive Yahoo BB calls to the States, I received an express 'feel better' package from my mommy. The package was to speed the clean-up of emotional twists caused by the eye of a S.A.D. winter storm. My very uncharacteristic sadness had earned me a pretty yellow box (mom's into color therapy) filled with treats. Enclosed were: bags of Hershey's almond kisses (my favorite), lavender bath salts, a vanilla candle, a box of 64-colors Crayola crayons, an amethyst stone, airplane-sized bottles of tequila (the only alcohol which is a stimulant), and a self-help book, Your Best Year Yet. My mother, in her enthusiastic role of supportive parent, enclosed thoughtful instruction to put playful intention into all my neo-eastern-Zen mindfulness. "Darling, create your life as you wish it to be - come down from that overly pensive mountain top and start planting some seeds for yourself. If there is something missing in your life, figure out what it is and do something about it now." She can be a little bossy at times.

I wondered as I got tipsy on tequila and sucked the almonds free of chocolate while soaking in my lavender-infused bath (first time, actually), about the reasons that might lure one off the mountain-top. The mountain-top, a.k.a. - "in your head"/meditative stage /hatha yoga pose can be such a lovely place to recoil to. It's private, safe and secretive. There's also not a heck of a lot of space up there - perched high away from proactive inclinations, reactive judgements and basic insanity. On the mountain-top there is no failure ; and conversely no success/change/growth as mother was trying to point out because there is no action. Just thinking and thoughts and more thinking. But what's wrong with that? Its like trying to find the missing sock lost in the wash. Its so much more convenient to wonder where it could be than to get on all fours and actually look for it. And then you'd be forced to clean, vacuum and hope you kept the match to that sock. That would require work and effort. Wouldn't one rather breathe deeply and turn away.

In the States, we relish active self-help. "We", meaning westerners in general and New Yorkers in partcicular, are in a constant analytical gaze within. We are active opportunists hunting for self-improvement, perfection and something deep, better and often inexplicable. A lack of emotional vocabulary deters us not. We freely create and experiment with meaning and reason in a provocative Socrates meets Freud's third cousin Dr. Phil manner. We then congratulate ourselves when finally we get it. "It" meaning ourselves. But we don't stop there. We multitask our self-motivated change and we get pissy when we don't see results. For New Year's resolutions we have not 10 promises but subcategories within each vow.

Up until living in Japan, I had viewed the action-oriented self help process as courageous and honest. Tweaking ones imperfections demands admitting that they exist. If one dare not look for those blemishes, then one could easily go through life with a spotted existence - full of holes and emptiness. That would suck. In Japan, it seemed there was little room for imperfection and if we are all blemish-free then what reason exists to peer inside. And what if there was something in life that was not quite the way you'd prefer? Do you scare it away with bean-throwing festivals, therapeutic flower arranging or simply swallow it, like bad sushi that would be rude to spit out. Or do you go to the mountain-top and keep your mouth shut.

One night I sat disturbed in a neighborhood izakaya with Maho and some of her friends for whom I was on the periphery of their circle. I watched a woman quietly tear her face in sorrow, depression, absence of something. I asked Maho if she was ok - why her husband wasn't caressing her shoulder or her children trying to cheer her up? Weren't they as by her make-up smeared face. "Weren't they as crushed by her make-up smeared face. "She's sad - she'll be fine. She's not typical." "

Being in Japan thus far has been comparable to being away at university. There is a concentrated focus on expanding one's capacity (intellectual, social, personal and cultural) - experiencing every high with cool discreet pride and any lows with grace and anonymity. Most of us rush to inhale the perfumed illusion that our campus is actually utopic - peaceful, calm, perfect. Yet the real utopia lies in the communal flow that encourages dialogue and sharing. I opened another tequila and wondered, if one is on the mountain-top who do they share their problems and/or revelations with? To those who think they are less needy, an inner-dialogue appears narcissistic and sharing personal discoveries, even to a paid professional or especially to a restaurant full of strangers is repulsive. It seemed clear like the lavender oil separating from the water, that if my first Japanese winter brushed me against the ouch of discontent, it was my responsibility (not Japan's) to break my pose and scratch.

To be continued...

Previous City Rice Tales

Lisa, a.k.a. Jane, also hails from NYC and teaches at a local university. While she has yet to be perceived as plain, she is quite known for her imaginative philosophical tales and ponderings. She is also an artist, ginger and wasabi junkie and admits to watching Sex and The City reruns to ease occassional bouts of homesickness.

Feel free to drop her a line here.