The final Wednesday of the year, post birthday and Christmas, and the weather was pretty weird. Perfect Irish weather, truth be told. Schizophrenic. A blustery, cold wind...blowing sleet and snow, warm and radiant sunshine, light rain...constantly changing....every half hour offering up a completely different atmospheric palette. Oddly, I could identify. As 2017 rolls to its conclusion, I've been feeling a bit like Irish weather myself....oddly out of sorts, somewhat at a loss. I seem to be vacillating between various poles. At once grateful...and anxious. Fearful and resigned...and yes, happy, yet melancholic. Perhaps it has something to do with my birthday and the holiday season both being bundled into one neat little parcel of rusty nails, nuts, bolts, and assorted emotional shrapnel.
As years go, it wasn't a bad one. Happy diversions were abundant, and my wife and I managed to squeeze through the four seasons without any real bad news or life altering personal or family tragedies...in good health, with only minor quibbles or complaints. First world problems, truth be told. In that, and all things considered, we are very fortunate. Yet, I have this nagging sense that something is amiss. I can't put my finger on it. What do we expect from our lives, as we get older? Are there certain benchmarks that each of us should be hitting as the years move forward...and if that's the case, who sets them? Where do these expectations and preconceptions come from? Our parents? Schooling? The broader society? Latter-day social media (shudder)...our are they largely self imposed?
When I came to Japan, I was a younger man...in my early twenties. Impulsive and impetuous. I never considered 'the big picture'...the future. The longer term implications of decisions that I made. I suppose this is symptomatic of youth. Everything was a giant smear of color and excitement...and I lived day to day, in the moment. I trusted everyone, and made friends fast. I never considered myself at 51...or the implications of being two thirds finished, and literally a world away from my friends and family, where I started...where I grew up. Perhaps I didn't place the value on some things that I should have? For whatever reason, I turned my back on everything, and threw myself headlong into whatever seemed important to me at that time. My burgeoning career as a songwriter, whatever bands that I was involved with, and the attendant lifestyle. All that rock and roll cliche nonsense that I so readily bought into, that ultimately led to nowhere and nothing. Disappointment and betrayal.
I have a love/hate relationship with my adopted homeland. In the same breath, I can say that I sincerely regret coming here, and that I love and cherish my wife...whom I would never have met were it not for my younger incarnation's impetuous and impulsive 'devil-may-care' attitude, and apparent flair for making less than stellar life choices. I am also keenly aware of the delicate balance upon which everything that I take for granted rests. How quickly the tides of life can change, despite our best efforts. As we get older and start to experience loss...random tragedies, and more significantly, the passing of family members and friends, we become more acutely aware of the transient nature of our own lives. "Never get too comfortable". "Never take anything for granted". Life can turn on a dime. It can suddenly change...like Irish weather.
Thinking back, I can remember when I was around 10 years old, waking up, heart pounding in my chest, and in a cold sweat from a nightmare. It was one of those dreams that seems SO REAL at the time...so vivid and tangible, that you could swear that it was actually happening. One of those dreams that you actually have to step into (if you can), and literally WILL yourself awake to stop. In that particular vivid nightmare, it was dark, and I was trussed up in a bamboo cage, being shouted at in Japanese by what would appear to be Japanese soldiers, in WW2-era uniforms. It was terrifying. I remember the feeling of relief when I woke up in my bed, in my room...in Canada. I recall laying there, wondering what it would be like to be thrust into a place like that, a totally hostile, alien place that I didn't understand, and in which couldn't even communicate a basic idea. I though about the challenges that immigrants coming to Canada, without even basic English language skills must face every day...and their fear. It was the first time that I can recall even considering the struggle and alienation that these people had to face on a daily basis. I wondered how I would react in a situation like that...and if I would have it in me to make it such a situation? I was quietly thankful that this wasn't MY reality...and just a dream. Little did I know that this 'dream' would play itself out in a very real way decades later. Was it a premonition of sorts?
Under the best of conditions, life as an expat, or an emigrant, has its own unique set of challenges...and as years pass into decades, these may change slightly, but remain nonetheless. Living in Japan, as a 'gaijin', is something akin to being a puddle of oil in a bucket of water. The temperature can go up and down...the water can be agitated...or even transferred to a different bucket or container...but the oil and water will never merge. The configuration of the oil may change over the course of time...but there will be no merging. I have no idea if it's the same for people who go to live for extended periods (or even permanently) in other countries - but the very nature of THIS place precludes assimilation. Whether you become fluent in the language or not; no matter how much you think you know about the local customs, manners and etiquette...you will always be that 'other'. This is not to say that people will be unkind, or cruel (directly), at least on the surface of things. It is to say, however, that if your expectation was to eventually blend in and become 'part' of the society...you're in for a rude awakening. The gaijin that seem to make it work over here are the ones that have settled down and started families, and that have been fortunate enough to have managed to cultivate long term friendships with other 'transplants'. These family and foreign friend networks enable a kind of cocoon situation...which acts as an all important buffer to the realities of life as a free-floating 'pool of oil'. I have my wife. This is a big deal, and she is my everything. This is where the anxiety starts to surface. In my head, I keep hearing that old adage about having 'all of your eggs in one basket'. What would this look like without her? What if something were to go terribly wrong? It's not like I'm back home, with a latticework of family and friends to cushion the fall, as I fumble around trying to gradually piece my life back together. Here, I have no extended network. Every aspect of my life would suddenly be up in the air. were we to be visited with significant misfortune. Up for grabs. No safety nets, no cavalry to rush to the rescue. Just a straight free fall to the very bottom.
Over two and a half decades in this country, I've learned some very hard lessons about the 'friendship' dynamic between Japanese, and non-Japanese people. Twenty five years ago, I thought I had it all figured out...but the reality is that I came into this place pretty naive. Put simply, by nature, I am gullible. Anyone that has known me over the years will be nodding their head. I trust and believe people. I never see the negative coming until it's right on top of me. At a certain point, I went very quickly from a place of having 'many (perceived) friends', to a place of virtually none. Trouble. Nothing will show someone up for who they really are than a heaping dose of trouble. In a crunch, it becomes apparent who is at the table, and for what purpose. Sadly, it seems to be the case that when a person is no longer of practical use, and there is no more potential for gain, they can easily be discarded. In a groupist society, like Japan, the 'monkey-see, monkey-do' ethic takes precedence. Very few people care to go against the collective will of their group, whether they actually subscribe to what the 'group' consensus is, or not. In this country, the tendency is to simply shut up and follow the leader. To suck it up, regardless of whether you actually disagree. The 'good German' syndrome. Nobody wants to be 'the nail that stands up'....because we all know what happens there. The errant nail gets hammered down. In my case, trouble came, and, in its aftermath, as the dust settled, I became privy to some disappointing truths. Indeed, the realities of many of the people and things that I had trusted in weren't as I had thought or believed they were over the course of many years. Some hard facts became evident. The standard stuff. Deception, betrayal, dishonesty. My inherent disadvantage, as a 'gaijin' had been exploited more than once. These were things that I didn't want to believe...that I might have been even willfully ignorant of at different times, but that finally became impossible to ignore.
I had to make some hard changes, and walk away. To attempt to forge a new identity, and a new reality on a more solitary road. It's still a bitter pill, and a bone of contention, but life is for pushing forward. Casting a glance backwards, I can see some significant ground has been covered in the intervening years. That said, old scorched earth is now slowly starting to yield some new growth...but the road stretches forward, and there are still countless hills to climb, and valleys to traverse. As far as the (mind's) eye can see.
Still...it's all pretty precarious. I really worry that, without any external support network, I am putting too much pressure on my wife, and that it will wear her down. It's a concern. It must be hard to be someone's everything, every single day. To cover every position on the pitch.
The reality is, here I am. Here we are. There will be no picking up and moving to another country in an attempt to 'reboot life' at this stage of the game. There are also familial obligations on my wife's side that require us to be here for the foreseeable future. Some people, though well intentioned, just don't get this. In conversation and communiques with family or friends back 'home', concern has been expressed, and it's been suggested that I just 'come home'...were it that simple. 'I' can't just 'go' anywhere. I am married. When I attempt to explain my situation, it falls on deaf ears. Natural disasters, radiation leaks, the potential for imminent war, legal issues, flagging business opportunities, disappointment, isolation and loneliness. At what point do you call it a day, and pack it in? Go 'back' to what? The past? To some fanciful idea that you can just duck and dodge through life, stopping and restarting at will because someone that you knew 30 years ago thinks you should? Perhaps that was a good modus operandi in my twenties. It's not a reality in my 50's.
When business is slow, the sound of the clock ticking can be almost unbearable...so one keeps oneself occupied with whatever is at hand. Another run up the riverside. When you run, that's all there is. You are completely present. As you find your pace, you enter a place which is very meditative. Very 'zazen'. Anxiety, anger, pain, sadness, uncertainty. It all gets compartmentalized. I try to ground myself with some Buddhist philosophy. Live in the present. Today is the day. The past is a done deal, and tomorrow is either an anxiety trap, or a place of expectation...a sure road to disappointment. Each task or activity is the most important thing. On the bright side, I've always been a bit of a loner...so the stretches of solitude can be a bit more bearable. Every once in awhile though...the isolation can become somewhat oppressive. Video conference chatting with distant family over the holidays brought a lot of this home, too. Watching a far away life go on without you...people growing, changing...all from a distance...kind of like how I imagine it would be to be a 'ghost'...a detached entity, observing, through the aether, the goings on of those you had a connection to in life, but now only have observer status with. While it's lovely to see family, and people you care for...it's all quite alienating. Bittersweet.
Ultimately, this is where my head has been at, plowing forward through the final days of the year. Over the winter solstice hump, with two months and some change until signs of spring start appearing, it's into the breach after the Japanese Shogatsu holiday period. This year, it will be 'family time', as we drive over to Shiga to spend a couple of days with my wife's Mum, who will be turning 84 this year. I no longer have the option of spending time at the family house in Vancouver with my Mum, Gramma, or siblings...and regret not having made more a point to appreciate the presence of family when I was younger, and everyone was still there. Life has moved on. When it mattered, I was more absorbed with the goings on over here, and chasing whatever illusions were important to me at that time. As all of that has fallen away, I feel a real profound sense of time wasted. A sizable chunk of my life, in fact. I don't want my wife to look back and feel that sense of regret. Strange, because I never had time for regret in my youth. In my rational mind, I still hold to the opinion that it's a thoroughly useless emotion to cling to; yet, as I get on...I find myself doing it. I find myself doing quite a few things that my younger self would have balked at.
On that note, it's a new day...and the Irish weather has given way to a radiant blast of mid-morning sunlight, clawing it's way through the stark late December cold, and illuminating the white living room curtain liners. In the absence of any paying work today, it's looking like time to go out and ply the riverside again...and attempt to find my pace for the day.
Until next time, and without further adieu, from Olde Nagoyaland to you and yours, have a Happy New Year, and remember, "No matter where you go...there you are"
