“We are lucky”

Tomoyo, my old roommate, occasional savior, and most importantly my friend, took me out for a weekend of sightseeing during the Japan sojourn. First we traveled by bullet train to her hometown of Nagahama where we stayed with her family for a night. Their house is traditional; full of dark wood, tatami mats and doors that slide rather than swing. The heavy humid weather forced house cats Chloe and Cha-Cha to seek constant refuge on kitchen tiles or in the dense garden out back. Tomoyo’s father and sister took turns napping on the floor in the spare room, bodies sprawled over mats, comic books draped over stomachs.

Being there after two hectic months in Tokyo (or 25 hectic years in California) was like slowly sinking into a hot bath. I felt calm, relaxed and sleepy. And even though our to-do list following the hometown visit was jam-packed — 1 night’s stay at a legit bathhouse; cliffs overlooking a violent sea; bike rides around Biwa Lake; hokey tourist attractions — the general feeling of peace stayed with me.

There’s this ride I really like at Disney's California Adventure called Soarin’ Over California (I promise this will relate to my trip in a second). It’s basically a flight simulator, so you start off by sitting in what looks like a giant ski lift. Once you’re strapped in and ready the lights go out, your car is lifted high above the ground, a lovely orchestral score starts playing, a “breeze” picks up, and suddenly you’re facing a giant screen displaying California as it would be seen from an extreme hang glider’s point of view. As you pass over orange groves, mini overhead vents release a citrus scent, and when you reach the mountains it smells like evergreen. It might sound a little cheesy but let me tell you, after walking around a giant park filled with screaming children, it's a delicious break. I like it so much I rode it twice during my last Disneyland trip in November.

Exploring Japan gave me the same serene feeling as Soarin’, except it was real. After dinner at the bathhouse Tomoyo and I walked awkwardly in our nemaki and geta (pajama robes and wooden slippers provided by the hotel) through the sticky heat in search of ice cream. We told silly jokes on the way, tripped over decorative cobblestones like uncoordinated little girls and our laughs echoed down the streets. The next day at Eihei-ji Temple we raced barefoot up hardwood stairs scrubbed everyday by inhabiting monks, poked our heads into prayer rooms and stared wonderingly at ceilings covered in painted birds. The whole temple smelled of fresh peaches.

Finally, as if Japan somehow knew what it would do to me, a musician started playing power ballads on a keyboard when we stopped at the famous Tōjinbō cliffs to watch the sunset.

Seriously, who needs Disneyland when you have Japan?

I’ve been home and back to the usual grind for about the same amount of time that I was gone, but life has yet to let up its explosion of new things. When I started this post earlier today I was afraid that so much had happened since my return I wouldn’t be able to remember the way it felt to be surrounded by Tomoyo’s family, or Japan’s lush and welcoming countryside. As it turns out the problem is trying to find the right words to describe how much I remember. The right words to express how much I loved it. How much I felt like a part of the family. How much gratitude I have. How much I can’t wait to go back.

Recently, after guzzling buckets of wine, my friend Arwen and I started reflecting on our lives (the way you usually do after guzzling buckets of wine) when suddenly she said, “We are lucky. There are people in the world who literally have no real friends, or not even fake friends.”

I've been thinking about this statement a lot, especially now that the year is ending. It’s been a particularly textured one, which is just a fancy way of saying that tons of unexpected things happened in the last twelve months and my emotional responses have been all over the board. I guess that’s actually pretty normal, but I feel good for having navigated through it. After all, I spent the couple of years prior feeling half dead and worn out because of the same bullshit, like my entire life was a broken record. 2009 has been both a knock to the head and a breath of fresh air.

I’m beyond grateful for my amazing friends (Tomoyo is just one example of what I'm workin' with here). They've all taken time out of their schedules to  stand by me, to buttress the struggle of relearning how to function properly. I couldn’t possibly want more from them.

To top it off, the end of this year has been filled with sweet things: fingers entwined, shoulder kisses and love songs. I’m hesitant, but the outlook is good. In fact, rather than wanting to start fresh in January like I usually do I’m hoping 2010 will be made from 2009 concentrate. Because yeah, I am lucky, and life is really something.