‘The overriding sense of Tokyo is that it is a city devoted to the new, sped up in a subtle but profound way: a postmodern science-fiction story set ten minutes in the future.’ ― David Rakoff
I am someone who yearns for a contemplative life. Last year I made a vow with a friend to not buy clothes or shoes for the entire year, and for the most part I kept to it. I was intentional with all I brought into my world.
And now Tokyo. Being here is overstimulation for all the senses. Shopping the streets of Harajuku, my inner 7 year old comes out. She’s longing for all things cute (here known as Kawaii) that she didn’t get. This includes Hello Kitty characters for my hair and feet. Jackets and shoes that have dainty ruffles on them, shoes that increase my height and look they are made out of bubble gum, and rainbow colored snacks that give you a sugar high simply looking at them. Cafes are filled with animals to cuddle with either to further feed the stimulation, or perhaps calm it down. I’ve seen not only puppy and cat cafes, but micropigs and hedgehog ones.
Last year’s restraint has been temporarily erased, as somehow I found myself purchasing four pairs of shoes in one day in Harajuku. I’m not sure what happened. I was under the spell of bright happy cotton candy colors that clouded my vision. The river of people were moving at an incessant speed. Instead of fighting the stream, we went with it.
It makes sense there are pockets of serenity intentionally placed throughout the city. Nostalgic jazz by the likes of Ella Fitzgerald softly plays as the backdrop in multiple cafes. It seems as if shrines have strategically been placed within parks to soften the volume Tokyo. All of these are necessary as one walks through the crowded streets of tourists and locals. It blows my mind that this city has 4 times the amount of people living in it than New York City does. And as I write this in a high rise hotel overlooking the streets and waterways of Tokyo, I’m appreciative of the current calm moment that is existing before another day begins.
My word of the year is “savor.” What I realize that to savor is not just the quiet moments that exist within nature and silence. Savor also is to take in the vibrancy of colors, joy, cuisine, curiosity, the fast pulse of city that vibrates at a different pace to one’s own. Savor the chaos, find stillness when one can, and know you have a choice how you want to flow when you return home. What will be integrated after the travels you’ve processed?
‘For those with restless, curious minds, fascinated by layer upon layer of things, flavours, tastes and customs, which we will never fully be able to understand, Tokyo is deliciously unknowable. I’m sure I could spend the rest of my life there, learn the language, and still die happily ignorant.’ – Anthony Bourdain
The other day as I sat for breakfast at my Okinawan hotel, I opted to wear my Strawberry Shortcake sweater. One of the staff members freaked out. She loved Strawberry Shortcake, remembering from her childhood. She spent half of it in Okinawa and half in America (specifically North Carolina), she recalled other favorite cartoons from that era: My Little Pony and Care Bears. I asked how old she was, she didn’t want to say, but admitted to be 46. “I am 45, we are the same.” I further went on to try to connect with other beloved animated characters from that era, which included He-man and his sister She-ra, and Jem.
What was interesting is I had just recently bought this sweater prior to coming to Japan. She showed me her water bottle, also Strawberry Shortcake, and an I phone case she made with the same image. She admitted as she got older, and her children aged, this was her time to embrace what she loved in her youth. It was interesting, because earlier in the week, I just purchased a Hello Kitty keychain and was debating to go into town to get a Hello Kitty hat and a Monchhichi purse, both paraphernalia for us 80s kids. But now I had validation, it was totally ok to get this. A kindred spirit was doing the same thing on the other side of the world. She deeply connected with Strawberry Shortcake, as it was not easily found in stores in Japan and was special to her experience. She had to search this out. Although Hello Kitty was universal, Monchhichi wasn’t. I was doing the same thing in Okinawa.
I opted to share with her the California Strawberry Festival which occurs annually near my current residence. The irony is one of her co-workers had a similar growing up experience. He was born in Okinawa, but moved to California when his mother remarried. He lived in nearby town to me for 15 years. I told her that her colleague was from the same area, and I showed her pictures of the strawberry attire people wore, the strawberry desserts that were served, and the cute crocheted Strawberry hat I bought. She immediately wrote it down to research later, and vowed she would go one day. I have no doubt in my mind that one day she will pilgrimage to this festival wearing Strawberry Shortcake attire. Travelling reminds us of diversity, but it also reminds us of the similarities we hold. And this week was evidence of that.
It didn’t start off as a pilgrimage. Initially I was going to have a relaxing day in town, and opt for the local spa. I heard there was an onsen (Japanese spa) that allowed one to have tattoos. I asked the front desk of my hotel to confirm this and if there was availability. The staff member queried how many tattoos I had. “Six” I replied, when really it was closer to 8. He asked the question, then shook his head, I was informed tattoos were allowed, but the cap was 2. I had been warned about hiding my tattoos in Japan, as it may be assumed I was part of a gang. I nodded my head, admitting slight frustration. Out of my mouth, the next question that arose “are there any bicycles left to borrow?” Yes, there were three currently for hotel guests to use. I had to go somewhere on my day off. I was going on an unexpected pilgrimage.
In recent days I had explored what was reasonably close to the hotel, and had noted within 2.5 miles was Futenma Shrine. This was a shrine built in the 1450s during the Ryuku era, and a US military base is located right next to it and a sacred cave underneath it. My knowledge about the shrine was limited, but I was determined to see shrine while in Okinawa. To walk to the Futenma Shrine would take nearly an hour, but one could reach it by bicycle in less than 20 minutes. Although I had a tiny cold, I opted for the bicycle route. How bad could 20 minutes be?
What I discovered was some of this route would be uphill, and the bike was a beach cruiser. There were no gears, and I am not a bicycle afficionado. And so the trek began. Once I got outside of the main streets of Chatan, nobody was riding bicycles and there were few pedestrians, as I bicycled and escorted by bicycle around the perimeter of Camp Foster. I gave myself verbal pep talks, that I could do this. I did the Camino, I got this, only one more mile to go. The projected 20 minute journey was closer to 40 minutes, as I followed google map’s route. It encouraged me to get off my bike and walk uphill on a side road, which was blocked off by flags. I circumvented this, and when I reached the top the plastic barrier was larger. I crawled under this with my bike.
A staff member said in Japanese to park my bike where I was. He probably also yelled at me for taking the side road that was covered with flags, discouraging entrance. I smiled wiped off the sweat, bowed, hoping he would forgive this unknowing American. My Japanese is minimal, but through motions we communicated. I began to walk towards the parking lot further uphill but was encouraged to go downhill to the entrance. I followed the crowd. This was a proper one day pilgrimage. Sweat and effort to go to a holy place, not knowing what to expect, reliance on others, and oftentimes language barriers.
Behold the beauty of the Shrine in front of me, but there was a separate area to the side where people were standing in line to purchase items. Was there an entrance fee? Was it souvenirs or offerings? I noticed people cleaning their hands with water in a beautiful trough. I followed what I saw. I opted to go into a room where people were waiting, everything was in Japanese. I was the only English speaker there. I asked a staff member if she spoke English, she did not but brought out another staff member. I knew there was a cave below, I queried how to get to this. “Write your name over there, wait, you will be escorted.” I followed orders, and within a minute was escorted in Japanese with three other people to the cave downstairs.
No photos were allowed in this sacred space. Although I longed to document this part of the journey, I didn’t want to disrespect the rules. Prior to entering in a single file line, the staff member bowed deeply. We each took our turns bowing to this sacred symbol, we walked further and then bowed to the cave. The staff member left us, and from what I understood we each had free time to wander the cave, pray, and be in this sacred space before the next scheduled group to arrive in 20 minutes. There were small coin offerings in little nooks, and a small mini shrine in the front. I always felt comfortable in caves, after living in Spain, and being able to visit them quite frequently. Caves with stalagmites seem to offer a living breathing holy space, where silence is encouraged in the midst of the dark corners. I admit I don’t know much about Shintoism. I noticed one woman kneeling and praying to the small altar. When she was complete, I followed suit. Internally I automatically I said the Hail Mary. I didn’t know how to worship in the confines of this religion, and therefore I thanked the world and universe for having this opportunity to visit, for who is in my life, and for life.
As my allotted time in the cave was ending, I explored what was upstairs. There was an area to pay 100 yen (less than $1) and receive a fortune, and one stash were in English. I paid the 100 yen and received an interesting fortune. As I peaked into the shrine, individual groups of families entered and had time with a staff member, who played the drums and repeated prayers for them. It seemed to be some type of honoring or blessing. As the other visitors stood outside, we each took turns giving an offering. One gives a small amount of money, bows and claps twice, then prays. I was familiar with this, as the week prior when going to the Cherry Blossom festival and climbing and visiting a small shrine in the mountain, we were taught to do this. One seemed to do this individually, with one’s partner, or as a family. Throughout the shrine, there were fortunes hung and left behind. If one doesn’t like the fortune you paid to receive, you could leave it there. I kept mine. It was too intriguing to leave behind.
I spent an hour at this shrine, and as I left there was a tiny drizzle. I mounted my bike and walked it down the blocked off side road (like a rebel), and headed back. Now the path was downhill, and the ride lasted 20 minutes. As I sat on my beach cruiser in the rain, I was pleased I pushed myself to visit this site. I smiled as I rod the path, and it was an interesting feeling this unexpected pilgrimage I took by myself. I barely spoke to anyone, as I do not speak Japanese, and had no friends or family with me. This was a memory that only I could recall in the future, as it was experienced only by me. Mental note made to remember this moment.
*I had researched afterwards the stories linked to this cave, to find out more check on the link below. The following paragraph is taken from the accompanying website:
Megami.
Initially, the first deity is a female by the name Megami. The legend goes that two sisters used to reside in the Syuri area, one being of immeasurable beauty. This was Megami, but she was also pious and devout, locking herself away and dedicating her time to spiritual pursuits. Her younger sister married, and the husband became curious of the legendary beauty. One day, he decided to sneak a peak at Megami, who caught him. She was horrified, and fled from the house in hysterics, disappearing into the caves of Futenma, never to be seen again. Since then, she has become a divine being of the cave.
Saturday Night Live has been a show I had always admired. A variety sketch comedy show with celebrity hosts, musical guests, political and social commentary, and humor that can connect a nation. Watching the show growing up was a way to connect with friends, love interests, family members, and colleagues. It blows my mind the talent that continues to hail from this show throughout the years.
Recently a film was released entitled Saturday Night about the first ever Saturday Night Live taping, and how it nearly lost it’s slot to a Johnny Carson rerun. The film follows creator Lorne Michaels and the unknown comedians that were going to change weekend television. We witness the chaos that ensues in trying to coral a group of rule breaking one liner comedians, writers, and staff before the first taping. One truly gets a sense of how much work from dozens of people that are needed to make a new show succeed, when the network expected it to fail.
As I watched the film, it reminded me how many groups of people embody a similar dynamic in their own work settings. Talent collaborating and joining together for a particular mission, despite the external naysayers who expect the worst from a group’s collective effort. This is true not just of comedians or actors, but of a front and back of the house staff at a Michelin restaurant, a Special Operations flying squadron and their maintenance crew, a psychological staff at a community mental health center, a surgical team ready to perform a difficult procedure, a spiritual retreat center holding space for retreat attendees, a fire department working overtime containing spread from a recent fire, or a group of teachers ready to start a new year. For a moment in time, these people join together for the purpose of serving others. All skills are needed, welcome, and are joined in unison.
Although I am sure the events that led to the first Saturday Night Live taping were erratic, insane, and chaotic, it can be appreciated afar. At a distance, we witness the orchestra conductor Lorne Michels hearing the notes of each of the musicians individually and collectively. There is a line in the film prior to the taping, where Gilda Radnor says to John Belushi “Do you have nostalgia for a moment when you are still in it? I mean like you are in the moment but you are also looking back on it, like right now I’m here right now, but I’m also thinking about this moment 20 years from when we’re walking by this ice rink. Maybe it’s Christmas, and our kids are dragging us by our pinkies, presents loaded on our shoulders, all we can think about is this moment right before we went on tv.” In the midst of big unifying moments, do we catch snapshots like this? Do we have nostalgia for a time as it is happening, knowing it cannot be replicated in the same way?
There’s a beauty with this film, it serves as a reminder of how we all need each other to pull difficult tasks off. We all play a role, nobody’s is more important than another. This film captures a day in the lives of people before they hit it big, their passion for the arts, avante garde thinking, rivalries, support, laughter, human struggle, and effort to bring this show onto air.
Over the years, I’ve been lucky enough to meet some actors from SNL while living in Los Angeles. People I watched in my living room during my junior high years, I was able to share my atmosphere with, just for a moment. Although I lived on 49th street in New York City, the same street as NBC studios, I never did make it to a taping. Perhaps one day, I will walk on stage where the magic has happened for decades and creatives continue to push the boundaries in an effort to make the American audience temporarily reprieve from their everyday problems and laugh. But for now I can watch this film, and appreciate the guts, glory, courage, and faith it had to put the initial production on. And in the meantime, I can take Gilda Radnor’s words of advice and have nostalgia and savor the moments I am living in as they are occurring.
It Only Takes A Smile 