Over the years, complaints have been made about the excessive prices of coffee in Western culture, particularly America. Although I agree, daily coffee purchases can be a bit costly, it depends on how you are drinking the coffee and using the space that serves it. If one is simply drinking the coffee and heading out of the coffee shop every 24 hours, this adds up and it’s more advantageous to brew at home.
Yet if you are going to a coffee shop for more than coffee, that the cost is worth it. People go to coffee shops to connect with friends for long conversations. Coffee shops are the backdrop for first dates, a safe space to cut the date short or prolong it. They serve as a new office space for those who need to leave their homes to focus on their work day. And for people like me, coffee shops are a place that have become synonymous with writing. The background music, conversation, characters, and caffeine amplify the creative process.
When we actually take time to slow down and drink our coffee, we can see we are paying for the product we are consuming, the staff that are serving us, and helping offset the monthly rent the owners are paying for. We are paying for a temporary escape into a third space, and for me it’s worth it.
My teal Birkenstocks have been broken in the past 2 years. I purchased them in Europe, and gently wore them back and forth during my time in Spain. But they helped me transitioned as I returned to my California beach life, after ten years abroad. I molded them to fit my feet as I walked my 16 year old Bella daily, whether on a promenade that surrounded a harbor, to the neighborhood of Silverlake when visiting my brother, or to the beginning of the beach’s edge.
They are comfortable to wear in all types of terrain, with rubber bottoms that keep you from sliding. When I did my beach walks, I had them remain on my feet until they hit the sand, which they were then popped into a canvas bag. My dog and I walked barefoot in the sand and the ocean, until her paws grew tired and I would carry her for the remainder of our long walks. These teal birkenstocks were my comfort shoes. I always have a pair of birkenstocks that turn into these steady companions. As time progresses, they lose their new sheen, become discolored with the excessive use, and simply are my errand shoes.
These teal Birkenstocks remained with me, after I had to put Bella to sleep, and I would attempt to return to the beach to do the walks without her. Grief accompanied me, but so did these shoes. They were there as I relocated to my new home, another beach town, supporting me to feel the sand a hundred miles north of where I was living. They brought me consistency and stability, until they no longer did.
And now the shoes are almost too comfortable and exacerbate a soreness in my foot that doesn’t exist when I wear other shoes. It’s as if these old shoes carry the old pain with me. And I have a realization, its time to let go. For to continue wearing these shoes, will only further hurt my feet. When I looked at the bottoms, they are starting to lose their traction, perhaps allowing a slip to occur. And I realize the more I hold onto and wear these shoes, its keeping me from wearing all the shoes in my closet waiting to have experiences. And so with that, I say thank you to the teal birkenstocks. And slip my feet into a pair of pink Havana slide ons to geret the afternoon ocean. Let’s see what is next in store.
Prior to preparing for my morning’s errands, I journaled on my couch, under cozy blankets. I had the feeling emerge of missing my dogs, who laid next to me and kept my company for a span of 18 years. Their absence and the silence in the home is heavy, and has taken time to adjust to.
I opted to watch several videos I saved on my phone during the pandemic of these two special fur beings. The videos that I was seeking were not special outings to elaborate places or times I dressed my dogs in hilarious clothes. What I searched for today were videos of them just napping on blankets in the sun or in between my legs on the same couch I was sitting on now. I had a video of Bella grooming her, brother Puzo, offering motherly love as she licked and cleaned his eyelids and ears. It was the hours of down time we spent cuddling that I miss the most. In those small moments, years of love have been built.
Today was the first day I didn’t cry since Bella died over 6 weeks ago, when watching images of her and Puzo. I was able to extend and appreciate the warmth of those moments now. I couldn’t help but wonder did I offer them enough love while they were here? Did I show appreciation for the loyal beingness in my life? Did they know how much they meant to me? But I calmed down my grieving heart, and knew by the way they would gaze at me, they appreciated all I shared. They loved the trips we explored, the walks we went on, the countries we lived in, the treats I gave them. But what I think they loved the most was the small moments we spent on the couch, sleeping, dreaming, and napping in the sun.
As I go through my belongings and pack for yet another move, I found this tin box that says “Make your own magic.” Inside exists a little bit of old popcorn. No, they are not the buttered old kernels that get stuck in your teeth. This popcorn is something else.
Years ago, I attended a workshop led by the infamous author, screenwriter, and teacher Julia Cameron. She was leading an immersive training on one of her most notable projects: The Artist Way. This event focused on how one can reconnect or jumpstart their creativity. There are writing exercises, self-reflective activities, and within a group one can expect sharing. When this is taught in a group, one thing she had us do was share popcorn. Popcorn are little wishes, blessings, or compliments one offers other members of the group. She used the metaphor of popcorn, because these statements are quick, joyful, spontaneous, and delicious. Even if one is a stranger, you must write a positive fortune for this individual. You can be as creative as you like.
The 12 Week Artist Way is a project I not only finished, but led many groups over the years. And sometimes I bring out the popcorn exercise. In this little tin box, I’ve kept some of these popcorns I have received. I know if I am feeling down, I can go into this box.
One I received said: “Your radiate a warmth and calm energy, that feels like it’s about to have a breakthrough.” Another said “Your kind and open heart will always guide you, as your strong connection to your spiritual center. Let this be the sole guide for your life and never ever let this go for anything or anyone.”
It’s interesting the things we choose to keep over the years. I move frequently, and have donated, discarded, or upcycled many things. This little popcorn box is still quite special to me. I hope you have something like this among your precious belongings.
Walking on Sunset Boulevard in Silverlake with a group of friends on Saturday, a stranger approached me and said “you need new shoes.” I was surprised at her comment. We had just finished a delightful meal at a local Thai establishment, after sharing our updated goals for the year and ways we would be accountable to each other. I opted to wear a pair of white sandals that were made by Minnesota Moccasin company, that had turquoise embellishments. These were sandals I loved in theory but I wasn’t ready to let go of them. I wanted to “wear them to the ground,” to know I got the full use out of them.
“They are not fitting right on you. You need new shoes. I need new shoes too.” My friends looked at her with a sense of curiosity in their faces, as she walked by. All were wondering was she was trying to sell me shoes? This was Sunset Boulevard after all. As she strolled by us, another woman began stating out loud with her dog “We are on Sunset on a Saturday night.” Was she livestreaming on a social media site? Nope, she was just in the midst of a psychotic episode.
As we reflected on both of these two women juxtaposed to each other, we walked up a little hill. A helicopter circled around us. My friend opened up her neighbor app, which stated an armed individual was nearby. We didn’t know what to do, keep walking, try to hide? “Another night in Los Angeles,” one of my friends shared. Was this a regular night? A stranger telling you to get new shoes, a psychotic woman, a helicopter police chase, armed gunmen, and processing goals for one’s life with friends at a delicious restaurant. Perhaps it was a typical day. It was a mixture of wonder, appreciation, fear, confusion, and joy. This is life in today’s world, and it was playing out in our small atmosphere.
“You need new shoes.” Despite all that happened, this was the comment that stayed with me for the rest of the weekend. Perhaps this woman was right. Why was I holding onto old shoes trying to get the most use out of them? The fact was the more I used these particular shoes, the less I could use all the other shoes in my closet. I had more than enough shoes, I didn’t need new ones, I just needed to get rid of these. And so later in the week, I did just that. I not only got rid of this particular pair of shoes, but three other ones that were waiting to be given away. I did it with pleasure, as I offered up space for me to see what I actually own and take joy in using my other belongings.
This stranger’s comment served as a current lesson in my life. How often do we take wisdom from strangers or a passerby’s comments? There are textures to conversations, interpretations we can make from metaphorical statements. I wasn’t just getting rid of shoes, I was getting rid of that which I have overgrown and that which doesn’t serve me. I was creating space in my life to welcome in the beauty that already exists.
For the past several years, my number one value was my dog Bella. Ever since my other dog Puzo died at 15 years, she was my priority. We spent two years living the retired life together in France and Spain. Bella accompanied me on my lap in cafes, bars, and the parks. When her legs and paws became tired, I carried her like a baby, to ensure she had prime sunshine on her face. In the past year, when I had to return to work, I purchased a condo five minutes from work in order to maximize time with her. My lunch breaks I rushed home to take her out, eat with her, and return home to go on leisurely walks on the beach, ports, or her the local pet shop. When I had dates or visited with friends, I often asked if Bella could accompany us. I included Bella wherever possible in numerous facets of my life.
And now she’s gone. Nearly 16 years to the day we found each other in a California park near sunset, she left this earth. I’ve been a pet mom for 18 years, placing their lives as my number one value as I navigated relationships, jobs, and moves. We moved back and forth to California several times, including extended time in Hawaii, the United Kingdom, Paris, and Spain. As I accepted work positions, there was no question if they would be with me. Their presence was a solid yes.
The question that arises now that her and Puzo are gone, is what are my values at this point? How will I make the choices in my life now that my fur companions are gone? What will be number one at this time in my life?
Oftentimes there’s a dramatic shift in our life that occurs: a death, relationship ending, graduation, health crisis, monumental birthday, or job loss. We are left with the question, now that this identity is no longer in my life, who am I? How do I want to be? And now the transformative journey begins… I have so much more to share about her impact in my life, but for now with this hole I am curious how to navigate the world without her?
It’s scary, exciting, and nerve wracking. The unknown. It’s life.
I woke up this morning having a dream that my mother and I had an argument about time. I felt she was wasting it, being slow in her movements, when we had a long road trip to get to. She is retired and luxuriates in time, I felt I didn’t have enough of it. In the dream, I wanted to rush her to and make the most of it.
This dream made sense at this particular moment, it was the evening the clocks sprung forward.
I woke up earlier than my roommates and was not clear of time. We were at a retreat center with limited cell service and wifi in the cabins. It was completely dark outside, I looked at my phone and wondered was it really 545 am? Would my cell phone change without service? Could I trust time, feeling as if I didn’t have enough?
But the truth is (at least for me on retreats) time stretches and expands while one is away from her everyday demands. And so what is time?
Time’s been on my mind, as I have clients in other countries at the moment, where the time does not change. The past week trying to coordinate schedules blew my mind, what time tomorrow would it be for them when we spoke today for me? As I reflect on time, I want a different job so I can have more time off, because as a full time salaried employee someone controls the amount of time I can use leisurely and who determines how my sick time shall be used, even if I want to focus more on wellness. I long for time abundance rather than time scarcity.
I woke up with a sore throat and thought to make better use of my morning. Instead of worrying about time, I would do something with it.
I opted to walk to the lounge area and have some tea, another retreat attendee noted how early I was up, and he was the same. He continued to compare this time, to time back home. Another woman asked for the time, and a man stated the time was near sunset. He didn’t know because he had pre-coffee brain. Time was on all of our minds.
At the moment, I could luxuriate in it. And I did
Initially as I walked towards the baths at 6ish I saw tiny paw prints on the staircase. I wasn’t sure what animal may be joining me in the open baths, would it just be me and a racoon? A human couple left the baths, I saw no racoons, and felt at ease as I slid into the thermal baths. At Esalen, the baths are clothing optional. In the darkness of the early day or evening, I do not mind being nude alone in the healing waters, listening to the ocean hit the rocks below. And here time felt expansive.
I sit in front of a tree overlooking a mountain, facing the direction of where the sun will be rising from, having a warm cup of coffee before yoga class begins. At another point of my busy life, I may say that I beat time. I was so productive before the sun said hello. But time is not a thing to be beat. It’s something to be in partnership with, flow with.
There’s a patter on the roof, I witness two racoons scoping out the landscape during their last moments of nocturnal activities. Slowly they creep and disappear into the tree that I am observing. Perhaps these were the racoons whose footprints I observed in the baths. Perhaps we are on the same schedule. They do not adhere to clocks and watches, but the movement of the sun and moon. Yet, here we are together making the most of the time we have today.
‘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.
It Only Takes A Smile 