Small Victories

Moving to a foreign country to live is full of challenges. Japan is certainly no exception to this rule, especially for Westerners settling into the Eastern mindset thoroughly ingrained into nearly every facet of Japanese culture. What has been fascinating to me in the short three weeks I've resided in the country are the small things that quickly become part of a daily set of folkways, ways of fitting in that aren't huge in and of themselves but together build a foundation upon which the door to this new culture might slowly open.

As I burst into my apartment with hands full of groceries (the most American things I could find at the store all crammed into four poor plastic bags) I began to notice the numbness in my fingers from the blood circulation being cut off. My dining room was so close, promising relief, but an invisible barrier barred my path.

Before I could move any further than my entry, to Japanese holy ground, I needed to wrest the shoes from my feet. On a normal day, this was no problem, but today I was wearing my new tightly tied, unbroken in crosstrainers. As my springloaded door shut behind me, my groceries and I became close companions in an evercontracting box. In trying to remove the first shoe I slipped on the entry rug and fell back into the door, which thankfully was securely latched shut. my sock kept slipping on the second shoe, making it seem like I might be trying out a new little jig I picked up an Irish Riverdance performance, all the while holding the bags high enough that if I fell eggs would not be smashed and Frosted Flakes would not be crushed into sugary dust.

Finally, I felt the shoe slip off my foot and nearly dove forward into my dining room (perhaps falling forward would be more accurate as a full dive would probably get me all the way across my none-to-spacious apartment into my living room) freeing my hands, now well on their way to purple, from the precious treasure of my mostly-American delights.

Three weeks ago, I would never have expected this story to unfold, but now I have begun to find myself inextricably bound to the notion that one MUST remove their shoes prior to entering their living space as if the earth itself might stop rotating if I place one dirty destructive sole on my faux-wood floor. While I speak condescendingly toward this small custom, I noticed last week a scuff-mark in bedroom from a time I had forgotten something in the apartment and simply left my shoes on, leading me to chastise myself for not quickly slipping my shoes off at the door. Later that night, as I was rubbing out the mark, I found myself silently promising to myself and the apartment to always honor the no-shoe code.

Whether I'm racing to a crosswalk because the green-light chime has stopped ringing or unnecessarily taping my grocery bags shut at the store or nodding off to sleep with other latenight train passengers on their trek home from what was probably at least a 12-hour day, I have begun to notice slight changes or nods to changes that may make my transition to this vastly different culture a little easier. At the same time I am noticing that, as I'm sure is true with American culture in as many if not more ways, some of the smaller elements in the culture are also the building blocks for change, for positive transformation.

There is one ideal specifically that seems to be crying out for change. Simple questions of consideration, for acknowledgement of difficulties or a bad day, seem to be absent from an otherwise courteous culture. At church, friends are free to lament the woes of their busy week, but with other friends, they report an inability to share, to be open with the people with whom they work or walk or go to school. While this may be small, it sure appears that an ever-rising suicide rate (8th in the world in 2008) might indicate a greater need within the culture for people to feel acknowledged, accepted, especially in times of what is otherwise silent crisis.

I am beginning to see that in the small things lie opportunities for me to learn and experience different ways of life and also to encourage transformation as only one person. Each Sunday, and during many of my English classes, I have the opportunity to ask students about their week. While this act is so small, it gives me an opportunity to let people express themselves. At least, I hope that this is the opportunity I'm creating. After only three weeks, I am only beginning a journey into the lives a people unknown to me, but I sincerely hope that my first observations are the beginning of a window of opportunity opening that could change at least one life while I'm here for so short a time.