Reverse Culture Shock

In a week I traveled to three countries: Japan, the US, and Canada. For many of the people I met along the way, that's more countries than they'll visit in their lifetime. Reverse culture shock - the feeling of not fitting into your "home" culture anymore - began to persistently nudge me.

Glen Falls in Williamsville, New York

I drove across Canada to visit family in New York. We played football while running barefoot on the lawn, and ate locally made ice cream at a park. At the same time I was doing these very American activities, Nanao felt just down the street. I couldn't grasp the distance between me and the life I'd built over the past year.

Reverse culture shock wasn't one overwhelming revelation to me, but a series of many little shocks: I could understand overheard conversations; the roads had pot holes; customer service workers did not look forward to serving people; I had to leave tips; processed food is so obviously poisoning everyone.

Sometimes I felt like I'd landed back in Kansas after a long time in Oz. I wanted things to feel "normal" (i.e., Japanese) again. It seems, as a traveler, you can't be in one place without missing another - and I feel so lucky for it!

Every new place challenges your assumptions, broadens your perspective, and evokes changes in your behavior. You become a messy, wonderful mix of the different cultures you've experienced. If reverse culture shock is an indication that you've changed inside, then I must be going in the right direction.

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WEEKEND WARRIOR: Visiting Family in New York

Weekend Warrior: a person who is restricted from travel during the week, so they go on epic adventures on the weekend. 

As soon as I arrived in Lockport, everyone made me feel warm and welcome. Aunt Mandy made me vanilla chai tea in a big mug that said “family” with little hearts. That one gesture filled me with such gratitude and love. It’s heartwarming to have people want to do these little things for me to show they care; I notice every single one of them.

Aunt Mandy loves to cook. We prepared dinner together from her binder of secret recipes. She brought out different flavor-infused olive oils and vinegars to try on cucumber slices, teaching me an appreciation for pairing certain flavors.

During the course (pun!) of my stay, we had blueberry pancakes, French toast, pot roast, fresh salmon, and roasted potatoes. This is great, because Aunt Mandy has to keep up with Jeremy’s appetite! He’s growing fast and has been pegged for 6’2’’ (he likes to remind me that someday he'll be the one bending down to give hugs).

I got to sit in on the Semi-Finals of Jeremy’s hockey tournament (they won - go Wheatfield Blades!!). The rink was freezing - you could actually see your breath forming. Aunt Mandy came prepared with more vanilla chai tea. We sipped it together as we cheered our little man on from the bleachers.

Unfortunately, I forgot my camera charger *headsmack* so I don’t have photos of the many other things we did together – like Julia’s giant napoleon from Muscoreils that squished out frosting, or the slant of green light from the windows at the city car pound, or the graceful/powerful ice-skating of Uncle Dave and Jeremy at the Father & Son hockey game. I captured these moments in my memory instead.


until next time ♥

REFLECTIONS: Touching the Infinite

Julia in front of Hogwarts Nichols School for brilliant students in Buffalo, NY.

On my desktop there's a note that reads: Julia practiced today.

Listening to my cousin play the piano was one of the great pleasures I enjoyed during my stay in Lockport, New York. Julia's fingers moved fast and confidently across the keys as the melody filled the house and swept you away. The more I thought about how many hours it took her to practice something so beautiful, the more I appreciated her music.

I think of it like two worlds separated by a thick wall: on one side, you have the infinite. It's where the song comes from; whole, perfect, and timeless. On the other side is our finite reality; the technical, key-by-key stroke labor of the pianist.

Julia shines with talent, yet she has something even more important: she hones her craft through practice. It's only through practice that the creator is able chisel away at that thick wall and bring forth the creation. It's as if the song wants to be played; it wants to be heard in its perfection. The artist's job is to facilitate the miracle that brings it to life, one keystroke at a time.

No one becomes a master by putting off the work. Hearing Julia play made me reflect on my own art: How often am I writing? What have I created lately? Am I challenging myself to improve?

She inspired me to create, to touch the infinite as she does. That's why I wrote that note on my desktop to remind me: Julia practiced today. Did you?