Everytime I Go Away

Written shortly after arriving in Japan.

Something strange occurs to my internal landscape every time I prepare to leave for a long trip.  Maybe it is not so strange. It may, in fact, be quite commonplace, but it never fails to feel strange to me. As my departure approaches, after spending gargantuan amounts of time, energy, and resources, a strong urge not to leave overcomes me.  In a sudden burst of nostalgia I very seriously plot to call the whole thing off. In the process of saying goodbye, as I spend final moments with loved ones, as I look over my city with careful eyes, drinking in my last few drops, what was once my day to day humdrum life, reveals its forgotten preciousness.  This trip to Asia was no different.  Why am I leaving my wonderful life in San Francisco and everything I have worked so hard for here?

This time my experience was more extreme than ever before.  My business was growing, I had a satisfying relationship with a sweet girl, I had experienced some incredible strides in my Judo practice, I had recently developed a stronger relationship with my old friend David, and been deeply enjoying working with him once a week in his gardening business.  I had a large circle of friends that I respected and loved.  So why was I doing this?

This time saying goodbye was difficult.  I have said goodbye so many times in my life, traveled to so many places, had to rebuild my life and then tear it down again, that saying goodbye has lost its power over me.  Not so much because I have become numb to the feeling of loss but because my experiences have taught me that goodbyes are never forever.  Yet the night before my departure Aiju and I wept ourselves to sleep.  My heart ached the next morning as we loaded my heavy bags into the airport shuttle.  It was a classic goodbye, and I can still see Aiju through the window growing smaller as we drove away.  I choked back tears the whole trip.

Aiju taught me a lesson.  She cried often, and especially my leaving drew near.  She would defend her tears saying, “Its okay to cry!”.  Only a few times in my adult life have I cried in someone arms.

I think I cried more in that one day than I had in the last ten years. Usually my arrival to a new location is like pushing through a barrier into a whole new world.  Not only does it look different, but my feeling internally switches.  The sadness disappears in the wonder and excitement of my new world.  But when I arrived in Japan it was hot, humid, and it raining.  It rained for three days straight.  Because of the rain the streets were empty.  Exploring my new home, walking the empty streets, visiting ancient temples, it felt as if I had come to an empty country.  It was an erie and powerful experience and that marked me.  Months later my heart still feels tender.