How it really feels to be in Japan...

The whole year before I left for Aomori I felt more prepared than ever.

I had spent my whole life in a self-sufficient upbringing. Coming from a broken home, I experienced wander lust very early on. I had managed to raise myself, live like a rock star, drop out of high school, put myself through a bachelors and masters program, become a successful teacher, and experience many unorthodox relationships by time I was 30. What got me there? Self love, Self preservation, Support, Spirit. So, when I found that I had an opportunity to come to Japan and teach (one of my top five on my bucket list) I was ready.

Ok.

Maybe.

I didn't record my feelings the first few days I was here. It was too painful to purge just then. When I look back in retrospect and ask "Was I truly ready?", the answer is "Yes". But nothing in life completely prepares you for moving half way around the world to a foreign country alone. NOTHING. I thought my experience was in the bag. To reiterate; Broken Family = Weaker familial bond, emotional isolation, lack of support. I figured this was a piece of cake. I have spent most of my life feeling like I was on the outside. I would share experiences with my surrogate families and still leave feeling that I didn't really belong, I wasn't really blood, and if push came to shove I would always be overlooked for the real members of the family. No matter what others said or did I couldn't get rid of the feelings of alienation.

Then I came to Japan.

When I came here I expected things like culture shock. I knew things would be different. Different food, language, customs, traffic formats... the list goes on, but what I didn't expect was the pain of feeling so cut off from love. Me, the usually aloof spouse, allusive friend, and cold daughter, was feeling the weight of not being able to simply linger in an embrace. The pain was immense. Now, wait, wait, wait a minute. Don't get me wrong, those who do know me well know that I have a deep capacity to love, the problem here is that I didn't have a deep capacity to be loved. I have spent much of my life taking care of others, even with a broken family I still would never alienate them; their well being was as equally important as my own self preservation. But despite my ability to love deeply, I never felt that I was worth much to be loved. And so funny thing. Here I am miss self-help, miss spiritual the universe will provide blah blah, thinking the whole time that I got this, and boom, it hits me like a ton of bricks. Here I am in a foreign country, away from everyone I love, and why am I crying? I am crying because I have cut off the physical capability to be loved. Am I crying because I cant show these people how much I love them? Am I crying because I am not there to take care of their needs? Nope. I am crying because they are not here to love me. And so, is this the true desire to be loved deeply, and the reaction the ability to accept?

So here is another round of questions. Do I feel that these people love me deeply while I am here? Did this arrant experience begin a healing process in self worth? I suppose so, in the very least it has certainly made me appreciate the wonderful people in my life. It has made me realize that the only alienation being served was coming from my own menu. It has also reinforced something I already knew through other experiences and karma: Love is everything. It is all, the only thing that really matters. It is not to be taken for granted, judged, or mistreated. Your opinion of love should be based on yourself not others. And that has so many meanings.

But back to the issue of my self worth. Yes, this move has sparked a new process of learning and healing in my self worth. And I know this because of how painful it has been. Do I feel deeply loved by these people? Yes, I think I do. I still struggle with some things. But people have lives and life goes on without me. It is not wise to put your worth in the hands of others, and feel that their response and interest in you is a reflection of how they feel.

So, no matter how prepared one thinks they are, a move like this will certainly incite some sort of internal quest. Was I prepared? In retrospect, yes. I had a great set of coping skills and self preservation to hold my sadness back from self destructing. I am able to accept and embrace these feelings so that I can enjoy this next year and work on other lessons. I suppose though, that a lesson in the ability to be loved was not one I anticipated. But then again those are the most valuable.

I have always been intrigued with the idea of a diary. It has been a double edged sword for me because in one way there is a record of your most intimate feelings and thoughts, and in another way, there is a record of your most intimate feelings and thoughts. Yet, the latter holds an intrigue beyond possible blackmail or extortion; it holds the idea of being immortalized. I think of it as this: I see my grandmother for instance, a woman I have only known for roughly a third of her life. What I know of her is a small portion of who she really is. I see pictures of her in frames on the old antique buffet table in her dining room, and I don't recognize that woman. The truth is though, that she is a woman, a woman who lived a full life before I was even born, and a woman who has secrets in her heart just as anyone of us. She too was once 30 years old like me, feeling, loving, struggling to find her way through life. Sure, I can ask her questions about her life, but would I ever really know? Would she really offer up the stories of how she cried herself to sleep at night when my grandpa was in World War II? Would she confide in me secrets about infidelity, violence, inadequacy? And so here in lies my interest in the art of a diary. When you grow old, it is my perception that your mind and your heart stay young. Granted, life may make some people colder, wiser, or more cautious, but, it is only your body that creates a dual identity. To be able to leave an imprint on the world, to be able to show my lineage that I was a real person with feelings and thoughts, and to offer a connection of my spirit; this is the essence of a diary. One day, I too will be wrinkled and frail, with grandchildren at my knee, and I hope that through my oral and written history, they will find a deep connection in our kindred souls, while also carrying on the legacy that "LISA WAS HERE".