To live in a world meant for other people

During my first month in Tokyo, I am taken to a neighborhood izakaya in Takadanobaba called Momem Ya by the owner of the jazz bar I frequent. The restaurant is secluded in a basement, a small but comfortable space, perfect for two at the counter, or groups at the Japanese-style tables hugging the walls.. It has a friendly staff and delightful menu. Both change over the years, yet remain uncompromisingly friendly and delightful. Jazz music hang s over the open kitchen as we wait for our food to be cooked.  Chefs in the Open Kitchen of Momen Ya  This first visit, I am introduced to shirasu, pictured below. There is a lot of food on the table that night, and I dig into the shirasu like I do the other new food I try - with trepidation, excitement, and anticipation. I take in a mouthful, then another. A delicious flavor, new to me. A delicate taste. I think I am eating some sort of Japanese steamed vegetable. I ask my host what it is. He smiles and tells me to look closer...

In many ways, Japan gets things exactly right. I moved here by accident a long time ago, and the country still surprises me. Before coming here, I accepted a lot of what I thought I knew about the world, only to discover that our man-made borders are tall and strong and act as walls to block the flow of general information. Of course, the internet helps to break down these walls, but so much information is buried in the avalanche we call social media, and the loudest voices seem to determine what we absorb. We simply can't sift through the rest. Time is just not on our side. But we do have a choice. The choice to look twice at things that come our way. Ask ourselves if what is in front of us makes sense or not. Ask ourselves if a different view might not explain things better. No matter where I live, I feel that I live in a world meant for other people. Truth be told, I feel no more foreign in Japan than I did in New York, New Jersey, Philadelphia, Los Angeles. I am always on t...