How Travelling Can Give You Super-Hero Powers

Like Hiro in the TV series Heroes, I too can travel through time and space.

As I'm typing this post, it is this winter's first snow fall in the city. Big fluffly flakes of snow are cascading down and settling on the cars and bushes and buildings outside my window. And as I sit here I get a rush, backwards in time and across thousands of miles! Suddenly I am simultaneously sitting at my window in my little house in the north of Japan 8 years ago, watching the snow fall. Something about the light, the temperature, the sense of contented isolation having come home to an empty house after a day's work, is identical. It's not just that i can 'remember' it, it's that I can feel it, vividly.

Having travelled in real time and space once, I am able to travel back there again and again for the rest of my days. All I need, is the right sensory trigger. 

That's what travelling does for you, it gives you super-hero powers.

Be Bold

"Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it" Goethe.

Shortly after arriving in Japan, I became good friends with an American guy who'd also come to Japan to teach English. As the weeks passed, he found himself chronically underemployed and his efforts to do his job, and do it well, were met with both apathy and sabotage. Unsurprisingly, his initial enthusiasm, passion and drive gradually... faded. He became restless, jaded and frustrated.

One day, in the depths of the Japanese winter, he packed his bag, grabbed his passport, left his car at the airport, and went. He didn't hand in any resignation, or advise his schools in advance. He didn't tell anyone amongst his friends or colleagues in Japan. Quite simply, Monday morning dawned, and he was gone.

His leaving like that was dynamite. His employers were furious, outraged and flummoxed, though I believe that this was only because the whole thing didn't reflect well on them. They were only mildly inconvenienced by his actions, but acutely embarrassed.

It was the reaction amongst friends and peers in the ex-pat teaching community that really struck me;

• There was some concern for him - is he ok?!
• There was a sense of loss - he'd be missed.
• Some felt his behaviour was irresponsible, immature and selfish. That he'd treated his employers with unacceptable disrespect. And that he'd done no favours for everyone else left behind. That we'd all be tarred with the same brush, we'd all be penalised for his actions, and it would exacerbate problems that many others were having in their schools. Disapproval and condemnation reigned. (It should be noted that the people who held these views were mostly the ones who were doing well and aiming high within the system).
• But the majority expressed a hesitant but heartfelt admiration. Perhaps even envy. He'd broken the rules, and he'd done the thing that many of us dreamed of doing - but never would. Why wouldn't we? Because we'd internalised so many reasons not to do anything radical and true. Each and every one of us had a well-honed work ethic, or sense of responsibility, conformity, commitment. We didn't want to attract disapproval, disappoint others, or gain a bad reputation. We had practical reasons like financial debt, or too many possessions that we couldn't just up and leave like he had done. All of which ensured that none of the rest of us would be so bold, no matter how demoralising and utterly pointless our working lives became.

He'd dared to be bold, and to act where the rest of us just dreamed. And the consequences? I don't know much about all the other ex-pat teachers who kept their heads down and slogged on. But I do know that that particular American guy has gone on to realise many of his dreams, and continues to inspire others to do the same.
It seems that its true, that boldness has genius, power and magic in it.

Image by Mihai Japan

On Liberation

One of the most liberated years of my life was a year spent teaching English in rural Japan. It wasn't an easy year. I had both euphoric highs and some of my most desperate lows ever. So why such liberation? I believe it came down to finding myself outside the usual social pressures to conform.

Japan might seem like a strange place for liberation. Isn't Japan renowned for rigid social structures and group cultural norms? "The nail that sticks up gets hammered down" and all that? Yes, but I didn't fit in, and I couldn't fit in. Not really. I tried to join in, and I worked hard to carve a role for myself in my workplace and community. But while I could do that, I couldn't belong. A 'gaijin' is just that - an outside person.

It took a while. I had to get used to looks, and pointing, and exclamations in my direction - often simply for just being a foreigner - something I couldn't change or adjust, and which in the long run probably helped. It certainly helped that I didn't know enough of the Japanese language to understand specific comments. Incomprehension freed me from the sting of people's words. And as I grew more accustomed, I also found it rarely hurt as much as I would have expected it to. My fear of disapproval, disagreement or condemnation proved... excessive.

I had to become accustomed to getting it wrong, no matter how hard I tried. In one short year, there was no way I could master the subtleties and subtexts that riddle any foreign culture, so I blundered all over the place, often oblivious to my errors and faux pas. And I gradually found that that too wasn't all that big a deal. I could just roll with it.

After the initial distress that all this caused me... after much weeping and gnashing of teeth... it became liberating!

Outside the norm despite myself, I began to make the most of my new found status, and the opportunities it afforded. I did more of what I wanted to do, more of what I believed in, and more of what I personally thought made sense - not just what was expected of me.

Like what?
I walked barefoot through town.
I socialised as extravagantly as I liked.
I quit following the pointless rules at work.
I climbed trees!
I biked way up into the mountains, and ran remote trails, on my own.
I said outright what I thought, what I liked, and what I didn't.
I danced in my living room, and played on the swings in the school grounds.

These are small things, unexceptional things. Childish, playful, enjoyable things. These weren't rebellions, and I was not trying to be radical. They were just examples of me doing what came naturally to me, instead of trying to do or say what the majority, or those in authority, expected. I guess some people may read this list and think it laughably trivial. But I'm not describing revolution, I'm describing a small personal liberation.

And what were the consequences of my actions? Increased freedom, confidence, self-respect and delight in the world.