Flower Shop Friend

It’s perhaps the most disorienting to call a place home when it’s much more than the location that’s foriegn. When your basic ways of functioning in the world, like communicating with others or being able to read is suddenly taken from you. You’re caught somewhere between feeling you’re on vacation, logically knowing you’re home, the energy that comes with the first and the overwhelm with the second, and thus being caught somewhere in the limbo in between. I was void of the life rafts of learning and language to grab hold, pulling me out of this abyss and giving some footing in this new place that is now my home. This is a bit what it felt like to arrive in Japan. 

While I know this to be my valid experience, I also fear how those reading this might perceive my words. As I typed this sentence a dog out the window looked up at its person, checking in, and sneezed in response. That is a very mannerism Will and I love about Mia, who has gone from being always by our side to halfway across the world. Before this dream became a reality, it was just that- a dream carrying with it all the magic of living in a place so foreign to what we know, experiencing the beauty of new people, new ways of being, and so much more. I’d always thought if and when the opportunity ever unfolded for us, I’d be ready to pack up and fly out the next day. When we were jolted by the dream becoming a reality, I was confused by the grief that came with the magic. But perhaps you can see the complexities in what I just shared, writing in a beautiful new country while being reminded of your dog and cat whom you love dearly that can’t be there with you too. I’m so grateful to a few friends who would sit with me in this “grief magic”, affirming that of course both of those feelings would be there, and I could move through and experience both.

And so here I was, my first week in our new home. I practiced compassion. For sure it would be an odd experience being almost 30 and suddenly be unable to read. To have left a little home and family we loved in Houston, in service of this great adventure we’ve always dreamed of to live abroad. I felt both a sense of grief, displacement, yet excitement, gratitude and energy, all swirling around at the same time. 

I knew all of these feelings were “valid and normal,” but I admit I’ve been eager to move them along to feel a sense of connectedness to myself, our new home, and my routine. To move out of overwhelm and begin truly living in our new home. I fear clinging too tightly to what felt good in life before, in service of feeling a sense of groundedness, that I box out the beauty of a new culture and way of living that might only add a deeper richness to life than what I knew before. 

And so, I fumbled around, falling into things I craved, things that grabbed my attention, and things that felt good. Like when Will asked me to have lunch each day this week- a gift in both of our routines we hadn’t had before. I found my way to a language class- a humbling experience that I’ll write more about. And I began to find subtle elements of Japanese culture that aligned in some ways with familiar joys- like fresh flowers. 

The Japanese art of flower arranging,ikebana, has its roots in ancient Buddhism. It is a great art that is studied and taught, and one I still hope to learn much more about. What has caught my attention so far is the captivating beauty in simplicity.  And the way these beautiful moments and tradition are woven seamlessly into the hum of everyday life. Stunning flower stands and shops sit in nearly every train station, shopping mall, or city street. I sat in a familiar sense of home tied not to our location, but a home we carry with us.

I was so excited to welcome our first flower or two into our home. And so this week I wandered into a local stand, a lilac colored dahlia catching my eye reminiscent my wedding flowers in one of our favorite colors. Holding simplicity in mind, I brought my single dahlia around the small shop, experiencing each of the blooms on their own, in relation to my new-found stem. The flowers, the colors, the smells, the natural beauty, creating- I suddenly felt grounded, present in that moment, connected to a part of me that was energized by the newness and peaceful with a sense of familiarity. 

I held my now 3 stems up to a few final options that spoke to me, in search of the final “ah, there it is” to round out my simple bouquet. As I moved about the flower filled isle, a fellow shopper watched, taking in my creation, and smiling. She pointed to a free-spirited, slender stem with delicate white flowers I’d like but worried would be too much, smiled, and nodded her head. I’d felt “fumbly” wondering if I was doing this flower thing right, and suddenly someone had engaged with me, and we both agreed on something we found beautiful. I smiled remembering that they were flowers, that maybe the most beautiful arrangements are the ones when the creator connects to the flowers, and you see a little bit of their spirit in the blooms they choose. This moment felt so important, that a person trying to feel grounded in a new place, someone took a moment to reach out and connect. Though we couldn’t communicate in shared verbal language, we connected over flowers and both shared a smile and a little bit of joy. 

I added the whimsical, gangly stem to my hand, and it felt complete. As I moved to the register to have them wrapped in their brown paper to begin my walk home, my fellow flower shopper lit up seeing I had taken her suggestion. We nodded, laughed, and I said thank you in Japanese. 

As my Grammy texted me, sometimes a friendly face is the best language.