Sunday, September 17, 2017

Sometimes, You Must Get Lost to Be Found.

-- Susan, every other Sunday

Jeff's Saturday post resonated with me more than usual this week--so much so that I changed my own post to ride his coattails piggyback on the resonance he started.

If you haven't read his post, Whose Life Do You Wish to Live, go read it and come back.

I'll wait.

It took me more than 40 years to embrace the person I am inside, and I had to go halfway around the world, and lose myself, to do it.

Iga castle, Iga-Ueno, Japan


Like many writers, I often felt like a misfit toy. I was happier in worlds of my own creation than in the real one, where I felt I never quite belonged.

I sat in my room and created adventures to replace the ones I lacked the courage to pursue any other way.

And then, in the summer of 2015, I boarded a plane with my family and flew to Japan on a research trip that would change my life.

The Great Buddha at Nara - even bigger in real life than I'd imagined.

After years of devouring mountain climbing books, I finally stood at the peak of one I actually climbed.

Summit marker at Mt. Mizen - my first Japanese mountain.

After decades of gazing in awe at National Geographic photographs of Japan's iconic Great Torii, I took my own.

The entrance to a sacred space.

In fact, I took a whole lot more than one.

A dream come true, and a calling found.

I had never felt so close to any place, or so certain that I'd made the right decision in writing about Japan. Wherever I stood, whatever I saw, the country sang to my heart and inspired my soul.

When the time came for me to go home, I watched the landscape fall away with longing, nose to the airplane glass and wishing desperately to return.

Me, watching Japan fall away beneath the plane.

The following year I returned--this time, alone. I screwed my courage to the sticking place and did what I never dared to do . . . I traveled the length of the country by train, staying in new hotels and thousand year-old temples.

I watched the sun rise over the rice fields of Shikoku:

Dawn in Tokushima

and the moon rise over the alps.

Moonrise in the old post town of Magome.


I hiked on the Tokaido and Nakasendo - feeling the weight of history where tens of thousands of feet had walked -- and wandered the paths of Okunoin, where 250,000 people lie in silent, peaceful graves.

Okunoin, Mount Koya, Japan

To my surprise, I never once felt lost or homesick, even though I'd never gone so far or spent so long alone. Each morning felt like a new adventure, each night the end of a lovely dream. The more I hiked, and climbed, and saw, the more I understood that this ... the life I'd been too scared to live, the world I'd been too scared to see ... this was the life that I'm supposed to live.

The gateway to adventure, and to home.

Instead of feeling separate, I felt a part of something, close to something, in a way I'd never been. I love my family, my friends, and my home, but I also felt the need, the call, to share this lovely country and its history through my stories (and through photographs, as often as I can).

Autumn at Okunoin.


I always knew I would love Japan--I've loved its history, language, and culture since childhood, and that hasn't changed. If anything, it's merely spread to my son . . . a generational love.

My son and me at Ginkakuji (the Golden Pavilion) in Kyoto.

What I didn't expect is that traveling there--a place I expected to feel lost--would leave me feeling found.

I'm not sharing this to brag about myself (or Japan, though if you like what you see, I do encourage you to go), but rather to issue an invitation to anyone else out there who's feeling lost, or scared, or powerless. The world is big, and wild, and terrifying, but it's also ancient, beautiful, and beckoning. Sometimes, you have to step outside your comfort zone to find yourself.



Not all who wander are lost, indeed. And sometimes, you need to get lost to find the place where you belong.




22 comments:

  1. Susan, I'm honored to be associated in even a passing way with you on your journey down that often ignored road marked self-realization.

    Yes, EvKa, it could be mistaken by cynics for a "Yield" sign, but we know better, don't we Susan.

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    1. I would never criticize Susan (or anyone else) for following your lead when your lead is in such an exemplary direction. The only 'Yield' sign I see is the one exhorting us all to yield to our inner truths... :-)

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    2. Jeff, your comment after my LCC panel this year set off a chain of dominoes that are still tumbling in amazing ways. Can't wait until I can tell you more, and I truly appreciate the inspiration.

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  2. Inspirational post, Susan. Thanks so much for sharing this with us - another act of courage on your part.

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    1. Thank you Michael! Jeff's post was so inspiring that this one was easy to write in its wake.

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  3. And I am always gladdened by the fact that no matter what politicians do, the earth will be beneath our feet and the sky will be above us. At dawn this morning I sat at a lochen and watched the mist rise off the water. Stunning, and it has been stunning for millennia!

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    1. This is so, so true, Caro. All the hope I have for the world lies in the beauty of individual people and places. I wish governments and politicians could see, and care, with the kind of detail that would make them truly love the people and places they serve, but I suspect that's something far too many of them lose along the way.

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  4. Susan, I cannot tell you how deeply this song sings to my heart. I grew up binary, as I said when I wrote about my dear departed older brother. I have never spent much time alone. Solitude is something I value now, but that I find difficult. Waiting for planes in airports all by myself makes me feel very lonely. But once I am gone, to a place I love, or to a place I've never seen before, I feel connected to this planet, fascinated, belonging. You find that in Japan, and I cannot wait to be there with you one day soon I hope. I feel that way in Italy, and London, in Kenya,… Once I fall in love with a place, I want to know its history, and once I know its history, stories about it start forming in my head. Sometimes I think, as a historical novelist, the past is my natural habitat.

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    1. I absolutely understand, Annamaria. I grew up with a brother (who I adore) but mostly alone - I love solitude, but was too frightened to pursue it anywhere but my own room for so many years. Now I love traveling - and I can't wait to see Japan with you (and Italy too - I've never been and hopefully we can go together someday!)!

      I'm with you on the history too. I think people were made to tell stories, and to listen to the stories other people tell - both real and fictional. They make life so much richer.

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  5. Lovely post, Susan. We seem to be on a streak of positive, reaffirming posts. (Does two make a streak? Even if we're clothed?)

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    1. I'm willing to count two as a streak, as long as I can keep my clothes on.

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  6. Knowing what's coming (ahem) this whets the appetite. Check out a book called All The Right Places, Susan, by the fabulous Brad Newsham. In fact, Brad lives in San Francisco. Anyway, it's a very moving book that you might like.

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    1. And you know of what you speak, sir! A big hello to you in CO, Mark, from here in GR.

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    2. Thanks Mark, I will find the book!

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  7. I'm so glad you found your bliss, Susan! Thank you for sharing some of your journey with us. I'm on a thrilling, scary journey, not really sure where I will end up! :)

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    1. Thanks Kathy - and I hope your journey ends up being as wonderful (if scary sometimes!) as mine is turning out to be. Life's an adventure, and we might as well enjoy the journey.

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  8. I think life is two adventures: finding oneself and finding out about everything else. Both are unending. Thanks for such an uplifting piece.

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    1. I completely agree, Stan. It's interesting - now that I've learned to embrace myself, my passion for learning about everything else (which was already fairly overwhelming) is stronger than I ever imagined it could be.

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  9. Great that you have discovered Japan and yourself on a fascinating adventure.

    By the way, how are the seahorses and the aquarium? Miss reading about them.

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