tightrope

We're only afraid when the unknown touches on things that matter to us most. I get scared whenever I watch horror movies, because I think they're a little too real for comfort. When I pat my pocket, my heartbeat quickens for a second, just enough time to remember how many installments I have left to pay for my feature phone. When I ride rollercoasters, I scream because I know that it was only the safety harness that kept my body in the seat and not splattered all over the sidewalk.

I was also afraid for a long time about what life in Japan would turn out to be. It would be a massive change. I imagined it endlessly. It grew dear to me. And now, it was time to see what it was all about.

See, since I've moved to Japan a year and a half ago, I didn't feel that the transition was complete. Life was easy and I felt like I was still being coddled, that I was still in my comfort zone. There was a safety net below, and I could venture as far as I like with nary a worry, just as long as I was safely within bounds set.

But within a year, I grew to wonder what life would be beyond the borders of propriety. If I dared, would a life more challenging be just as rewarding? It scared me, to the core, taking the first step out.

But being afraid didn't hold me back, it just made me more careful. Fear put failure in a whole new light. Now, whenever I got things wrong, I knew I did all I could, that I tried to anticipate the worst. And in hindsight, that self-consciousness may not get things to work out well as I'd hoped, but it did help out just enough to keep it from getting any worse. Dread taught me to be grateful for my tiny defeats, and to appreciate progress however small.

But it took a while for me to get used to the feeling of constant distress. I realize, a tight-rope walker's life is harder than it looks. Not only do they have to focus on every minute shift of their body, they also have to deal with the raging emotions that shout "Get Out! Get Away! Save Yourself While You Still Can!" And yet somehow, through this balancing act of keen self-awareness and even keener self-control, he still manages to bottle-up all those feelings. He takes one step forward. He re-adjusts his footing. And then, takes one more.

I did that, a day at a time. Go to the interviews, check. Write a compelling essay, check. Prepare a load of money, check. File my resignation, check. Find legal counsel, check. Argue constructively, check. Bid my goodbyes properly, check. Find a place to live, check. Pack my things and move out, check. Start a new life, check.

The truth is, even after all this, I'm still afraid. A new life means new challenges. Life doesn't get any easier anywhere you go apparently. But if you learn to walk that thin line between panic and courage, I found out that, soon enough, you'll find yourself standing on the other side. And there will be applause.

Photo credit: Firewater - Man On The Burning Tightrope

Comfort & Security

Foreword: I wrote this the day after I settled the details of my resignation. It was the moment I glimpsed the end of a dreadful long road that involved twilight interviews, clandestine visits to government offices, and an all too sobering realization that I really was alone here on the other side of the China sea.

In my mind, comfort is a place and a time. It is a Sunday afternoon outside the family room. It is warm. The sunshine brightens the green lawn, the trimmed hedges. Then comes a rustling. A gentle breeze cuts across the lawn, slips through the open foyer, lifting white lacy curtains, and whirls among sofas, picture frames, a fruit bowl, and the flowers in their flower vase. I would be sitting in a plump reading chair, an open book in my lap, and I would want nothing more.

Security, in my mind, is a place and a time. It is twilight in suburbia. It is in the creeping darkness of twilight, a spatter of dim lamps from pre-fabricated bungalows across the skyline. It is a little chilly. It is also quiet, save for the electric hum of the neighbor's appliances, and the errant cry of a grumpy child. I would be standing out there on the front porch of a friends place, or someone familiar, maybe with a cigarette in hand, or a phone after a call. I would look up to the sky, and the stars would look down on me, and I would realize I am in the middle of nowhere, and yet feel that I am exactly where I should be.

For the next few weeks, I am allowing fate to show me a different kind of life. Comfort will be the 8-minute walk to the station, my very own bathroom, kindly old ladies who say hello, a mattress, enough space for shoes. Security will be a change of pace, the promise of constancy, a view of the sea, a tower in the night, a time to seize the world.

Photo credit: Reading Chair With Book And Cup Of Coffee by Walt Maes