Heading Home from Hokkaido

Fortunately this flight would take me to Narita directly; no stop at Haneda, the domestic airport near Tokyo. No need to figure out ground transport and luggage. Relaxing with this thought as the plane flew over Honshu, I reviewed my visit.

I’d done a number of things right, not just in various conference rooms. I kept watching, ever mindful of how inconvenient it would be to slip on ice while walking, to wrench my knee skiing, to miss my train or plane connection. I kept repeating my mantra: “don’t screw up,” knowing it is a goal upon which to focus — never completely attainable but forgiving to a certain degree. Just keep moving forward, I told myself. Keep your eyes open; navigate the culture as best you can.

There was a logic to all this, I felt assured, even while I remained confused. Japan is a culturally engineered society. The “best way” is determined; how this will be achieved is consciously decided, enacted into “social law.” This decision is communicated to a common degree of understanding, that everyone must behave in this way for the good of society. If everyone buys into this thinking, then there is no problem. “Daijobu.”

From my American point of view – capitalism and the frontier spirit – I did consider it to be a problem … for the people who have another view, for those who want to find another option, a different approach. What connotations did the word “different” have in Japanese? Something bad? Things or people to be avoided? I laughed at myself. Ever since leaving my private high school at 18, I’d stepped off the straight and narrow path. In exploring myself and the world, I’d become a bit odd, unusual and sometimes weird in a creative sort of way. How ironic that someone so “not normal” should find a place in a society where normality is revered. I was playing my “American wild card.” Good thing my Japanese associates didn’t know that my odd ways were more than the behaviors of a different culture.

I had left Minnesota not because of the cold winters, but because it was “too normal” for me. I needed more alternatives than the straight paths could offer. Given this, it would surely have been problematic for me to grow up in Japan! I saw this “group think” as a problem for learning, for developing independent thought in a society that teaches esteem for group goals. Esteemed group, or esteemed goals? I liked to do my own esteeming, thank you. Now I was misusing English words myself! Proof that I was being influenced by my Japanese experience. And wouldn’t it be sad if I weren’t influenced by the people and places I encountered?

Perhaps I was being too harsh about this perceived group-think. Maybe individual expression was there in subtle ways. But no, I could only see it in the voices of a limited few: Masa Son of Softbank and blue haired ladies of Hokkaido. I would cheer them on.

At Narita, I waited for my plane by perusing the duty free shops. It seemed people were eager to spend their Japanese coinage as if it were their last chance to dump the currency before it dropped in value.

Since this was a night flight, the little restaurant upstairs was closed. I bought a draft beer from a bar near the gate and sipped it while people lined up to board. Almost everyone was Japanese, or at least Asian. Perhaps this was due to my customary routing through Hawaii for my day of R&R before re-entering the pace of work and life in Silicon Valley. I looked forward to this little detour.

Hawaii was a major vacation spot for Japanese. It was only half way to the U.S. mainland. Moreover, these little islands were much more manageable. Many of the restaurants had dual menus. It was quite different from being dropped into the middle of San Francisco, New York or L.A. I remembered the news years before of Japanese flocking to Hawaii to buy Viagra. Maybe Honolulu was their Las Vegas.

Amidst the line of lean Asians came two huge westerners, a man and a woman. I’d never seen anyone so out of place in a queue. These two were not overweight: they were obese. They flowed out of their clothing. It was as if they were being filled with gas and their torsos assumed a round shape. Efficiency in physics; problems in health. I pitied the poor Japanese who had to fit in around these two!

When most of the line had streamed past, I got up and checked in. Finding my seat number, I gasped in horror! Before me I saw both huge specimens of the dangers of over-eating now occupying my row, and indeed my window seat. It was understandable that they would spread out; indeed I was uncertain that they could fit together adjacently.

“We were hoping no one would show up,” said the gentleman. I looked around desperately. There were a few empty seats. I looked for a flight attendant. Maybe she could reseat me after take-off? Maybe I could convince her it was unsafe to have so much ballast on one side of the aircraft? Seeing no one, I squeezed into my window seat. The fellow next to me overflowed into my space. His arms had nowhere else to go. I waited to get airborne.

Once aloft, I found that others had shifted places already. I could either barge in between two people who were now happy to have an empty center seat or just endure the ride. I sighed in reservation. What were the odds?

This had nothing to do with odds. Someone at the airline had decided that Westerners would be happier seated together. How considerate! Maybe I could sleep, I told myself. Leaning against the window, I endured one of the worst flights ever.