Hello (Kon'nichiwa) from Japan

My return after a two-year public writing hiatus!

My iced latte looks like a gorgeous marble countertop with swirls of espresso and specs of cinnamon hitting the milk just right. Mentally, I save it to my Pinterest board titled “Dream Home” as inspiration for the kitchen countertops I’ll never have but like to envision just for funsies. Although it’s called an iced latte, it strangely lacks a single cube. That’s because this cafe is not for me. It’s for true coffee connoisseurs —like my husband who prefers a strong, black, hot coffee and can tell the fruity notes apart from the others. (Burnt?) Yet, somehow, these baristas (or whatever you call them here in Japan) have a magical method to making even your iced latte appropriate for their vibe and most importantly, the reputation of the cafe. I’m cool with it—they’ve made me a drink I actually enjoy* but have made it less cringe.

*Is there anything worse than overpaying $7 for a drink you realize you don’t like within the first three sips??? No. Well, actually, yes. So many things. Read: genocide, current President of the United States, running into your ex when you look like trash.

Japan has been an absolute freaking delight. Eric and I chose this trip for our 10 year wedding anniversary (Yes, I’m bragging. We made it! Our first big-ish milestone!) which might seem random and a questionable choice. It was a no-brainer for us. This was one place at the top of our list we’d never been to before. Learning about another culture, exploring cities so different from any we’ve been to before, and if anyone asked what our favorite cuisine is? Sushi, ramen, gyoza, udon… anything the Japanese whip up — take our money. Choosing Japan was also intentional because of the long flight. While most loathe the idea of 10+ hours in the sky, we view it as a whole other vacation entirely. (Hold your questions, please.) Now, if we were bringing our children, everything, ESPECIALLY this, would be the opposite. This is the gift of perspective.

Flying with children is like competing in a triathlon you didn’t train for. It’s sweaty, exhausting, demands your full attention, and is wildly uncomfortable. Surviving is the only goal. If someone complains about their neck hurting after a long flight but doesn’t have a child in tow, I feel no sympathy. None. ZERO. Your neck hurts, Barb? Might want to invest in a better pillow or get up and walk around more frequently. I don’t know what to tell you, but deal with it.

So naturally, flying to Japan without our kids — over 10 hours of doing whatever the hell we want; only thinking about and caring for ourselves is pure bliss. No butts to wipe, no trying to keep feet from kicking the seat in front of me, no whining.* Sign me up. If flying without kids were a job, I’d make Presidents Club no doubt. Maybe I’ve missed my calling as a flight attendant. I digress.

*This will actually be the death of me. Whining is such a trigger and I probably definitely need to revisit why it’s painful to my ears and awakens a rage I didn’t know was inside of me.

So, our first vacation was the flight here. Waiting patiently in line to board without wrangling our two toddlers? Check. Sipping an iced latte without worrying if it’s going to get knocked out of my hands AND having hands for it? Get out of here! Cozying up in my seat with a blanket to read a book and have uninterrupted conversation with my husband (who I actually like)!? I know, I know… this is getting steamy.

The thing is: I’m not exaggerating. The euphoria I feel in this reality — not to mention being unreachable throughout (even though now WiFi is accessible in the air, damn it) — is enough to bring my nervous system down from a 9.8 to a 4.3, which is a very good thing in this phase of my life.

When they announced that the entertainment system was down just before take-off, was I a little bit bummed I couldn’t watch a movie or four? Sure. But my first thought: Thank GOD we didn’t bring the kids. My very next thought: I wonder if there’s a mother on this flight who will need help entertaining her little one. Here I was supposed to be enjoying vacation numero uno and I was already looking to serve. It’s like I’m hardwired to do, produce, fix, help, stay ON and be useful. Useful. That’s a good word for mothers. But it’s not the sum of why we exist and it is a far cry from who we are and all we have to offer as women. As much as I would genuinely love to help another set of parents with their little bundle of joy, I realized it was probably best for me to receive the much (desperately) needed gift of a regulated nervous system, which in turn is a gift to my own children and everyone I encounter everywhere.

Plus, it would be weird and possibly offensive for me to offer to help a crying baby and a sweaty mom, right? You never know anymore. It could be the heroic act caught on an iPhone that goes viral* or it could be an awkward encounter that leaves both parties feeling wonky. After much deliberation about this potential scenario amongst the other 37 tabs open in my brain, I decided to mind my own business and chill. If there was a struggling parent walking up and down the aisle enough, I’d smile and let things play out organically. Alas, I was satisfied with my own compromise.

*Which people would still leave shitty comments on because our society seems to be incredible at finding something anything to be a dick about.

Within 90 seconds of making this decision, I was asleep. Some hours later, I woke up. Not because of any external force, but rather because my body decided that those hours of snoozing restored me enough to sit up and eat a hot meal put in front of me. I didn’t know for sure how long I had slept (guessing 3.5) or if I missed anything while I was in my comatose; nor did I care. Such is the luxury of a vacation flight before vacation.

All of this reeks privilege, I’m aware. A flight from anywhere in the USA to Japan is roughly half of what many pay in rent or mortgage.* The ability to travel with my husband without our children means we have a village, which is more than most. In this case, it’s our moms. Two grandmothers who are capable, interested, and willing to watch our two rambunctious tots 24/7 for two weeks. The real kicker? They get along! They are doing it together—overlapping, not staggering their stay.**

*Unless you reside in the great state of California, then it costs only a fourth of your monthly rent or mortgage since those are 71% higher than the rest of the United States. Don’t let it get you down, they say, you’re paying for the weather, culture, opportunity…

**This is the part where you say “You’re sooo lucky!” and I exhale with gratitude as I reply, “I know. We really are the luckiest.” while attempting to still be humble and not shove it in your face if you can’t relate.

I’m also aware that not everything needs a disclaimer or justification. However, have you created something and put it out into the world since… say, 2010? In today’s world, you either identify the potential pushback and nuance proactively (like I’ve just done), reactively—most likely after you’ve been misunderstood and are ready to throw in the towel on ever sharing again. Or you don’t, which I can applaud but personally have yet to reach that level of no F’s to give.

In the last two years I’ve been away from publicly sharing my words, I’ve paid attention to the camps people self-select for themselves…

White camp is full of people who are bothered by the idea of privilege. On a basic level they think: You freaking worked hard and saved money to splurge on a two week trip to Japan! Stop explaining yourself to strangers! Just enjoy it! I see their point.

Black camp is full of those who would cancel me if I didn’t acknowledge my privilege. How dare you not mention that you have relatives you can entrust your children with while you jet off to the other side of the world. You ignorant basic B. I see their point.

And, if we have to divide into camps, there must be a third option. Gray. I camp out here and am constantly looking around, eager to welcome others in. Fellow Gray-dwellers might think something along the lines of: I am so happy for you. And I know that many others have made the same choices but they didn’t have the same outcome —in their marriage, with their finances; really anything. Enjoy your flight vacation and your actual vacation. Thank you for recognizing the tender complexities of this life and our world. Nuance and disclaimers belong here and we’re all better for it.

So no, Barb, Betty, or whoever you may be — I don’t feel bad for the life I am living and I also don’t feel like I have to provide disclaimers in fear of losing readers.* Navigating these tensions in big and small ways is the most authentic way I can exist and inevitably write about my life.

*My no-longer-filtered-cursing probably did that anyway.

What’s left of my “iced” latte is now a few degrees closer to room temperature and the swirls and specs have dissolved. It’s a thin layer of creamy beige—the precise shade of linen oversized pants I’d love for my four-year-old son to wear because they’re Cute with a capital C and would surely match my wannabe-hipster-IG-aesthetic so nicely. But he won’t comply since we didn’t withhold the hand-me-down Nike athleisure his cousins passed on to him. Now, there’s no going back, and who’s to blame? God, I miss him.

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I’ve missed you, too. We can’t recap two years in a single line, but I dare you to try. Say hi using the comments. I cherish each one.

Love from Kyoto,

Manda