Coming home

Emotional Intelligence,

There are times in our lives when those things that are calling for our attention give us a nudge.

In 2006, during the months after the death of my father, my energy dropped for a while so that I chose to say no to some things to which I would normally say yes. This was a time when I learnt which relationships supported and nurtured me and which relationships asked more of me than they gave to me. This was a time when I learnt which people looked to me for help and support at a time when I couldn’t give it – and couldn’t take no for an answer.

Returning from holiday and in the midst of jetlag something similar seems to arise. Six months after my cleaner moved away from London I already had a creeping awareness that it’s time to find someone to replace her. Coming back into the house on my return from holiday this gentle awareness is replaced by a sinking of the heart as I see how neglected my home seems. And finally, in the midst of pouring rain, I call Paul the roofer to make an appointment for him to take a look at my roof.

Working with clients in coaching, as I do, I am aware that the issues that greet us in these moments can vary hugely. They include all the gently nagging questions in our lives. Am I in the right job? Should I stay in my marriage and make it work or leave and face the consequences? Will I ever get the promotion I am seeking without the support and sponsorship of my boss? There are of course many ways to avoid these and other questions, from the circular inner dialogue that keeps us just where we are, through the arguments with our loved ones that keep our eye away from the key issues, right through to the glass of wine that dulls the senses.

So, in these moments of coming home, we have the choice – whether or not to come home. In these moments we decide whether or not to come home to ourselves and to be present to what’s truly alive in us and asking for our attention.

Saying goodbye to Japan

About Dorothy

4 a.m. on Tuesday. Whilst my alarm is due to go off at 4.30 a.m., my body’s inner clock kicks in and I wake up in advance, no doubt fearing that I’ll fail to get up in time for the series of trains that will take me to Tokyo airport to catch my 10.30 a.m. flight.

Once aboard my flight, the weather deals a Joker. We sit on the tarmac amidst rain, lightening and thunder. Three hours later, when the weather has cleared, we return to the stands for refuelling. It’s best not to have the “time to refuel” red light come on in mid air.

My neighbour on the flight is a young Japanese man. The Japanese are said to be shy and still he greets me in English and later in French. He asks me how I got on with chopsticks and later he asks me for a tutorial in using a knife, fork and spoon which I gladly give him. It’s his first visit to Europe and I’m glad to help him to prepare.

He tells me about a new trend amongst the older people of Japan. Choosing to leave their homes so that their children can move in, they have nowhere to go, so they commit crimes that will land them in jail where the accomodation is free of charge. So widespread is this practice that some prisons are adapted for the elderly, with railings, for example, to support inmates in walking.

Our flight arrives late in Paris and I have missed my connection. The ground staff arrange for me to stay over and I rise at 4 a.m. to prepare to catch my 7.30 a.m. flight to London City Airport. It’s Thursday morning and I’m nearly home.

I savour the experiences I have had during my stay. I smile especially as I think of the children we have encountered: the two small girls in Nakamachidai who greeted Judy and I with a look of shock and then kept popping their heads around the door of the shop we were in to say “goodbye”; the little girl at the train station who asked my brother if he was in Japanese. It has been a visit rich in new experiences.

It’s time to say goodbye. Goodbye Japan. I wonder whether I am saying au revoir.

Taking the waters in Japan

About Dorothy

Whether visiting the museums and memorials of Hiroshima or the temples, pagodas and shrines of Nikko, there is one sure way of winding down at the end of the day. A visit to an onsen.

The onsen is a bath, which may be a public bath or a smaller, more intimate affair. It is a product of the volcanic activity which continues across Japan, producing many hot springs as well as the occasional earthquake. It is also reflected in the landscape which is flat with hills and mountains rising up from the flatlands – like Holland with hills.

Once you arrive there is clear etiquette. Bathers are expected to wash down before getting into the bath. The bath is not a place for washing in! Showers are provided with low stools to sit on, soap and shampoo. Only then is it time to join other bathers in the deep hot waters of the bath.

In our ryokan – a small hotel or guest house – in Hiroshima, the onsen are public baths, with separate bathing for men and women. Even the route to and from the baths are different, with men invited to take the stairs to their baths on the 4th floor, and women invited to take the lift to their baths on the 5th. As newcomers we are learning from a group of young Japanese women and observe what they do discreetly. They, however, show signs of embarrassment and uncertainty which suggest that they, too, are learners.

In Nikko, our small hotel has small baths with room for one or two bathers. The water is naturally hot spring water for which we pay 150 yen spring water tax. The water has a buoyancy which takes me by surprise. As do the queues – it seems there is always someone waiting to take the waters.

Friday night is kimono night

About Dorothy

Returning from a visit to Kamakura I board the train at a small local station. Together with Judy, my sister-in-law, I return to Kamakura, thence to Yokohama and on to Nakamachidai.

From the moment we board our first train, we are struck by the number of women who are wearing kimonos, the traditional robe that Japanese women wear with an elaborate arrangement of cloth around the waist (the word “belt” does not begin to describe what we see). I have seen these throughout my visit and still we are curious to see how many women are dressed in this way. On the train to Yokohama we also see a man dressed in a yukata. To Western eyes, he looks for all the world as if he has stepped straight from his bathroom onto the train. Both men and women wear traditional wooden clogs.

The word “traditional” evokes a bygone era and could suggest to the reader that these are men and women of mature age. But no, these are young men, young women. Their traditional clothes are also worn with the accoutrements of fashion. Men and women alike sport hair gel, jewelry and mobile phones. Some have dyed hair.

Searching for a reason for the number of young men and women dressed in this way we wonder. Could it be that Friday night is kimono night in Japan?

On visiting Hiroshima

About Dorothy,

Hiroshima.

As Viktor Frankl (in Man’s Search for Meaning) and others have highlighted, we are meaning-making creatures. The people of Hiroshima have had to make meaning, both individually and collectively, of their experiences. So it is for the visitor.

At 8.15 a.m. on 6th August, 1945, the Americans dropped the world’s first nuclear bomb, on Hiroshima. About 300,000 people are believed to have been resident in the city at the time and 350,000 people are believed to have been in the City on the day of the bombing. They included Japanese, many thousands of Koreans working as forced labour and American prisoners of war.

In the hours, days and months immediately following the bombing 140,000 men, women and children are believed to have died, whilst many more have died each year. Approximately 117,000 hibakusha (A-bomb survivors) are still alive today. The youngest of these were still in the womb at the time of the bombing.

One building, originally the Industrial Promotion Hall, has been preserved as a reminder of the near total destruction of the City by the atom bomb. In the Peace Memorial Park we visit the Museum which provides extensive information about the circumstances in which the bombing took place as well as about the bombing and its after-effects. The Peace Memorial Hall records the names and photographs of hibakusha along with extensive personal testimony. I watch a video with subtitles in English of a man, 11 at the time of the bombing, describing his life as a child in Hiroshima as well as his experiences of the bombing and of everything that followed.

The over-riding voice of Hiroshima, speaking through museum displays as well as personal testimony, is balanced and recognises many points of view. It includes the invitation to the Japanese people to recognise their country’s history in wreaking violence on the world. It also stands as a powerful voice for peace in the world, inviting exploration of what it takes to live in peace. Without war as well as without nuclear weapons.

Even as I am faced with the full extent of the damage to Hiroshima and its people I feel at peace. I recognise that, no matter what the actions of others, we get to choose our response and to set our intentions for the future. We get to share our intentions and to make requests of others. That the people of Hiroshima have chosen to learn from their experiences and to stand as a voice for peace in the world provides a powerful example and an inspiration.

Strangers: friends you haven’t met yet

About Dorothy

Nakamachidai, where my brother is living during his stay in Japan, is a new town. You could call it a suburb of Yokohama which in turn is a suburb of Tokyo.

The town’s newness is evident when I make my first gentle tour of the area: gentle because of the heat. Together with Judy, my sister-in-law, I walk through the bamboo forest close by, arriving quite soon in farmland. The farmland intrigues me. This is not an area in which you find paddy fields. Rather, plots of land look like large allotments or market gardens.

We visit several temples, from the large new temple just down the road to the tiny temple tucked away in the hills above the new main road. You quickly realise when you look at what Japan has to offer to the visitor that you won’t be short of temples to visit (or, come to that, of noodles to eat). And all on the way to Ikea.

I am reminded today of this recent history of local change. I take time to visit a small shop I have passed most days and buy four small bowls. The woman who serves me is selling edamame beans and gives both Judy and I the gift of a bag of beans, fresh from her farm that morning.

This is also a reminder that, wherever I go in the world, the kindness of strangers, freely given, has the power to cross barriers of language and culture and in this way to make friends of us all.

Welcome to Japan

About Dorothy

Wednesday, 5.00 a.m. My alarm goes off in time to shower and dress, before my taxi comes to take me to London City Airport. Today I begin my journey to Tokyo and thence to Yokohama and to Nakamachidai, where my brother and his wife are staying.

I fly to Paris Charles de Gaulle were I catch my connecting flight to Tokyo. My flight lands at Tokyo Airport at 7.55 a.m. this (Thursday) morning (11.55 p.m. GMT). I catch the Narita Express train to Yokohama where Judy, my sister-in-law, meets me. We travel on to Nakamachidai.

Even with some rest on board the flight my body tells me, all the way, that it’s time to sleep. I sleep for a couple of hours before taking a walk with Judy around the area surrounding their compact apartment.

No amount of sleep deprivation can keep me from noticing many details in this country I am visiting for the first time. The number of couples – Japanese women and European men – on board my flight. The delays to trains – not leaves on the line here but earthquakes. The staff who clean the train whilst passengers wait on the plaform at Tokyo. The way children are free to roam around us in Nakamachidai.

I know I shall have plenty to explore.

Sucking the marrow from the bones of life

About Dorothy, ,

Tomorrow I travel to Japan to spend two weeks with my brother Alan and my sister-in-law Judy. Alan is making an extended visit in order to work with his Japanese colleagues and his wife Judy, a teacher, is with him for the duration of the summer holidays.

The last few days I have increasingly been listing my “things to do” under the headings “before I go away” and “when I come back”. Today is crunch day – anything that doesn’t get done today won’t get done until I return.

As I write I am waiting for a call. My caller is late in phoning and I decide to clear a few e-mails. I read Michael Neill’s most recent newsletter and am struck by a quote, tucked away at the bottom, from the writings of Henry David Thoreau:

“I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, to suck the marrow from the bones of life; to put to rout all that was not life, and not to come to the end of life, and discover that I had not lived.”

I take a few moments, waiting for my call, to celebrate the life I am living.

Celebrating your comments

All articles, ,

In recent weeks I have started to share with people details of my blog, still in its infancy. Friends, family, clients and colleagues have been reading, making comments and – with a curiosity I had not anticipated – asking questions. (Why blogging? How many readers do you have? etc.) Some readers have tried to leave postings only to discover they have to register before commenting.

Returning home on Wednesday after the earliest of early starts I notice a first comment on the blog and am surprised to notice the excitement I feel. Hurrah! Yippee! Yeahah!

On Thursday, I take a moment to send a personal thank you to Len, the wise owl, who commented on my posting of Saturday, 12th July. His good wishes bounce back almost immediately.

This morning, I take a moment to record this. I am curious about the comments that may come in future as well as joyful as I think of this first comment, recognising the joy I feel in connecting with other people in a wide variety of situations and by a wide variety of means.

I feel grateful. Blessed.

Celebrating the power of nonviolent communication

All articles, ,

In recent days, my inbox has been peppered with messages from colleagues who, like me, attended an international intensive training in something called “nonviolent” or “compassionate” communication in July 2007.

Nonviolent communication is the work of Marshall Rosenberg and it was Marshall who ran the training. Marshall has dedicated much of his life to evolving a practical approach to communication, which could be seen as the manifestion of the biblical injunction to “love our neighbours as ourselves” or – in more recent times – the injunction of business gurus and psychologists alike to practise “win, win” communication. It has applications in many areas from building relationships that enrich with loved ones, through working with children in schools, through building effective business partnerships to mediation in a variety of settings.

To some, the word “compassionate” might well suggest something soft and woolly – a bit of a “love in”, perhaps! I think of this kind of communication as real or courageous conversations. In practising nonviolent communication I have learned to share myself more fully than I have ever done before, for example, risking whatever response might come my way.

Some relationships have become closer along the way. I also notice I have more and more moments of ease and connection – of intimacy even – with all sorts of people I meet on my way, from colleagues on courses to strangers on buses. Some relationships have ended, too, as the process of exploring reveals needs and intentions that do not sit well with each other. I have never regretted these conversations, nor these endings.

So, as I write, I think of my colleagues from the International Intensive Training and our days together in the beautiful Jura mountains of Switzerland. I celebrate so many moments during this programme that were meaningful to me. I celebrate my colleagues and everything they bring. I connect with the sense of blessing that comes as I think of these colleagues and of these experiences. I connect with the sense of gratitude that is alive in me as I think of everything that Marshall Rosenberg has done to develop this means of communication and to share it across the world. Blessings upon him. Blessings upon my colleagues. Blessings upon us all.