by Beth Kempton
Just as we are not perfect, neither is anyone else. What difference would it make if you saw others with your heart, instead of seeing and judging with your eyes and mind? If you let go of the judgement and frustration, and accepted who they are without trying to change them? If you don’t like what you find, that’s useful information and you can choose what to do next. But just maybe that acceptance will give you perspective, and remind you of what really matters.
A wabi-sabi- inspired world view opens up a space for love.
Generosity of spirit: look for the good
Wanting to understand how all this connects back to Zen and wabi sabi , I sat down with Reverend Takafumi Kawakami, Deputy Head Priest of Shunkō-in Temple in Kyōto. He explained the Buddhist concept of kū , which is often translated as ‘emptiness’ or ‘no self’. According to Reverend Kawakami, this idea is less about the absence of a self, and more about a sense of oneness with everything. 3
We are all interconnected, and interdependent. We cannot exist without each other, or without the world around us. This is why the connection we feel in the tea-ceremony room is so powerful. It’s a moment to ponder and appreciate our relationship to each other. We are all busy living our own lives, but in that moment when we pause to enjoy the multi-sensory experience of the tea ceremony, we cross in time and space. We are reminded how the principles wa kei sei jaku can bring compassion and calm to our deeply connected but sometimes frenetic lives.
Recently, I shared a lunch of yuzu rice and winter vegetables with my friend Ai Matsuyama, who I met many years ago when we were both training at the NTV College for TV Presenting. Our teacher was a veteran of Japanese television. The first time I opened my mouth to speak in class, she tilted her head in a concerned way and said, ‘Oh dear. You sound like a country bumpkin.’ (I had just moved to Tōkyō from a remote place in the north of Japan where the local accent was strong.) She gave me absolutely no consideration for the fact that when I was trying to read the news or do the weather or interview for vox pops in the street, I was doing it in a foreign language. She treated me exactly the same as all the Japanese students. And I loved her for it.
There were plenty of reasons for me to be nervous and feel under pressure in that class, but Ai always made me laugh out loud in class and never let me take myself too seriously. When we met up again this time we went to a posh café and she made me laugh out loud inappropriately all over again. Ai is someone who lives on the bright side, and always brings a wonderful energy to any gathering. I asked her to share the secret to her positivity. She said, ‘I always try to find at least one good thing in everyone, even people I don’t really like.’ This generosity of spirit is an anonymous gift to the recipient, while making Ai’s own experience of the relationship more pleasant. It’s probably no coincidence that the character for Ai’s name ( ) means ‘love’.
Cultivating a generosity of spirit can transform our experience of relationships.
This sent me back to my conversation with Reverend Kawakami, during which he had suggested that humans tend to have confirmation bias: once we have decided someone is a ‘bad person’ or a ‘good person’, he said, we start looking for evidence to support our assumption, based on that existing bias. So the mind adds to the assumptions we have already made about someone. However, if we can recognise this, and instead try to find evidence that we are wrong, it can make a huge difference in our relationships. This doesn’t mean accepting inappropriate behaviour or allowing people to bully or control us, but simply trying to see good in people, even if we don’t agree with them in every way.
If someone annoys you with a particular habit, you can do one of four things:
1. Say to yourself, ‘Here they go again’, and add misery to the frustration.
2. If it is unbearable, take action to change your situation.
3. Accept their habit and give it no more attention.
4. Find something good in their habit, even if this is counterintuitive.
It’s up to you.
Helping others belong
One day, soon after I went to Kyōto to study, I was exploring a small back street behind the famous Philosopher’s Path and I stumbled across a lovely little temple called Anraku-ji. It was closed, but its tiny side door was open a crack. Being a curious teenager, I pushed on it and peered inside. There, I found a lady called Mrs Tanaka teaching basket weaving to a group of laughing Japanese women. She beckoned me over and invited me to join in.
It turned out Mrs Tanaka’s real talent was as an ikebana (flower arranging) teacher and, thanks to her kindness, I ended up spending every Monday of the next year at her house after school, learning how to arrange and subtract flowers in the Sōgetsu style. There was no pressure or competition, just a safe place for connection and friendship. I was a lonely teenager in a foreign land. When she invited me through that gate, Mrs Tanaka invited me into a world of beauty and culture and, more importantly, into her community.
This memory came flooding back when I was reading a recent study by Manchester Metropolitan University showing how the pressure to succeed is increasing the sense of loneliness among young people, with as many as one in three young people in the UK suffering from loneliness. The research cited ‘fear of failure and disappointing others, pressure from social media, major life changes, poverty and feeling different’ as some of the issues that are having this impact. 4
Although the study focused on young people, we can see this throughout society, regardless of age. All through education we are pitted against each other – academic results, sports days, music competitions and so on, not to mention the popularity contest on social media. At work it’s the same: who got the promotion? Who won ‘Employee of the Year’? Who made the most sales? And in parenting too: whose child started to walk first? Spoke first? Won this trophy or passed that entrance exam? I’m not saying that we shouldn’t be proud of our achievements and those of our nearest and dearest. Of course we should. But let’s also be mindful of all that we celebrate – who we are, not just what we achieve, giving credit to the effort, as well as the wins.
The more we can show those we love that we honour and accept them in all their glorious imperfection, the more we can let them know they won’t be judged or rejected if things don’t always work out right. The more we can help them anchor themselves in what is real – not what they see on their phones – the more chance we have of helping them feel they belong.
Lessons from the jazz café
One August evening twenty-one years ago, I was with my band Blue Moon doing a gig in a dimly lit jazz café. I was on bass, my wife, Kyōko, was doing a moody vocal, and our friend Shibue-san was on drums. The door opened and a young English woman walked in with a shock of peroxide-blonde hair, a small rucksack and a big smile.
She waved at Shibue-san , and then went to the bar and ordered a beer. When our set was over, Kyōko went over to talk to the girl, who had apparently just started working at Shibue-san ’s office. (He was a government official by day and a drummer by night.) Within a couple of minutes, they were chatting animatedly. A few minutes later, the girl looked surprised and delighted. She started nodding her head and bowing.
I went over to see what was going on. ‘This is Beth,’ Kyōko said. ‘She just moved here from England. She doesn’t have anywhere to stay, so I said she can come and live with us. You don’t mind, do you?’
And so began the year when our home became known as ‘The Adachi Hospital for Homesick Foreigners’. We have a small music studio with a built-in bar and a grand piano in our slightly unusual house. During the time Beth lived with us, it was often filled with foreigners and Japanese people alike, who would come for parties, to listen to our jam sessions and to learn how to make cocktails from our friend Fuji.
We’d often talk late into the night, sharing stories and hot stew as the snow fell outside. I spent many years abroad in my twenties and was the recipient of much kindness from the people I met along the way. I lived in London’s
Notting Hill way before it became a desirable place to be, doing odd jobs to buy food and fuel for my motorbike.
Having Beth in the house reminded me of my travelling days. She was full of energy and curiosity, always coming home from her job at the local government full of funny stories about various people she had met, or situations she had encountered.
These days, a lot has changed in all our lives but we still share a common love of the simple things. Good conversation, cold beer, real friendship. I count my blessings every day, and the older I get, the more I value the gifts of a simple life.
This is how Michiyuki Adachi remembers the day we met. Adachi-san is one of the kindest, most generous and most contented people I know. I think it’s no coincidence that he is all those things at once. Now the president of a successful company, Adachi-san takes his entire workforce on overseas trips every couple of years, encourages laughter in the workplace and has a staff turnover close to zero. It makes me smile to know that his name, Michiyuki, literally means ‘road-happiness’ or as he might say, ’enjoying the journey’. He and his wife, Kyōko, taught me so much about how to find contentment. It starts with nurturing relationships with other people, and ends with being grateful for it all.
Of course, there are times when we need to be cautious around strangers. But we have an in-built system of intuition to help us discern this, to keep ourselves safe. More often than not, the way you are treated as a traveller is a reflection of the way you travel. If you explore with an open heart and mind, that’s usually how you are received, and this has always been my experience in Japan.
Face to face
In the course of my research for this book, almost everyone who generously agreed to be interviewed asked that I speak to them in person. In this age of free video chats, it can seem extreme to fly halfway around the world for a conversation, but it matters. The same sense of intuition that leads Japanese people to feel wabi sabi in the presence of beauty, guides them to read you as a person. They recognise how much lives between the words, in the unsaid, and there is nothing like a face-to-face for a heart-to-heart.
There is a phrase in Japanese, kūki o yomu , which literally means ‘to read the air’. It refers to the ability to sense an atmosphere, and act accordingly. The clues might come from body language, facial expressions or simply a feeling. Being able to read the air facilitates harmony among a group, because it allows you to anticipate the needs of others without them specifically saying what they need, understanding when to speak and when to listen. This is not simply a Japanese trait. Anyone can do it with a combination of intuition, emotional intelligence and empathy. It can be a valuable tool when trying to broach a tricky subject, share news that may not be well received or simply show that you are in tune with someone else. Instead of simply seeing with your eyes, and hearing with your ears, try experiencing a person and a conversation from your heart, by showing up fully and really listening. See what a difference it makes.
Calm rules
Japan consistently appears in the top ten most peaceful countries in the world, according to the Global Peace Index. 5 Danielle Demetriou of the Telegraph recently observed: ‘Tōkyō may be one of the world’s most densely populated cities but it is also a city in possession of a calm and efficient rhythm that belies its sprawling dimensions.’ She went on to note that ‘Kyōto moves to an altogether different rhythm with its riverside cherry trees bursting into cloudlike bloom and Zen gardens with raked sand and haiku -inspiring rock formations.’ 6
A wabi-sabi- inspired world view can help us invite calm in the midst of chaos.
Beyond the packed subway trains, noisy pachinko parlours, 7 and loud public announcements, there is an underlying calm that invites you to relax and breathe deeply. Some might say this is to do with the prevalence of temples and shrines (there are over two thousand in Kyōto alone), and the pockets of nature found everywhere. Others might say it is in the Japanese aesthetic sense, which leads the country to offer moments of stillness, simplicity and beauty in the most unexpected of places. Yet others would say it is to do with the way people behave and interact with each other.
Being able to access a place of calm in the midst of our tumultuous lives can help us cope, make better decisions, stay serene and communicate better with each other. It is good for mind and body, because it helps us avoid flooding our systems with stress hormones every time something unexpected or challenging happens.
There is a time and a place for excitement, euphoria, exhilarated joy and even nervous anticipation. These kinds of extreme emotions rarely exist alongside calm in the moment, and are part of diving deep into the experience of our lives. But living at the extremes of emotion – whether up or down – for an extended period of time is exhausting. Layering extreme emotions over daily stress and uncertainty can cause chaos. Calm can be a welcome tonic to bring us back into balance, offering clarity, serenity and quiet genius.
It reminds us that everything is impermanent, imperfect and incomplete, anyway, and encourages us to seek simplicity and serenity wherever we can.
Calm communication
At the turn of the millennium I found myself in Tōkyō, working on the organisation of the 2002 FIFA World Cup Korea/Japan. Co-hosting one of the world’s biggest sporting events inevitably brought all sorts of operational and political challenges and delicate negotiations. Despite this, it was a rare meeting between the Japanese officials and their European and American counterparts, where a voice was raised on the Japanese side.
One thing I learned during that time was the value of calm communication. There were vast differences of opinion, seemingly insurmountable problems and real frustrations from all parties, not to mention the added layer of cross-cultural misunderstanding. Yet were none of the issues was resolved with anger or verbal demonstrations of strength. With the help of skilled interpreters, the gentle way won the day.
We all want to be heard and understood, and keeping calm when we communicate can help us do that so much better. When someone talks to us in an aggressive way, forces an opinion on us, says something hurtful or something we strongly disagree with, we have a choice: we can choose to react in a way that escalates the negative energy and aggression, or we can choose to respond calmly in a way that brings a more considered discussion, or even closure of the conversation. This isn’t about always agreeing, or giving in, but it’s about using calm tools to have better conversations and avoid additional stress.
More than words
We all communicate with our body language and facial expressions, with the tone of our voices and with our energy. Depending on what we choose to do with each of them, we can bring about an opening up or a shutting down. Once someone shuts down, it’s hard for them to hear what you are trying to say, and if you allow yourself to get caught up in spiralling negative energy, it’s also hard for you to hear someone else.
One of the most important things I learned about calm communication in Japan is this: you can communicate what you feel without re-enacting how you feel. So if someone makes you feel angry, you can explain your point without shouting it. You can let someone know you are feeling stressed without snapping at them. And if you can do that, it’s going to go better for everyone.
Within the context of people speaking Japanese, there is so much more that goes on beyond what is actually said. From the level of politeness and the depth of the bowing, to the atmosphere and shared understanding that somehow needs no words, there is infinitely more to Japanese than the words themselves. While it is hard to translate the subtleties of this there are valuable things we can all take away: sensitivity, patience, real listening, consideration for others.
Lessons from the hot spring
I can remember clearly the precise moment I made the mistake.
It is one of those days when I am trying to power through a long list, I have a head cold, my eldest daughter is hanging off my arm as I try to type and my youngest is scrabbling around my feet in search of a lost doll’s shoe
. I really should wait for a quiet moment to complete the booking, but I am running out of time before my trip, so I just go ahead. Bad idea.
A week later, I show up at Kanbayashi Onsen hot spring, weary from my overnight flight and long train journey to this remote part of Nagano. I am greeted with hot black bean tea and a friendly duty manager, and it all starts well. But then his expression changes to one of puzzlement.
‘Where is your travelling companion?’ he asks.
‘It’s just me,’ I reply.
‘Oh.’
It turns out I have paid £250 for room only in this hot-spring resort, based on two people sharing, even though there is only me. The price doesn’t include any food, and it is too late to order any as the chef has already been informed of numbers. If you have ever been to a hot spring in Japan, you will know that one of the joys of the experience, once you have soaked your tired body, is to get dressed in a yukata cotton kimono and tuck into a feast of carefully prepared local dishes. The food is half the point. No one books room-only at an onsen.
‘I’m so sorry. I could show you a nice rāmen place down the road,’ he offers, trying to help.
I am shattered. There is a foot of snow outside. And I am pretty sure that after a soak in a hot bath, I am not going to want to traipse down the road in the cold for a bowl of noodles, while everyone else enjoys a veritable feast in the hotel.
Of course, it is my fault. (Well, mine and Expedia’s, for offering room-only places at an onsen.) But knowing this doesn’t help. The chatter begins in my head: why couldn’t you have just concentrated for five minutes and made the right booking in the first place? Why didn’t you take the time to read the details? Typical. (Even though it’s not actually typical at all. I’m usually pretty good at logistical stuff.) Sometimes the chaos just seems to take on a life of its own.
But then my Japanese kicks in and I am full of apology. ‘Oh please don’t worry, it’s totally my fault. I should have paid better attention when I made the booking. It’s such a pity, as I was looking forward to delicious local Nagano food, but it’s completely my fault for having messed up the arrangements. I am so sorry to cause you the embarrassment of this mix-up …’