I’ve always appreciated wide open spaces — the chance to be alone in nature, to listen to birds, watch an osprey hunt fish, and breathe deeply in the quiet, far from human activity. Lots of room. Crowded places where people push their way to the front of the line, talk loudly on their phones, or hurry to get somewhere can be challenging for me, let alone jam-packed occurrences like sports events, concerts, or protest rallies. I normally shy away from such situations.
“Do you want to go into the city today?” my friend Sophia asks.
“Uh…” How do I say no in a kind way? “Not this time. But you go ahead. Marla mentioned she wanted to go with you to the Vintage Mall.”
“Ah, that’s great.” Sophia smiles. “Text me if you change your mind.”
“Okay,” I answer, knowing full well I won’t. Traffic, noise, and jostling throngs of people just aren’t my thing.
So, it surprised me how much I enjoyed my most recent trip to Japan — a place where even in the busiest spaces, I felt an unexpected calm, even Shibuya Crossing in Tokyo! In case you don’t know, Shibuya Crossing is the world’s busiest intersection and has achieved international fame for its appearance in so many music videos and films. At its busiest, 2.5 thousand people cross with every signal light, roughly every two minutes. Some estimates state as many as 3 million people cross daily. I crisscrossed it at its peak. It was wild!
While in Japan, we took many trains to different places. Sometimes during rush hour. Jampacked train cars with advertisements on the walls, above the windows, and Train TV (similar to YouTube) showing how to cook Ramen, Yakitori, or Okonomiyaki. There was also a bright sign written in Japanese, and underneath in smaller English letters, ‘Please silence your phones.’ Everyone appeared to obey this rule, and for so many people, it was unexpectedly inobtrusive. All of us in our tight little space, in our own world, without bothering anyone. Respectful. Discreet. Like bees in a beehive. A collective understanding of space.
Japan is a predominantly Buddhist country, and Buddhism’s deep impact on the culture affects just about everything: Japanese art, architecture, literature, and daily life, including the understanding of personal space.
In Buddhism, the concept of space extends beyond the physical to include a state of being: non-obstructive, ever-changing, non-absolute, pure, boundless, a peaceful mental state. A metaphor for the unconditioned. The infinite reality that is always there. In Japanese culture, the Buddhist concept of personal space is heavily influenced by this idea of interconnectedness and the philosophy of emptiness. Instead of a hard line, personal space is seen as a fluid boundary. In architecture and design, it can be seen as an intentional space left open in a garden or room. In interpersonal relationships, it is a respected pause or silence in communication. Differing from Western culture, which often sees empty space as a negative and needing to be filled.
Learning about this made sense of what I was feeling — the quiet respect that seemed to shape every interaction. I found myself instantly blending into this custom, modeling the culture’s regard for cooperation and mutual respect. Bowing in place of shaking hands or engaging in chitchat. Focusing on myself, being present, instead of staring at someone. I liked it a lot. One time, we took a gondola to the top of a mountain. Inside the cable car, there were 5 of us. One Japanese woman and two American tourists (like us). The Americans immediately started talking in loud voices, trying to engage the Japanese woman sitting across from me. She turned away and looked out the window, clearly not wanting to strike up a conversation, or maybe she couldn’t speak English. Anyway, I watched her facial expression –soft, yielding, contemplative, and rather than holding an exchange with my fellow tourists, I copied her way. At one point, the tourists stopped talking, all of us taking in the distant mountains and the beautiful landscape. When the cable car stopped and the attendant opened the door, the other Americans got off quickly and began another discussion. When the Japanese woman stood, I noticed she was pregnant and quickly bowed. “Douzo”, I said. After you. She looked surprised, but simply bowed and left. It was a subtly lovely moment.
There is more I could write about, of course, and I hope to do that from time to time. To share my reflections and ah-ha moments. My time in Japan was special and has deepened my appreciation for quiet connection — a reminder that solitude and respect can coexist beautifully and that solitude isn’t always found in silence — sometimes, it’s carried gently within us, even in a crowd.
“The great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.” Ralph Waldo Emerson
Enjoy the Passage of Time.
Sharon
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