Enjoy Silence
I mean, it really couldn’t have started any worse.
Five minutes before boarding a 14 hour flight to Tokyo Haneda, the announcement was made informing us of a cancelled flight. As I watched my plane, as well any misguided dreams of hiccup-free travel, get wheeled away for repairs, a panic set in. Was the whole trip about to go up in flames? Did I want to potentially go on an airline or flight that wasn’t part of my plan or maybe I should just go home and retry for some other time.
Amidst the chaos of 200 plus people asking the same questions (the majority of whom speak a language I know precisely 3 words of), and with the promise from airline staff that they would work to get everyone taken care of and let us know later exactly what that meant; what became apparent was that there wasn’t anything I could do other than sit and wait.
Sure enough, I was reasonably quickly rebooked for a flight 12 hours later (still on the A350 that had been my dream) and, half a day later than intended, I arrived in Tokyo at 5am on Sunday 29th December with 3 days to go until a new year.
Tokyo, and Japan, are so unique. They are both futuristic and yet so very traditional in some of the most unexpected ways you can think of.
Yes, the toilets are almost scarily high-tech when approaching for the first time, and yet it’s a community that primarily deals in cash. Unexpected.
Yes, Tokyo has giant squares of flashing lights and incredible crowds of people, but for New Year’s Eve, there are no celebrations to speak of similar to places like New York or London. No ball drop, no fireworks.
There seems to be a very respectful blend of new and old. It’s a culture filled with modernity that doesn’t forget to also show respect, decency, and honour tradition.
As I’ve aged, and truthfully even in my younger years, New Year’s Eve never really held much excitement for me. It felt like a night full of big plans and low pay-off almost every time.
What I’ve begun doing, instead of big things on the 31st, is to find meaningful things to do on the 1st itself; attempting to welcome in the New Year with something profound.
Lately this has manifested itself in sunrise boat cruises, and bespoke get-togethers with friends. All very perfect and impactful, if, for very different reasons.
One thing I was consistently asked before this trip is ‘why Japan?’. My answer was usually pretty vague. But, as the trip got closer and 2024 world events shook my soul to its core, I began internalising that this trip wasn’t actually an accident. Subconsciously, I think I chose Japan in search of a culture that valued humility, consideration, respect, and care.
As this trip would take place over the dawn of a New Year, with every day that it got closer, I realised that search was indeed going to be my ‘why Japan?’ reason.
Enter Hatsumōde.
Foregoing lavish events and parties, Japan’s traditions for the first few days of a New Year involve a visit to a shrine. There, they make wishes and prayers for the year ahead, collecting new amulets and charms whilst returning the old ones to be cremated. It is the perfect example of what I was hoping to find.
And so, on January 1st, 2025, at 6.30am in the morning, I left my hotel room and made the 30 minute walk from Shinjuku to Meiji Jingu Shrine.
Winding through empty neighbourhood streets in the sleepy haze of a winter morning, gradually joined by more and more locals as the shrine neared, it felt less of a walk, and more of a pilgrimage. There was a silent, resolute commitment about it.
In speaking to a cousin of mine (hat tip to Akilah), describing a few of the small things that I’ve been amazed by in my time here so far, she perfectly described much of what I was experiencing as an “intentionality toward stillness, reflection, and contemplation.”
This was exactly what I was witnessing.
Young and old, alone or with friends and family, dressed up or dressed down, so many in Japan make this their New Year’s mission. It was both busy and peaceful; serene and yet so very loud and powerful.
I think it would’ve been easy for Japan to mimic other first world countries with big fireworks displays and huge festivals and parties.
Just as Tokyo could easily be like a New York or a London and constantly be ‘on’, it simply isn’t. As soon as you leave the typical path, or even just make your way around at a slightly less busy time of day, I’ve found there is a stillness about Tokyo; a firm peacefulness.
Just like the random signpost in the middle of a neighbourhood, from which the title of this essay was taken, Japan has a way of reminding us that it is okay to simply enjoy being silent.
It comes back to that word, ‘intentionality’.
None of this is some happy accident.
At the airport for instance, I could’ve panicked and stressed at a cancelled flight. In truth, I absolutely did at first. But then, I had to stop, take a minute to collect my thoughts, and choose to be patient.
In a similar way, Japan and its people make Hatsumōde and so many of their cultural norms a conscious decision. It doesn’t matter who you are, on New Year’s day, it is understood that you go to a shrine and welcome in the new year with purpose, clarity, reflection, and hope.
It was a spiritual thing, but felt much more relaxed than that. Alongside the silent contemplation, there was hushed, happy chatter. The monetary offerings were made with everything from a polite drop, to a ‘right fielder making the throw to home plate’ type toss from the back row. It was a tacit coming together of community, while still being deeply personal.
I made my monetary donation, bowed my head, and partook, wishing for health and prosperity for family and friends. Later, in an area set aside with wooden tablets and paper to make your thoughts more concrete, I wrote those very same wishes down.
I placed them, along with a few hundred yen, into an envelope and carefully submitted it all into the requisite box along with so many others.
But before I did that, I did one last thing.
I opened up the paper and made one little addition to those 2025 wishes.
I wished for a world that maybe, just maybe, would find a semblance of peace.
I probably should’ve also added, ‘just like Japan.’