Japonisme: Ikigai, Forest Bathing, Wabi-sabi and more

Copyright

Thorsons

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This edition published by Thorsons 2018

FIRST EDITION

Text © Erin Niimi Longhurst 2018

Illustrations © Ryo Takemasa 2018

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Cover illustrations © Ryo Takemasa 2018

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Source ISBN 9780008286040

Ebook Edition © 2018 ISBN: 9780008286057

Version 2018-03-27

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

01 Kokoro 心

(The heart and the mind)

Ikigai (Purpose)

Wabi-sabi (The beauty of imperfection and impermanence)

Kintsugi (Finding beauty in imperfection)

02 Karada 体

(The body)

Shinrin-yoku (Nourished by nature)

Ikebana (The art of flower arranging)

Tabemono (Food)

Ocha (Tea)

Onsen (Hot springs and bathing)

Calligraphy (Penmanship and sumi-e)

The Japanese home

03 Shukanka 習慣化

(Forming the habit)

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Index of Searchable Terms

Glossary

Endnotes

About the Publisher

© Scott Webb on Unsplash

INTRODUCTION

I grew up straddling several cultures. Born in London to an English father and a Japanese mother, I lived in Seoul, in London and then, for several years, in the cultural melting pot that is New York. But all the while, I always had a strong connection to Japan through my mother and my extended Japanese family, with whom I would spend the sticky, humid summers.

Over the past few years, I’ve written extensively about Japan on my blog, mostly covering recipes, lifestyle and travel tips. And while I’ve lived in many places dotted across the globe, I feel as though I always return – in every aspect of my life – to the same frameworks, rituals, habits and traditions: those from my upbringing, family life and time spent in Japan.

The word ‘Japonisme’ was first used in the late nineteenth century to describe the craze for Japanese art, culture and design in the West – an interest that has grown exponentially in the past few years to include anything from music to film, to food and art.

I think the thing that makes Japan’s culture and traditions so uniquely special is its long history of isolation. Japan has acquired such a strong, distinct and rich identity because it lacked external influence for so long. For over 220 years, Japan had an isolationist foreign policy, known as sakoku, meaning it was a ‘closed country’. Under the Tokugawa shogunate, relations and trade between Japan and the rest of the world were strictly limited. Few were allowed to leave the country, and few were allowed in from the early 1600s, in an attempt to counter the perceived threat of foreign, religious and colonial influence.

Sure, the two-century-long period of national seclusion occurred an extremely long time ago, ending in the early 1850s – but that era of solitude, I am convinced, played an enormous part in weaving the fabric of Japanese society. The customs, tradition and culture of Japan developed and blossomed in that remote bubble and, in my opinion, have made the country we know today quite different from anywhere else in the world. It can be strange, without doubt, and sometimes perplexing too, but it is always intriguing, beautiful and incredibly enlightening. I’ve been going back there for twenty-six years, and find myself learning something new and different every time, seeing everything afresh, from a novel perspective, over and over again.

So what can be learned from Japanese culture (without getting on a plane)? How can you – like me – apply it to everyday life outside of these tiny little islands? A key lesson for me has been about balance – something I learned from my maternal grandfather, Haruyuki. One of thirteen siblings, from rural farm stock, he rose up the ranks, eventually becoming an influential businessman in his role as Chairman and CEO of Shell in Japan.

His journey began with a chance friendship he struck up with two American soldiers who were stationed in a depressed, post-Second World War Japan. On their recommendation, he set his sights on the United States of America, crossing the Pacific in two weeks on an ocean liner – the Hikawa Maru (named after the great Shinto shrine in Saitama). He pursued a bachelor’s degree in economics at the University of Washington, supporting himself by working as a gardener, a waiter and a houseboy. As a result of his time in the States, he developed an attitude and approach to business back in Japan that were considered to be fairly unorthodox and distinctly Western. Throughout his life, though, he was fiercely proud of his heritage, and Japanese culture, history and tradition in particular.

Author’s own photo, foreground

© Elina Li/Shutterstock.com, background

It was from my grandfather that I learned the importance of mindfulness – how vital this is for a happy and fulfilling approach and attitude to life. We live in an increasingly connected world, but it comes at a cost. It’s hard to switch off when we are constantly bombarded with information and communication, and when it feels like the stress or drama of your working and/or personal life are always looming close at hand (and via push notifications, too).

I learned from my jiji’s (grandfather’s) example, as he always took the time for self-care; this enabled him to be happy, productive in his working life and to live sustainably. He would spend weekdays in the bustling, vibrant heart of Tokyo with early starts and late nights. But for most of his working life, without fail, he and my grandmother would return at the weekends to Kamakura – a beautiful city by the sea – where he would recharge. He’d spend hours tending the small orange trees in his garden, going on rambling walks in the hills in their neighbourhood, painting, writing poems and painstakingly filleting and preparing fresh fish for dinner. Over the course of my career, during stressful times, I’ve found myself recharging and getting into the right headspace with similar approaches – creating art (through photography or writing), cooking (filling gyoza dumplings; repetitive, but effective) and organising in different ways (sorting out my wardrobe or putting my papers in order) to help me get into a more grounded and productive mindset.

Later in life, my grandfather grew more and more connected to his spiritual side, becoming actively involved in temple life as an elder. He sat on a council that represented the parishioners at Tsurugaoka Hachimangū, the cultural heart of Kamakura, and its most important Shinto shrine – the place that he loved, cherished and depended on so much when he needed clarity or peace, bringing him back to his tradition and his roots. His work there was important to him. Never one for patronising lectures or filling a silence for the sake of it, every event and ritual he took part in, he filled with appreciation, dedication and meaning.

He was an early riser, getting up to tend to all his plants before being picked up for work. And he’d be my accomplice in sneaking out at 3 a.m. in order to satisfy a jetlag-induced craving for red-bean ice cream at the local konbini (convenience store). But always, he would point out the sunrise or the silence of the streets on our walks back home, teaching me how to savour the tiny moments that I would otherwise have missed.

I was in my final year at university in Manchester when my jiji died, and it wasn’t until I embarked on my own working life that I realised quite how much of his ethos I had taken in and absorbed over the years. Through the tiniest, quietest moments, slightest of actions and the almost imperceptible nuances that he highlighted, I discovered and took in aspects of my own heritage and culture that would shape and guide my life.

Whenever I meet strangers for the first time and tell them about my Japanese heritage and upbringing, the conversation that ensues is always spirited, to say the least, although it does inevitably involve a discussion about their appreciation for anime, for example, or their love of Japanese cuisine and, very occasionally, karaoke!

A naturally anxious, cautious person, I’ve found that there are so many things I draw upon now to help me find clarity, regroup and persevere through challenges, and they are all firmly rooted in Japan and its rich heritage. So it is this that I want to share with you here: not just aspects of Japan and its culture in the abstract, but philosophies and strategies that have helped me get through some of the hardships, barriers and trials of modern everyday life. In so doing, the process of articulating and distilling the essence of these philosophies and traditions in these pages has renewed my love and appreciation for them, perhaps now more than ever before, making me aware of just how much I really do depend and rely on them in everyday life without even realising it. I hope that they will provide comfort, happiness and food for thought for you too – the kind that can only come from an appreciation of the quieter, yet rich, the ordinary, yet joyful moments along the wider journey.

© Ben Sykes-Thompson, foreground

© Fancy Crave on Unsplash, background

© Nassima Rothacker

© Nassima Rothacker

Part One of the book, ‘Kokoro’, focuses on the heart and mind. It is about what drives us to do what we do (ikigai) and what brings us joy; the beauty of change (wabi-sabi) and of the passing of time; and finding beauty in imperfection and celebrating the hardships and moments that shape us (kintsugi). Part Two, ‘Karada’, is all about the body: how we engage with our surroundings (through forest bathing, flower arranging and in the home); how we nourish it (through food, tea and bathing); and how we stimulate our minds (through calligraphy). Finally, Part Three, ‘Shukanka’ (developing the habit), is about finding ways in which these can all be incorporated into our day-to-day lives and become second nature or routine.

There are so many aspects of Japanese cultural life that I believe can – and should be – adopted more elsewhere. Whether it’s changing a mindset, finding time to appreciate a good cup of tea or going out for a brisk walk in nature, these techniques, and others, can really be valuable for all of us who have felt overworked, anxious, haggard, frazzled or rushed. Too often, we get bogged down, stressed and wrung out. We’re under constant pressure to achieve perfection in all that we do, to be happy (never sad, or angry or upset) and to look incredible. We’re told that we should do it all and have it all – manage a successful career, while still spending quality time with family, eat well, yet have an amazing body and more. But this approach to life is just too precarious and doesn’t take into account the messiness of real everyday life, in which deadlines change, other people can have bad days and take it out on you, or you or your loved ones can become ill. It’s extremely high-pressure and stress-inducing. At best, it’s unattainable and unrealistic; at worst, it’s downright dangerous.

© Samuel Zeller on Unsplash, background; © Galen Clout on Unsplash, foreground

The philosophies I will share with you here and which are so integral to Japanese culture will help you to recognise and deal with the transience of life, to find the beauty within the messy chaos and teach you to adore and cherish your scars – all of which can be so wonderfully freeing. It’s about being able to acknowledge that things will end, and that things will blow up in your face, but without being nihilistic about it. And rather than chasing the unattainable goal of perfection, it’s about finding fulfilment and serenity in what already lies in front of you: being able to say, ‘I’m not perfect, and it’s ok.’

This book is packed with practical tips, suggestions, recipes and more to enhance your current existence – all inspired by the unique, beautiful and magical little islands that are Japan. Just think of the ingredients we used to have to ship over (at great expense), which can now be readily purchased at many local supermarkets; and the intricate bento boxes (painstakingly made for me by my mother), which are now fairly commonplace. These and so many other things are at our disposal now, and by using them, along with making tiny, incremental changes, you will learn how to establish new routines and habits to enrich and complement your lifestyle and wellbeing. This proverb pretty much sums up the thinking that underpins this book. It’s through small, iterative steps, rather than the big reveal, that we can make the most significant changes. So take things one step at a time. Many of the arts and practices you will read about, like ikebana (see here) and tea ceremony (see here) take decades to grasp and perfect. Several of my family members have sacrificed countless hours in following and, ultimately, mastering their chosen pursuits, but while I’ve dipped my toe into many of them, I am by no means an expert. Nor am I a historian or an academic. But through all of them, I have learned something about myself along the way – and that is what I want to share here. Because if I can do it, then so can you. The hobbies, activities and practices you will read about will all help to create change; change – and this is key – that is realistic, practical, affordable and, hopefully, fun, too.

The characters of my last name – Niimi 新美 – mean ‘new’ and ‘beautiful’. My hope is that, through this little book, I will live up to it, introducing you to new and beautiful Japanese philosophies, practices and tips to bring just a little bit more mindfulness, contentment and happiness into your life.

© Nassima Rothacker

01

Kokoro

心

The heart and the mind

In Japanese, there are three words to describe the heart. The first is shinzou, the physical organ that beats within us all, and keeps us alive. (If a Japanese person tells you that their shinzou hurts, they’re not speaking metaphorically – get them to a doctor, pronto.) The second is ha-to, the shape of a love heart – the kind that you can’t escape until late February, once Valentine’s Day has passed. The third is kokoro.

Heart, mind and soul are inextricably linked in the word kokoro. The nearest English equivalent might be conscience; it’s a mentality or a feeling and it describes the emotions and desires inside all of us.

Nurturing your kokoro is where mindfulness begins, and this applies to every aspect of your life. I’ve been guilty of prioritising some areas at the expense of others, certainly in my working life. Getting burned out, being terrified of failure, or change, is something that I’ve struggled with before. But the most important thing I’ve learned on my journey so far is that failure is inevitable. This realisation has been one of the most liberating of all.

In Part One, I share different outlooks, philosophies and ways of thinking. Whether it’s accepting the imperfect, seeing the beauty in things that are broken or finding your motivation, taking the time to care for yourself in more ways than one (paying attention to mental health, as well as physical) will put things in perspective, help you to find joy and enable you to live a fuller, richer, happier life.

© Andre Benz on Unsplash

© photoBeard/Shutterstock.com

Shortly after my grandfather died, I took my first job out of university in a field I wasn’t passionate about. I had moved to London, a city where I didn’t know many people, and I lived with a partner who worked so much that they were mostly absent. During this period, I felt lost and adrift.

So I took my camera, and started to document my life in London – the food I ate, what I had enjoyed about my day and things that had made me feel happy at a time when I mostly wasn’t. It was starting my blog, following what made me feel good and sharing that part of myself that nourished me and helped me grow.

So first, let’s take a look at ways to find your ikigai, or purpose – the thing that drives you and makes you get out of bed in the morning. We’ll then look at wabi-sabi – accepting the nature of impermanence and transience and embracing the presence of chaos in life – before, finally, finding the beauty in the broken, through the art of kintsugi.

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