Part 2: The Independent Journey
Nagasaki,
Each trip to Japan has unfolded with a slightly different rhythm.
In the beginning, I leaned on others to navigate the maps and the menus, to make sense of the train lines and the language. My partner and I traveled together on every journey while learning, exploring, and laughing our way through both the planned and the unexpected. With each return, I’ve felt myself growing a little more confident, a little more able to move through the country on my own.
This time, that independence will be tested (and celebrated.) For the first twelve days, I’ll be on my own before joining the group for the ten-day “Sashiko Retreat.” It will be my first experience traveling completely solo in Japan, and I’m curious to see what that feels like to set my own pace and to let my own sense of direction (or misdirection) shape the days.
Minato City, Tokyo, Japan
Traveling alone carries a particular kind of quiet. Without the easy conversation of companionship, I’m sure I’ll find myself tuning in differently (to the hum of train stations with a gentle chime announcing the next stop…a soft politeness that threads through daily life.) Japan has a rhythm that mirrors sashiko: structure and softness, repetition with room for improvisation. I imagine moving through it the way a needle moves through cloth. (Steady, deliberate, and always connected to what’s just beneath the surface)
There’s comfort in knowing I’ve been there before, even as I step into something new. I know the feeling of jet lag blending into wonder, the smell of all-night-noodle shops at dawn, and the quiet satisfaction of deciphering a sign or finding the right platform. Still, I expect to get lost at least once, and I think that’s part of the point. Sashiko has taught me that a pattern is only whole because of its variations, and those variations include the tiny imperfections and the unexpected turns.
Takayama, Gifu Prefecture, Japan
In this stretch of solo travel, I hope to find a kind of dialogue between movement and stillness while seeing how the independence I’ve been stitching together, trip by trip, holds when I’m truly on my own. Soon enough, I’ll join others at the retreat, trading solitude for shared rhythm. But before that, I have twelve days to wander, to listen, and to trust that every step (like every stitch) connects me to something larger than myself.