“Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto.”
I had no idea this phrase means "thank you very much" in Japanese.
My friends I was visiting in Japan a few weeks ago were helping me learn some of the language, but it was my husband who started singing the famous song. And now it's seared into my long term memory.
Japan was amazing.
It was clean. The food was good. Everyone was polite.
By the time our return flight came around, we weren’t ready to go home. But we did.
And while our vacation renewed my husband's passion for collecting Pokémon cards, it left me with a gnawing feeling I couldn’t ignore.
We first noticed the quirks of Japanese culture on the subway.
It was quiet, but not in an eerie way. Everyone seemed to be reading a book or browsing their phones.
When people entered and exited, there was a clear system everyone knew to follow.
Yet, no one acknowledged one another.
If they did, it was with an emotionless head nod.
And if I was lucky enough to catch someone’s eye, they rarely smiled back at me.
Of course, I asked my friends about this.
They told me people in Japan are extremely polite.
So polite, in fact, that they do not want to do anything to burden another person (such as making small talk with someone on the train or smiling at someone in the street).
This even extends to the traditional Japanese greetings when someone is invited into another’s home. The translation is something like, “I know I am being a burden by being here.” When they leave, they say (roughly), “I have been a burden to you.”
It seems like any slight annoyance can be viewed as an indiscretion in Japanese society.
Yet, any person we asked for help jumped at the chance to help us. They didn’t seem insincere or bothered by us at all.
There’s an explanation for that, too.
Japanese people would never want to be caught being impolite or mean. So when someone asks for help, you give it to them.
The worst thing a person could do in Japan? Steal.
The honor/shame culture is so deeply embedded that the politeness and helpfulness we experienced was authentic, but it was also self-serving.
Being helpful, being polite, serving others well, not making eye contact–all of it is to keep from being exposed as something “other,” as someone who doesn’t fit in or doesn’t embody what it means to be Japanese.
Japanese people are taught a set of societal rules to follow from childhood. Any deviation from these rules means shame.
On the surface, this doesn’t seem like that big of a deal.
In fact, it makes Japan probably the safest country in the world. It wouldn’t be uncommon for a wallet dropped on the street to be returned to its rightful owner–with all the cash still in it.
Part of me felt like I should’ve been born in Japan...
I could live and work with my head down.
No one would ask me private questions about my life or expect me to give pieces of my heart to my coworkers (both things my superiors have wanted from me in my jobs in America).
No special attention or dreaded small talk. What a dream!
However, looking at the state of Japan’s mental health as a result of this kind of culture was like forcing myself to look in a mirror.
It's no secret that Japan has one of the highest suicide rates in the world. The pressure to fit in, to hammer yourself down so as not to stick out–coupled with the intense work culture–keeps people from being fully known by others.
It's a lonely reality.
And it was a reality I wasn't prepared to witness.
When the pressure gets to be too much, some people shut themselves into their apartments, never going outside or speaking to another person. This is called hikikomori. It is an extreme form of social withdrawal.
Instead of seeking help from others at their lowest, they pull further away.
So, what does this have to do with me?
When I think about being private and acting politely–being Japanese–I think about how it serves to protect me from being hurt.
It’s easy to control how I react when there is a shield around my heart.
I can be physically present with someone and have a conversation with them without putting my heart in it.
In most situations, I keep my heart safely locked away, out of reach, so no one can hurt it.
Seeing an entire culture that’s kept its heart neatly tucked away was like jumping head first into freezing water.
It was uncomfortable.
But it also brought intense clarity.
Looking around, I saw the end result of my life if I continued down the path of protection.
I'd still end up hurting.
But I'd also end up alone.
When I talked with my friends about this part of Japanese culture, I was curious.
We speculated about where it originated.
I asked lots of questions.
I viewed these people as desperate and alone, ignorant of a solution. I was moved with compassion for them.
But I didn't realize until after I was home that I was actually searching for answers for myself.
It was difficult to admit I operate from the same book.
My helpfulness and politeness are mostly authentic.
But they are also self-serving.
My actions are attempts from being exposed as a big, fat failure. My service keeps me from judgment and humiliation. My privacy protects my heart.
And when I do this, when I don’t allow my heart to be seen, I am desperate and alone, too.
The difference between me and Japanese people is I have friends and family who put in the time and effort to coax my heart out of hiding. Boy, am I grateful.
Japan is a society where everyone hides, so no one is found.
I’m thankful for people like my friends who are putting in the time and effort to find Japan’s heart.
The people of Japan need them just as I need my people.
Arigato gozaimasu, Japan, for bringing me face-to-face with my own issues. It was unexpected, but I'm glad it happened.
Stay tuned to hear how I used these self-reflections in an actual conversation to improve my relationships.
If any of this sounds familiar, get help from a fellow heart-protector. We need to learn how to draw the curtains back, or we may end up hurting and alone forever.
Book a session with me now.
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