Fear is Failure

My first memories of Japan are a litany of negatives. I recall stumbling about Tokyo Station as if in a labryinth. A 6′1″ white male with a large daypack strapped to my back, I stuck out like a sore thumb in a sea of suited commuting Japanese workers. Exhaustion had set in from the plane ride and that was not helping as I attempted to navigate by communicating with Tourist Information.

I had no plan.  I did not have accommodations for the night and darkness had fallen. Fear set in. Two and a half weeks in Japan seemed like a prison sentence, not a privilege. There was no exit strategy, no cell phone in my pocket to reach out to a comforting voice, and no Google chat at my fingertips via Internet.

Finally I navigated out of the Station to a closet-sized hotel room (the first I could find) and spent double my nightly budget. It did not matter to me at the time. I pulled out my Moleskine and penned a quick line – This is a really strange and negative experience so far . At 7pm Tokyo time, I collapsed on an empty stomach. Solo travel was not for me.

Looking back there is such a dichotomy between that night and the latter sixteen days of my trip. What ensued was one of the most positive experiences of my life. When I woke up on day two, even though quite jetlagged at 5am, I resigned myself to explore, to keep an open-mind, and to make the experience work for me. I filled my mind with thoughts of the positives travel aficionados like Ferriss and Potts espoused. Confidence renewed I strapped my bag to my back, checked out of the hotel, and set off for the Imperial Gardens and the Tokyo International Youth Hostel.

After setting out on that mission and making that declaration, the rest is, as they say, history. A whirlwind tour of Japan took me from Tokyo to Nikko to Kamakura to Mount Fuji to Kyoto to Osaka and back to Tokyo via subway, JR line, midnight bus, bullet train, as well as my preferred mode of travel – on foot. Six different hostels housed me and countless restaurants, open markets, and shops fed me.

Tokyo will be remembered as a fast-paced, neon lit metropolis that ushered me into Japan. Nikko as a natural respite from Tokyo, offering me creeks, waterfalls, and a good hike. Kamakura as the home of the great Buddha, which succeeded in wowing me. Mount Fuji as the crowning moment of my journey (I will get to that). Kyoto as a more down-to-earth people centric city with countless shrines. Osaka as a nightlife hub and a catch-the-first-train-back-in-the-morning mentality.

I will never forget some highlights of the Japanese culture. There is a hilarious irony on the streets – no wastebaskets and yet a pristine cleanliness. Vending machines are so ubiquitous; I practically expected to find one on top of Mount Fuji. Sushi, noodles, okinomiyake, and a variety of other wonders make up an amazing cuisine. The locals left the biggest mark on me – many approached and attempted to help when I looked confused, others offered rides and their homes, shop-owners actually left their stores to walk me to a destination, and businessmen were quick to enter into loud conversation and provide rounds of drinks on nights out.

The fast friendships I forged are priceless. Each individual assumed such an open, un-jaded personality when traveling. No matter where I stayed there was always a motley group with which to enjoy dinner, enter into lively conversation, and embark on unforeseen adventures. Most notably – an Australian who could not get enough of Japanese women, three Liverpoolers always up for a day hiking and a night out, a Mauritian who accompanied me on the climb of the trip, a German in love with ramen houses, and a Northern Irishman who astonished me with his exploits of skydiving, travel, and underground fighting. While I came to Japan skeptical of such fleeting friendships and the emotional toll they might take, I left appreciating them and all moments involved.

Looking back the trip climaxed in an ascent of Mount Fuji. Two of us set out at midnight with a goal of watching the sunrise from above the clouds. It did not matter to us that climbing season was two months in the rearview mirror. The climb would become a pilgrimage. Fog and rain were hallmarks of the outset, affording us two feet of visibility in the forest and leaving me drawing comparisons to the Blair Witch Project. Six hours later the clouds dramatically parted as we watched a picturesque sunrise from 3,000+ meters. At that moment I remember thinking I did this, I climbed Mount Fuji and I came to Japan on my own and made the most of it. I conquered my fears.

In summarizing the trip, I always return mentally to a passage in Po Bronson’s What Should I Do With My Life? On day three of the trip I journeyed to a Japanese bookstore and sought out its remote and quite tiny English shelf for some good reading. I found Bronson’s book on that shelf, a happenstance that makes me wonder about destiny, fate, and all related oft-mentioned buzz words. On a rainy day in my hostel, I drank cup after cup of green tea and read the following:

At home, at work, at school, there are always a ton of external inputs coaxing you in the direction you’re already going. Deadlines, parents chirping in your ear, friends wanting you to go out. Your life has a momentum. Traveling can take you away from all those influences, quiet their din, and allow you a kind of silence to consider who you are as an independent entity. It can be uncomfortable if you’re not used to it. You might come face to face with the fact that there’s not much brainwave activity upstairs without all those influences to react to. “And when you start to think that you haven’t been the pilot of your life for a long, long time, you have no other choice but to hear what your soul is saying,” wrote one young man who found the courage to quit business school while traveling across Asia. “Am I the person I think I am if nobody is there to tell me who I am?”

Being uncomfortable is good. If you remain comfortable, you remain more or less yourself. The quickest way to make yourself uncomfortable is to travel alone. I found a high correlation between traveling alone and milking the rock. It takes courage to change your life. Sometimes, doing so, you feel all alone in the world. You can get used to this scary feeling by traveling alone, being by yourself for long periods of time, having to talk to strangers, having to get yourself from one city to another. You become accustomed to it. The fear of being alone will no longer stop you.

It also helped to travel without a plan. This was particularly true for young people who’ve segued from high school to college to a prize job they were recruited for without taking any great leaps of faith. They’ve never been off a path. With each step, they’ve known where it was likely to lead, even as they pretended they might opt out. They’re uncomfortable with the prospect of not being associated with a respected school or company, since they’ve always had that. Traveling without a plan is a way to rehearse the improvisational approach, and opens your mind to the sense of adventure. You learn to trust the laws of chance. Perhaps, when you get home, you’ll be willing to do the same.

When you subdue these fears, they no longer guard the gates, and you invite the truth into your life.

The passage mirrors my thoughts better than I could have ever penned them. My life has always had the path to it – high school to college to a prize job in the financial world. It seemed scripted. Then one fine day I began improvising and, just as Bronson states, began trusting the laws of chance, when I broke form and left my job. Winning the Endless Summer competition then afforded me the opportunity to speak to Tim Ferriss, a man whose pen influenced my improvisation. Afraid of heights, I went for a skydive. Japan and solo travel followed that, conquering inherent fears of being alone and instilling independence and self-reliance.

From each of these new experiences, I return a changed man. From Japan, I have returned with a newfound traveling bug or itch, which is indicative of a growing bug or itch for conquering fear and seizing adventure. My mind has been opened to that sense of adventure maybe more than it has ever been, rivaling my days as a child.

A heartfelt thank you to Tim Ferriss for opening a generous door for me to walk through and the readers of his blog who found my Endless Summer submission inspiring and whose votes flew me to Japan.