Friction

When people asked why we were moving (as in, philosophically, not just materially), I often said I was looking for a bit more friction in my life. It was a feeling that ebbs and flows over time, but I’d started to feel like I was in a bit of a rut. That I was going through the paces in America; I was living life a bit on autopilot.

That’s not to say things were comfortable—often they were not, and trending less so—but they were familiar. I knew the shape of my days, how to do basic things like go to the grocery store and take the train, and the social mores underpinning American society.

I’ve written about this before, but it struck me again, now that I’m here in Tokyo, putting it all on the line. My Japanese teacher told a story about someone she knows making a common mistake in conversation with a shop clerk at a convenience store in Japan, and asked if I’d had any embarrassing moments. But so far, nothing really comes to mind. I mentioned how my subpar hearing leads me to ask people to repeat themselves, which in the context in Tokyo, often makes people try again in English, no matter how broken it may be.

Rather than try one of the numerous other restaurants in the neighborhood, I’ve started to push towards what I already know.

In truth, I’d started to lean into familiarity, even just a month into life here. I told her how I had avoided using the microwaves or electric kettles at convenience stores, out of fear of not knowing the correct protocol. We went out to dinner last weekend with another couple we know here, who took us to our first okonomiyaki experience, a type of savory pancake often made by the customers at the table. They told a story about their first okonomiyaki experience, where they prepared the okonomiyaki so shoddily the chef came to correct it.

I laughed, but I recognized something of myself in their story—worse, I’d recognized I’d started to avoid situations that could put me in similar situations. There’s a group of restaurants near my office, and I’ve started to go to one in particular; it’s good and affordable, but above all, it’s easy. I know what to order. I know the restaurant’s flow. Rather than try one of the numerous other restaurants in the neighborhood (I’ve been to a few) and risk not quite knowing how to order, or how to read something handwritten, or what to get (the horror!), I’ve started to push towards what I already know.

Telling this all to my Japanese teacher made me realize this isn’t what I came here for. I always lean into routine, and find habit to be extremely helpful in getting certain things done, like consistently doing flashcards, or chipping away at a manuscript. But it can lead to stagnancy, that autopilot feeling I’d felt back in the states. Oftentimes, the difference between a rut and a groove is razor-thin.

The risks are lower than I think. So what if I have to ask someone for help (especially in Japanese)? Nearly everyone here has gone out of their way to try and help us get settled so far. I’ve tried to avoid situations where I might look like a naïve foreigner, but that’s who I am. How would I know how to do something I’ve never done before?

Consider this post a challenge to myself. Familiarity feels good, and friction feels bad. But I’ve always been someone who’s quick to laugh at my own mistakes. So let’s make some mistakes—together.

Where do you sit on the balance of familiarity and friction? Are you a creature of habit, or a trailblazer? Let me know in the comments below!