Good Friction

Oh, how I’ve missed traveling during the pandemic. Because traveling is good friction; like rubbing your hands together on a crisp winter day, traveling creates an energy and a vitality that wasn’t there before. It pulls us out of our numbing ordinary and tosses us into the new and strange, where all kinds of things get stirred up.

This good friction happened to me in Japan a few years ago. In the mountain village of Takayama, we stayed at a ryokan—a traditional Japanese inn that had a bathtub as big as my bedroom back home. One woman’s job was to cater to our every care, mindfully laying out our sleeping mats at night and serving us delicately curled fern fronds to eat in the morning.

At the end of our stay, this woman came into the lobby and prostrated herself at our feet. I mean she literally laid, face-down, on the floor. This gesture was meant to honor us, but talk about friction. In her mind, she was doing her job, and she was doing it well. In my mind, her gesture wasn’t humbling. It was humiliating.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I much preferred what I had seen the night before. We were eating at a restaurant perched on a riverbank. The shallow water glowed in the dusk. As I ate my sushi, a woman on the opposite bank carried a dog down to the water. Its back legs were paralyzed. The woman lowered the dog into the water as tenderly as if she were placing a sleeping baby in a crib. As the dog floated, the woman slowly washed its body.

Some might label this dog as broken. Some might get angry at what it couldn’t do, the messes it made. After all, a paralyzed dog can’t trot outside to go to the bathroom, which probably meant all kinds of bodily functions were trapped in its soft fur. This woman washed that dog as if it were the holiest being in the world.

Inhale.

Exhale.

To be that loved, that cared for, especially when parts of you were broken—could a person ask for anything more?

Maybe you’ve experienced this kind of caring. Oh, what goodness and grace.

Maybe you haven’t. Maybe you needed this kind of gentle love and support, and it just wasn’t there.

Maybe you’ve had to care for someone, and it gets exhausting.

So even this woman’s beautiful gesture can create friction.

Inhale.

Exhale.

We are all born into the same big world. At the same time, we are each born into our very own little worlds, where we get trained (yes, like dogs) to act in particular ways. The ways others act might bring us joy and comfort, or they might seem weird. Or wrong. Or downright hurtful. This range of experiences and emotions—this good friction—can happen to us whether we are traveling or not.

So, no matter where you are in life, you have the opportunity. To notice. Sit. Breathe. Wonder. And know. For a fact. You cannot control others, whether you find their actions beautiful or troubling, kind or disappointing.

Inhale, exhale.

May you meet the world right there in front of your eyes with a sense of wonder.

May you turn left toward delight and surprise, instead of being right, and getting lost in judgment or fear.

May you let others honor you, quieting the voices in your head (as well as the ones in your mouth).

May receive the gift that is being given.

May you show up and care when someone else so desperately needs it, because if you do that time and again for others, you create a community, one who is likely to show up when you need it the most.

May you find help when you can’t do it all on your own.

And may you always, always meet the brokenness you see—in yourself and others—with love and gentleness.

And may you, like that river wandering into the mountains of Japan, shine.