Something was wrong. I felt my eyelids getting heavy with a sudden fatigue that passed over me. It couldn’t be jet lag; it’s already been over a week since I landed. Perhaps it was something in my last meal? The train’s steady rattle seemed to echo my growing unease. Hoping it was only overexertion, I shrugged off the discomfort. As the train got closer to my station I began to feel the telltale body aches that precede a fever. Damn, it’s going to be a long night.
It was sensory overload. I slowly marched with the crowd of people, careful to stay on the left side of the walkway. Despite the friendly atmosphere, I felt my chest heavy with anxiety that I might be breaking some unspoken rule. Conflicting songs blared from different speakers, fighting for attention. My brain struggled to keep up. Just as I was looking for some respite, a vendor next to me called out. I looked over and found myself face to face with the hairy creature resting on the man’s head. I had been to my share of animal cafes in the past, but I didn’t know sea otter cafes were a thing. A couple minutes later I was heading down the stairs donned in a pink windbreaker and blue dress to go meet these majestic creatures. I was not disappointed. The otters ran around the room playing, happily ignoring their new human guests. Most of the otters were solely focused on clawing out the treats from the small puzzle boxes that the staff had laid out for them. Eventually two of them, having eaten all they could, crawled onto my lap for a nap. As I sat there petting their soft fur with a stupid grin on my face, bacteria quietly made its way into a small separation between the side of my fingernail and the skin. Little did I know that in less than a week I’d be navigating my way through the hospital with a nasty fever and an index finger that looked like a baby anaconda that had just swallowed a grape. The fever and the infection eventually subsided thanks to the help of some antibiotics and lots of anime-fueled rest.
Even with the unscheduled downtime, I was still able to cover over 90 miles of walking in the past two weeks and see many of Tokyo’s unique neighborhoods. Everywhere I went, Tokyo seemed to defy physics. Despite 14 million residents, there are no signs of trash, graffiti or homelessness. Subways are packed shoulder-to-shoulder, yet they’re perfectly silent. 1 in 5 Japanese smoke, but the air is clean and the floor is free of cigarette butts. Public restrooms are spotless, have heated toilet seats and bidets. Because Japan has one of the highest plastic recycling rates (84% compared to 9% in the United States) they can take advantage of the benefits of single-use plastics while also limiting their environmental footprint. Through massive coordination Tokyo has become an urban paradise. But how does it achieve this level of coordination? It’s one thing to experience it in a small community where everyone knows each other, however Tokyo is a big city full of strangers.
We were on our way back from Kawagoe, an old stopover town just outside of Tokyo. I was with some new friends, Sho and Akil, some bright working professionals in their early 30s who I had met at a crossfit gym. We had spent the day exploring the craft shops and eating our share of udon and Japanese sweets in the old town and were now returning to Tokyo for some dinner. The train we were on was silent, reminding me of the paradox. As someone who grew up in Tokyo, I turned to Sho and quietly asked him how Tokyo is able to operate so smoothly despite its size. “Shaming”, he said. “If you do something that’s not socially acceptable, people will give you looks. No one will say anything of course, but you’ll feel judged.” Still I wondered, is this enough to produce the level of coordination I had been witnessing?
It’s hard for those of us coming from a Western culture to understand the strength of social shaming. All the glares in the world are not going to get a New Yorker to stop using their speakerphone on the subway. However, Japanese shame and honor culture has a long history. The Samurai were famous for taking shame very seriously, and although seppuku isn’t practiced in modern Japan, shame still has a strong influence.
When I asked Sho how he handles the pressure he said he’s learned not to care as much. “Spending time abroad has given me a change in perspective and I’ve found a balance to care about the things that make sense to me. In elevators, especially at work, it’s expected that the most junior person will operate the elevator by opening and closing the doors. The elevators are all automatic - it’s entirely unnecessary. So I just don’t do it.”
It takes a lot of reflection to separate your personal values from that of society. Often we brandish the values of others and become ashamed when our actions don’t match the values. That’s not to say our values can’t heavily overlap with society’s values - just that it’s okay for them to also be distinct. Only by knowing yourself well enough can you live true to your personal values and find the balance that Sho is talking about.
As we departed the train, I felt a bit of a weight lifted. The unspoken rules of Tokyo, once overwhelming, began to feel more approachable. I realized that with time, these rules and their underlying reasons would become more clear and I’d find a balance between showing respect toward others and respecting my own individual values. With a calmer mind, I stepped out into the night air following Sho and Akil to lights of Tokyo Tower.