A love story

Today marks our arrival in Japan five years ago. We were coming for a three month assignment and here we still are. Happy as clams. Japan, and Tokyo in particular, is a great place to live.
There is a certain element of fantasy living in Tokyo.
Here I am, part of a tradition of expatriate artists. Granted that this isn’t Paris in the 1930s and getting here doesn’t involve steamer trunks and a month-long journey over water, but Tokyo in 2003 is kin to that history. There is a thriving community of expatriate artists here: writers, web folk, filmmakers, fine artists, musicians. I’m fortunate to know some of them and to collaborate with a few. Perhaps someday our connections and contributions to society will be noted as an artistic force in this era.
Reality is great, too.
I can live without a car and never feel the need to have one. The weather is mild and pleasant for 10 months of the year. The city bustles with activity and the mountains and seaside are only an hour’s train ride away. Seafood is fresh; fruits are delicious; there are a zillion restaurants. Strangers are polite and the streets are safe.
Naturally, not everything is rosy. I’ve struggled.
Learning a new language is challenging and I progress very slowly. Tokyo is an expensive place to live. Expatriate friends come and go. I will never be welcomed into any part of Japanese society. Despite all these annoyances and more, I’ve learned to accept them and the benefits of living here outweigh the traumas.
Will we ever leave Japan? Probably so, but who knows when or for where? I hope not to go back to the US. I’d love to try Rome or Beijing. But for the foreseeable future I am perfectly content with Tokyo.