Novelty…wonder… routine…boredom…

Tokyo
My kid and I mix into the crowd at the Tokyo metro station. It’s the only thing to do. Over thirteen million people in the city. Over thirty seven million people in the greater Tokyo area. We join in. Thirty seven million and one, thirty seven million and two.

At least a third of them must be at a metro station, in rush hour. Even if a thousandth of that population were to be on our train… And yes, that’s your math workout for today.

Even if you choose not to do the math (slacker), you know well, it accounts for busy trains and metro stations. Despite the rush, there seems to be a lack of excessive scrambling. Despite the crowds, there seems to be a lack of excessive noise. I think of similar train stations in New York and DC and Mumbai. How can it be so quiet? And then there is the business of: “Sumimasen” (Excuse me/ pardon), the officials say, as the shove folks onto trains, with the help of a stick held horizontally.  

Nobody minds. Everyone minds their own business, does their own thing – as during a commute in any metropolitan city.

But we are tourists. I glance at folks around me. The elderly ladies smile at me. I notice the teenagers, take in the culture, fashions and trends, the overall politeness, a sense of grace and courtesy, the lack of noise…

We look at the map and travel book. We figure out what train to take next. We read about places. Yes, we’re tourists. We have the time and inclination to look around.

Unlike the woman sitting in front of me, who is probably thinking about dinner or the work she needs to finish, I have nothing much going on in my head. I am on vacation.

Yes, being on vacation is an interesting state of being. We give ourselves permission to not occupy our mind with the multitude of (inconsequential?) things we lay so much emphasis on.

We are in a new environment. Our curiosity and state of wonder gets activated. Sometimes, I feel, it even releases a certain self-awareness. I notice things about myself that I find hard to believe I never knew (ahem… not to say that is always a pleasant or happy thing).

Yes, there is a certain heightened awareness. An awareness that wants to take things in. An awareness that processes the experiences.

What happens then, when we come back to our mundane?

Is it completely unrealistic to keep up with that sense of spirit and awareness and wonder? What if, for the rest of today, I go about experiencing whatever it is that I see with a sense of wonder, or at least, a teeny tiny bit of enthusiasm? Is that even possible given that I have been down that same grocery aisle a zillion times before? So unless they have a monstrously giant chocolate truffle in that aisle, it sounds pretty exhausting.

Certainly, there is comfort in knowing and security in sameness.

But what about those parts of the brain that wake up and fire up when provided with fodder of wonder and new experiences?

Portland
The snow comes down in fat flurries, converting the world into a soft magical white marshmallow land. It is delicious. I marvel at the soft-footed calm that spreads, despite sledding kids. The same trees and houses and streets encased in this white wintery magic are completely different beings.  

And then there are the snowy white nights. When it never really turns completely dark. A certain light exudes from the ground, the world… the skies seem to reflect it. I remember my friend mentioning emails I exchanged years ago, describing my first experience of fall colors and falling snow and snow-filled nighttime light. I wonder what I may have said. I don’t have those emails or that email account or that frame of mind anymore.

Yes. My world, my street, my house is the same. Yet completely transformed. All I can do is to stand and look. And marvel. And take in the wonder. And a week later, swear beneath my breath… ahem, just saying…

It appears there is a certain continuum. Novelty…wonder… routine…boredom…

Unlike, like the woman on the Tokyo train in front of me, who probably gets on the same train, at the same spot, at the same time, and sits in the same spot even, day in and day out, I am hungrily taking it all in. Marveling at everything. And more. My life. My world (her world actually) is so very interesting in that moment. My moment.

So what I’m wondering is if we close our minds to some degree in our day to day. What would be novel, becomes an annoyance, or something ‘extra’.  Do we need to close our mind to some degree for efficiency? To be able to get things done? To maintain the peace and ease of a routine?

Is there some way to maintain the peace from a routine, and yet, keep our minds open?