Once...in an open moment...

Last weekend: I attend the literary festival, Wordstock. As Lemony Snicket/Daniel Handler recounts how he always jots random things in his journal, I think it would be fun to peer into his journal. Sheepishly, I think of my own journal/s which travels everywhere with me, but has not encountered any ink to paper activity for months and months.

I pull it out. I decide to jot down some of the interesting quotes flying around me. (I don’t). However I flip the journal open to an entry exactly a year ago. At a tuna auction. At the Tsukiji Fish Market. In Tokyo. Before sunrise, on a cold fall morning.

I read it. It makes me laugh. It has a rather Mary Poppinsish, “Anything can happen if you let it…”(broadway version) feel to it.

It’s a silly little story, but one that makes me feel that life is easy. That it is okay to remain open and to go with the flow. That clearings happen.

Today, I cannot relate to the person whose journal entry I read. I am in a different frame of mind. The one that stares at me from my journal is a moment of staying open, taking chances, without any expectations, with optimism, with a let-see-where-this-goes, without a negative thought.

But first, let me tell you this silly story.

The Tsukiji fish market in Tokyo is quite a tourist attraction. The tuna auction each day at the crack of dawn, draws hundreds of tourists, but only two batches of 60 each, are allowed in. The line starts winding around 3 a.m., folks receive a bib, and the batch they will join. They will then doze and chat with other bleary-eyed tourists in the waiting room till their tour at 5:25 or 5:45 a.m., when they are taken in a single file, escorted by security, to the largest tuna auction in the world.

On the auction warehouse floor, huge tuna fish are inspected as carefully as a Fabergé egg being auctioned off at Sotheby’s. Flashlights shine into their gaping mouths, pickaxes poke into the bodies of giant defenseless bodies in neat rows on the floor. Thin cuts of meat are displayed, a small part of the fish is cut for perusal. The scrutiny is complete. The auction is serious. Bells ring. Bids are made. There are wins. There are losses.

Our first morning in Tokyo, my daughter and I are up at 4 a.m. The window sill on the 28^th floor is the perfect seat. We squish ourselves between the pane and behind the curtains, trying to keep the room dark for my husband who (of course) is fast asleep. I stare at the neon lights of Tokyo, my tween texts her friends on a different continent. “Let’s go to the Tsukiji Fish auction”, I suggest.  

“Hmmm… do you know how to get there?” eyes don’t leave the device. My turn to look into my device. I decide it may be better to get more information before the two of us hit the streets of Tokyo in the dark.  

“How about we go there tomorrow if we’re still jetlagged and wake up early?” “Okay,” she murmurs.

Next day:  I’m the only one wide awake at 4 a.m. I decide to go to the Tsukiji market. I get ready before I can change my mind, and quietly ask my kid who isn’t fast asleep if she wants to go. She doesn’t. I poke my husband and tell him I’m leaving for the fish market. He is too sleepy to ask questions. He has a meeting at 9 a.m. I tell him I’ll be back before then and if not, our kid can stay in the hotel room by herself. I don’t allow even an ounce of doubt to shake my plan. The fish market jaunt is anything but important. But in that moment I decide to not allow any of the usual inane considerations to shake my resolve.

I bounce out of the room, with my bag, metro card, broken Japanese and my best spirit of adventure. At the hotel lobby, I ask about Metro stations. The guys suggests taking a taxi waiting outside. I ask if it is safe at this hour. He nods, smiles and tells me this is Japan. I feel safe and grateful.

I am excited to be in the cab, to have ventured out, in the dark, to a place my husband and kid have no interest in (not sure I would have intentionally woken up early for this, but it seems like a fun thing to do since I am already up). I am happy to not have hummed and hawed and created obstacles of my own.

I arrive to find a sign on the booth saying the auction tours are full. I suppose I am disappointed. But not completely. I am still really excited to be there that early. I decide to explore on my own even if I can’t see the auction.

I wave and smile at the person behind the counter. For some reason, he opens it. He points to the sign that says “full”. I nod and in my broken Japanese attempt to ask if I can walk around the fish market, if other parts are accessible. Ahem… at least I think that’s what I ask. Who knows what I actually say!

The guy looks at me, shakes his head and laughs. “hitotsu desu ka?” (just one/ by yourself?) he asks. I nod and say “hai, so desu” (yes). He stands up, opens the door and hands me a bib. I look in confusion. I have no idea the bib is for the tour. I am not expecting to join the tour. The sign in front of me says it is full. He points to a door and says something (I don’t understand), looks at my puzzled face, laughs and shoos me away.

By then, it slowly sinks in. A couple of tourists smoking outside the waiting room watch our exchange. One of them tells me I am incredibly lucky. “I must be,” I tell him, but again, such things never happens to me. I say maybe there is only one spot. The guy tells me he saw many single folks being turned away. “Maybe none of them had a smile like yours,” teases his friend. I beam even more foolishly, I suppose. But who cares. I want to skip with delight.

The morning is magical. My feet won’t touch the ground, else the magic may disappear. After the auction, I walk around the narrow streets that are slowly waking up. Storekeepers open shop. I buy umeboshi plums and seaweed. I sample new things. I get the freshest-sushi-in-the-world for breakfast. The tuna-on-a-stick, all lit up, before I eat it, is fabulous.

I have a feeling that nothing can ever go wrong. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way. What a gift it is to feel so. To feel like you are somehow responsible for creating a clearing. Like when on a highway, you want to move fast, and the cars in front of you change lanes magically to allow you to pass.

I walk to the Metro station, I see a large beautiful shrine. I walk in. Gongs sound and morning chantings commence. Vibrations bounce of the walls, straight into my insides. More magic. I want this day to never end.

Oddly, I feel as if I have something to do with it all. Or rather, I do not create any obstacles. That my lack of negativity, or disappointment or heightened expectation, allow it to happen. That I am able to receive and appreciate beautifully. That the Universe is trying to help me get the things I want, get where I want. Ahem… the fish market is great, but again, I need to have a chat with the Universe – there are other waaaaaay more important things on my plate. Really. Truly.

I may be closed and clamped up again, today.  But reading the journal entry and writing about it makes me believe that sometimes the path ahead just clears for us... if we allow it... if we simply decide to walk on it...if we decide we deserve to...if we own up to our dreams (big and small), with a certain confidence and certainty and lack of worry and fear and expectation…

And now, just like Mary Poppins, I will open my umbrella and fly away – but with a torched tuna-on-a -stick in my hand.