We were in the car, heading back to my stepfather’s house. If a light was about to turn red and he thought we had enough time, he would speed up, and we would make it through. I was in a hurry; in a few minutes, the final episode of Sailor Moon would start, and only those who watched anime relying on 1990’s television programming know how long it could take for a specific episode to air again.
At one point, we stopped at a red light, but the car in front of us kept going. Another car was already coming from the crossing, and they nearly collided.
“Accidents are caused by the half-crazy ones,” my stepfather said. In other words, it’s not the person who goes ahead and takes a reckless action, but the one who hesitates halfway.
Since that day, I’ve carried with me the belief that hesitation is what causes accidents.
I had an Aikido master who used to say we should practice the same way cats move. Maybe it wasn’t in the dojo but in a book about Zen Buddhism where I found that idea, but the important thing is the invitation: act and live the same way a cat moves.
The cat stands still, sees something, adjusts itself while remaining mostly still, and then suddenly it’s in motion, full of intention. The cat moves to get there; it doesn’t hesitate—it just goes.
(I’m remembering various internet videos where cats get startled by something along the way, but I’ll pretend they don’t exist because I like this memory, and I think it fits well with the text.)
Walking through the streets of Tokyo only works for those who, like cats and daring drivers, don’t hesitate. To get to school, I cross an intersection that’s always crowded with people. As I walk straight, they cross perpendicularly. I don’t stop, they don’t stop; every one adjust their pace to avoid colliding, and the flow works.
Two years ago, on my first day in Shinjuku, I would stop every half meter to make room for others. It was raining, I wasn’t sure of the way, and everyone was carrying large, transparent umbrellas. Around me, I noticed disapproving glances for stopping and interrupting the flow at every moment.
Nowadays, whenever I cross an intersection, umbrella or not, I become a cat. I decide where I want to go, and I go, weaving and adjusting as I walk. Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I simply stopped, but I’m afraid that would tear the social fabric of Japan.
With love,
Tales
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