There are a few things that I’ve experienced in my life that have instantly become a part of me (not unlike that piece of graphite a lot of you still have in your hand from that plastic mechanical pencil you played with in middle school). Your first kiss with someone you love, the first time watching the world fall away as a plane climbs into the air, the birth of a child. Last spring, I added a new experience to that list: Sakura (cherry blossom season) in Japan.
I knew I had a trip to Okinawa planned for the month of March for a while, but it was only as I got close to departure that I learned about cherry blossom season. I still didn’t know how big it was when I looked at the prediction calendar and saw that peak blossom would happen in Tokyo around the time that my work in Okinawa, an island a thousand miles south of the mainland, would be over. I knew I had to fly to Tokyo on my way back to America, so if everything went to plan, I could have a few days to see what all the fuss was about.
During the weeks I spent in Okinawa, I experienced a land where Sakura had already swept through a month or so prior. Being so much further south, the island’s cherry trees blossom significantly earlier than up north. The only remnants left was a Sakura flavored coffee at Starbucks, a place that I found myself at each morning on the way to work. Even though the wave of excitement had already passed, seeing that chalkboard sign reminded me of my goal and continually hyped me up.
At the same time that this low-key background buzz was going on in my mind, another buzz was attempting to drown it and everything else out: Covid-19. Prior to the trip, the far east was considered by most Americans to be a dangerous place where the disease ran rampant. As the days and weeks went by, there was a concern that the State Department would shut down international travel and there was a possibility that we could get trapped in Japan — looking back a year later, I often think that wouldn’t have been a bad thing with the differences in how our two countries have fared.
I’m not going to say that the worry about the virus and its effects on my life weren’t real, but my mind was supremely excited about that weekend in Tokyo I had carved out at the end of this trip. My biggest concern was that the events in the world would cause the cancelation of the small bit of fun I had spent several months looking forward to. Thankfully, and unexpectedly, the virus actually enabled that magic weekend to happen.
As March hit its midway point, American schools began to shut down as news from New York City hospitals dominated headlines. The US State Department decided they had had enough and issued a worldwide Level 4 travel advisory advising Americans not to travel. My company directed me to stop what I was doing, and to immediately travel back. I wasn’t worried about covid, but I did feel like I got gut punched and that my Tokyo trip would have to be canceled. I was so close, and to have the rug pulled out on me like that was a deeply unfair feeling.
A day after getting our orders, we were able to secure a flight to Tokyo on Friday evening, and a connecting one to America for the following morning. Everything felt rushed and a bit frantic, so it was beyond a welcome relief to find out that due to the scores of people canceling their trips, we wouldn’t be able to get out of Tokyo until Sunday night! I went from the original plan on paying for that weekend in Tokyo out of my own pocket, to those plans being dashed, to now my company paying for me to experience Sakura!
As we arrived in Tokyo late Friday night, I could feel the hum of the city as we crossed the Rainbow Bridge over the bay, and could see a sliver of the massive skyscrapers that spread as far as the eye could see. The neon lights sparkled and spoke of an energy that I had not encountered before.
It is a strange experience to arrive in another country, being unable to read or speak the language, and to then get into a cab and hope that you end up where you are wanting to go — but it carries its own potential and wonder to it as well. In my mind, I knew the hotel was a bit away from the airport, but as we drove further and further, my mind raced with exciting possibilities.
Finally, we came to a stop at a traffic light, and I looked up through the tinted window and saw my first cherry tree in blossom! The street lights were sparse in that area, so the one shining down on it caused it to be lit like a ballerina dancer on stage. The glimpse was short, but it was enough. I was instantly enraptured and my heart leapt, excited for my next encounter.
I wouldn’t have to wait long. As we arrived at the hotel, three tall cherry trees loomed large over the entrance. It appears that my idea of these being rare in the city was wildly inaccurate. I’ve never been more happy to be wrong!
After a good night’s sleep, we vented out into the metropolis for the nearest, and largest park, Shinjuku Gyoen. We kept spying small trees dotted throughout the city, but knew that larger prizes awaited. As we neared the gates, we saw a line had already formed, filled with Japanese and non alike. There was a shared sense of expectation pulsing through the crowd. All of us gathered to witness something primal and ancient. Something real, and perhaps pure.
With a map of the groves in hand, we spread out into the park. I was not prepared. I’m not sure what the average person has in mind when they think of cherry trees, but they are bigger than expected. And the blossoms, well, I immediately knew why this country was infatuated with them.
Reds, pinks, whites, and every mix of the three was brilliantly on display. It almost felt like one of those movies that begins black and white, and then splashes of color are increasingly added. If darkness is a theater for light, then nature is one for cherry blossoms. I felt that dueling tug of wanting to stand still and take it all in, while at the same time wanting to rush forward and be enveloped by the branches and petals.
Over the next several hours, I transversed the expanse of the park. Going from grove to grove. Wading into low lying branches, laying on my back on a carpet of fallen petals as the sun cascaded through the tree, walking through almost blizzard-like downfalls as the breeze went through the trees. I felt as though I was in a different place, not Japan, not a massive city, but in a world all by itself where nature was showing off and reminding me how magical she can be.
It was as though we were all under the influence of a love potion. A kind awareness of your fellow admirers took hold, and you’d find yourself sliding gracefully out of each other’s camera angles, or pointing out a spot that lined everything up better. When my gaze would shift away from the trees and towards those around me, I quickly found that the stereotypical stoic Japanese countenance had no basis in fact. A wide-eyed wonder and smile seemed permanently a part of all in the park.
Every year, Sakura is looked forward to by the nation of Japan. There are forecasts that begin months prior, as experts attempt to predict the exact week that the blossoms will be at their peak. During these weeks, the tradition of hanami occurs, where people celebrate with family and friends at outdoor parties under the branches of the blossoming cherry trees. In normal years, the city and nation swell with visitors and hotels become scarce. But that year, the crowds were small by comparison, though nature didn’t mind. For countless centuries, Sakura has come to Japan. Promising new life, each and every spring, it is a reminder that though the cold of winter has run its course, life goes beautifully on.
This spring, as Sakura once again looms on the horizon, let us remember that promise of new life. Though pain and death are a part of life, so is beauty and wonder.
I know that not everyone will be able to experience Sakura, but for those of us that have, it’s not only our drive to encourage you to, but to return to it ourselves — whether in person, or in our hearts.