On feeling alone in a crowd, and why Japan may feel more forgiving for neurodivergent people.
I first went to Japan in 2007. I went by myself. I sold a bunch of Magic: The Gathering cards to pay for the trip as a graduation present to myself. I’d been studying Japanese, both on my own and in a summer class, and I put in a lot of prep before the flight. I bought a Palm Pilot because it would allow me to have subway maps, a dictionary, and Japanese phrasebooks on me at all times. I studied the route from my house to the train station to the EL to the hotel.. then from the hotel to the airport to the airport to the train to the subway to the subway to the subway to the hotel. I printed everything. On paper. I carried cash. Lots of it. Japan barely took credit cards, let alone foreign credit cards. When I needed to withdraw more cash, there was basically one 7-11 in all of Tokyo where my debit card worked. I had a Suica card for boarding the subway, but I still had to physically put Yen into a machine to top it off, and plenty of people were purchasing paper tickets for the subway from vending machines.
There was basically one 7-11 in all of Tokyo where my debit card worked.
Despite all of the effort and inconvenience, I still had an absolute blast. Ate great food. Bought a lot of video games and manga and just. Woke up and just.. did whatever I wanted. I went to the Tokyo Tower, and Akihabara, and Nakano Broadway, and Odaiba. I walked around Harajuku and Meiji Jingu and Yoyogi park and Ueno Zoo. I made a friend and she took me to a fashion show, and we rode a ferris wheel together. Another friend took me out for a fancy dinner where I had to pretend I didn’t hate eating Japanese cuisine like “seaweed in slime” and “chicken tendons”. I met up with a friend I made in college and we went to arcades. Oh, yeah, the arcades. I spent more time playing rhythm games than sleeping. I went to Don Quijote 200 times and Book Off at least 300.
The best memory I have of that first trip, though, was just sitting in some back alley in some neighborhood a few blocks from my hotel. Sitting on a curb, waiting for my laundry to finish in the rinky dink shack that had two coin operated washers and dryers. Feeling the sun, the breeze. Playing Rhythm Tengoku on my DS. And just. Existing. Being happy.
What’s so great about Japan anyway?
Still, none of that explains why I felt so at ease there. People ask me what I like so much about Japan, and.. well. For a long time I couldn’t put a finger on it. Like, obviously, it’s the culture and the food and the shopping and the lifestyle. All fantastic. But it was something more than that. I felt like I belonged, even though I very clearly didn’t.
I’ve been back twice now. Once with my then-wife in 2017, and alone again in 2024. My third trip was kind of impromptu. I got some bad news, and 3 days later I was on a flight, because fuck it, life is short. I barely planned anything out, and just figured it out when I got there.
Tokyo had changed. I had an iPhone with an inexpensive, reliable data plan delivered via eSim. I had live subway maps, real-time traffic info, and excellent translation tools all in my pocket. Credit cards and tap to pay were everywhere. I barely handled cash, and even the Suica card, the most advanced technology from my first trip, had been replaced by an app on my phone that didn’t even require me to unlock my phone, it just.. worked. Pretty amazing.
It was a trip within a trip. If you get what I mean.
I had changed as well. I had developed arthritis in both hips, limiting my mobility and general ability to exist in Tokyo. Everything is “just a ten minute walk” from the subway. I still did as much as I could. Akihabara. Harajuku. Yoyogi Koen. Shinjuku. Donki. Book Off.
I didn’t try to find that coin operated laundry, but I did go back to that neighborhood, and visited the same Book Off, ate at a favorite restaurant, and sat on a park bench, people-watching. I existed. It was nice.
It was also during this third trip that my therapist sent an email confirming she believed I am both autistic and have ADHD. I’d had suspicions. I’d been wrestling with it for about a year. When I got the email, I felt validated. And broken. And vindicated. And angry. And sad. It was a trip within a trip, if you get what I mean. And it was during this trip that I started to connect the dots on why I like being in Japan so much.
I’m supposed to get it wrong
In Tokyo, you’re never alone. But you’re also always alone. You’re always surrounded by people, but you’re never.. with them.
And even more than that… because I’m just an idiot American… it’s enough that I just… try. I’m not expected to be socially graceful, or read cues, or understand etiquette… and people seem to be charmed and encouraging when I try. I might use the wrong word, or hand them cash directly instead of putting it in the tray. But instead of getting frustrated, or angry, they just kindly correct me.
Maybe it’s what the place allows me to be.
I’m supposed to get it wrong. So people are gentle and understanding when I do.
And that’s just not the case in America. I’m not supposed to get it wrong here. But, being neurodivergent, I often do. And I don’t get gentle correction. I get laughed at. Yelled at. Ostracized. Told I am lazy or disrespectful or blunt or unempathetic or ungrateful for not having the reaction that people expect me to have. I eventually learned to stop trying, or to go on the offense before they could attack. I grew defenses so impenetrable literally nobody could.. well. penetrate them. And that’s. I mean. That’s messed up.
In both America and in Japan, I’m almost always alone. Even in the middle of a crowd. But only in Japan does it feel.. natural. Chill. Right.
So, maybe it’s not just the place itself. Maybe it’s what the place allows me to be.
It’s like being home. Not in the culture, or the society.
