walk home

Through my various weeknight and weekend adventures, and because it gets dark here so early now, I often find myself walking home alone from the train station at night.

I'm lucky to live only a 10-minute walk from the train station. But in order to achieve that time, I must take a shortcut route which leads me down an unlit concrete path, through a spiderweb-laden tunnel, down dark unpaved side streets and finally to the side gate of my apartment complex. On more occasions than not, my own walk has been accompanied by the quick steps of men's dress shoes no more than twenty paces behind me. The unceasing shrill chime of Japan's many insects and the distant whoosh of passing cars complete the symphony. To say I have at times been slightly unnerved is an understatement. I feel a brisk, permeating alertness which prohibits me from listening to my iPod or checking my phone. I walk quickly and determinedly, more than ready to jump over that meter-high gate. I try to remind myself of many things. Yes, those are literally thousands of potentially large insects, but they probably won't bug you if you don't bug them. Yes, that is a man walking behind you, but he's probably not going to chase you. Yes, it is dark, but everything is actually exactly the same as it exists during the day.

My feet reach the gate, and I throw my purse over my shoulder, gladly jumping over the gate, running up the steps to my apartment, jamming my key in the door, and stepping inside. Phew, back to safety once more. I've done this walk a dozen times already and I will do it hundreds more. And each time, though I still feel unnerved, it gets easier and easier to make it home without worry. It takes guts to step outside of what you know. You open yourself up to risk and fear. You pass new things which you didn't know would scare you. But at the end of the day your old fear can become your new comfort zone.

This has been your cliché analogy for the day.