Umbrella Trust

I was raised in New York City, hardly the trust capital of the Western World. Tokyo is different: Larger, cleaner, and radiant with trust. It shows when I give people aura readings and empathic merges. It also shows on the surface of life in this enormous, bustling, entrepreneurial, energetic city.

Last Saturday was rainy. Walking around during lunch, I found a great deli. Outside the front door stood a big rack where people had parked their umbrellas. I contemplated the prospect. I gulped. Finally I placed my umbrella in with the rest.

Inside this deli was food heaven. Imagine, one side filled with gorgeous cooked take-out selections, like several types of sea veggies, bamboo, broccoli, and other vegetables; subtle but sumptuous sauces; chicken salads and fish salads and loads of goodies, all in the super-fresh style of Japanese food. In the other side of the food case were take-out salads, with noodles and more veggies and fish and chicken in glorious, glorious combinations.

Shopping (and salivating) I mused over what a big deal it was for me to be in a major city, trusting my umbrella to an outdoor stand.

New York City was once trustable. As a child, my mother used to play in Central Park. (Good luck with that one, kid, nowadays.)

My mother has told me stories about The City, as she once knew it, also stories about when I was a City baby, riding everywhere in my baby carriage. At the time, my family lived near Columbia University. Mom would go into a favorite coffee shop every afternoon. Watching me through the window, she got a kick out of observing what happened. Because whenever students came by, I would throw my rattle out of my carriage and down to the pavement. College kids would pick up my rattle and, according to Mom, I would play with them. (Okay, she called it “flirting with the boys.”)

In retrospect, maybe this was good practice for my work today. Although I wouldn’t consider myself a flirt, I do keep throwing my rattle of friendliness, teaching here in Tokyo and other wonderful parts of the world.

Times have changed so much since those trusting days. No longer does a sane mother leave her baby out on the street in a carriage. Neither do you let your 10-year-old go out to roam Central Park. And if you value any material possession, you certainly don’t throw it into a box outside a store while you drool over some take-out case.

Leaving the Japanese deli, I took a good look at my umbrella. Such anxiety I had felt over leaving it there, unprotected, at the mercy of all the other umbrellas!

Hmmm. My umbrella was plain white plastic. It was a loaner from VOICE, my sponsors. If it had been stolen, I could have gone to just about any 99 yen shoppe in Tokyo to buy a replacement.

So what was I learning here? Trust.

In Tokyo, you can walk down major streets alone, day or night, and feel perfectly safe. Also safe are 10-year-olds. In fact, you find them freely roaming the subways, traveling safely all on their own.

Japan is famous for its technology, for the hard working people who are so clever and kind. But it could be that the greatest Japanese import is simple trust. I’ve found it in VOICE, the company that has dared to bring me here again and again. I’ve found it in my session clients, in workshop students. I’ve thrown my rattle here, hoping for the best.

Today is my last day of sessions. Just three more to go for a total of 84. This weekend I teach my last workshop.

People have been picking up my rattle. Smiling. Sometimes bringing me enchanting gifts, like slippers and homemade jelly and flowers.

What don’t these people realize they are giving me as well? Lessons in trust.