Why I'm Looking for a Pen Pal in Japan
I haven't always felt invisible. I don't remember when it started but I know it started as a slow creep, and then all at once. I think it really hit me when our son became an adult. In some ways I'm experiencing tremendous freedom — which is genuinely good. That freedom, combined with the things I've accumulated along the way — wisdom, experience, clarity, insight — have come at a cost. It seems like every day I exchange a snippet of my youth for these things. Each time an exchange takes place, I become a little less visible. I only notice it when I'm away from my family and friends. They still see me. The culture does not.
Do I care if the culture sees me? Honestly — not enough to force myself onto it. I care more that I might be one of millions of women who are having a similar experience. It's a loss for the women it's happening to — and for everyone who doesn't notice.
When I started a daily journal practice, I began to feel seen. That was a turn inward. Eventually, I decided to turn outward a bit and start writing letters. I didn't set out to write about Japan. I set out to write about wanting a pen pal. When I thought of Japan, everything clicked.
My childhood obsession with Hello Kitty was the beginning, although I didn't realize it at the time. When I think of Japan, I think of matcha and mountains, cherry blossoms and timber frame structures. I think of a culture that's sustained and overcome adversity over the centuries.
When we remodeled our bungalow, I learned that the arts and crafts influence originated in Japan. This explains why I'm so interested in the design of our house. When I write or speak or think through something, I tend to circle an idea before I land on it. I have been circling Japan for most of my life. Only now do I see it.
There are aspects of Japanese culture that I love. The art of Kintsukuroi (sometimes referred to as Kintsugi) is created by repairing broken pottery using lacquer mixed with the powder of a precious metal. Instead of hiding the damage, the repair is highlighted. The breakage becomes part of the object's history. After the repair, it's considered more beautiful. Resilient. Kintsukuroi art requires the breakage because it is the breakage that enables the object to achieve a higher level of beauty. I'd like to think that I'm the pottery. My journal and my art are the precious metals. The hands doing the repair are mine.
Japan also has a word — ikigai — and a cultural orientation toward elders that treats age as something that accumulates value rather than loses it. It is, in many ways, the opposite of what I am experiencing here. The irony is not lost on me that the antidote to what I'm experiencing might exist on the other side of the world. I think that's exactly why it calls to me. If I can learn more about a culture that sees what this one overlooks, it might improve my relationship with my own aging.
I imagine my counterpart in Japan loves flowers and gardening. I think she's enjoying quiet mornings, easing into her day. Her children are grown and she's recalibrating her life. She's interesting because she's interested in the world around her. She exists and she's waiting to be found.
When I find her, I want her to know that I'm curious about who she is — not as a representative of her culture, but as herself. What she values. How she sees the world. What she struggles with. I wonder what we have in common. I wonder if we're a good fit. What I can offer her in return is someone who understands the effort it takes to express herself through writing, who will take the time to read her letters carefully and consider them. Someone who shows up.
Hopefully we'll become friends.
There is something special about being known only through your words. The person reading your letter creates a picture in their mind of who you are. What you look like. How your voice sounds. Their imagination fills in the gaps. The more you write, the clearer the picture becomes. You start by telling them a little bit about your life. How you spend your time. You might share some plans for the future. There's a natural restraint in the beginning of a new relationship. Over time, a closeness develops. You're writing for an audience of one — and she's writing back only to you.
Finding her wouldn't just be finding a pen pal. It would be a small, deliberate act of resistance — the kind I'm familiar with. Quiet and intentional. A woman on the other side of the world, from a culture that sees what this one doesn't — who knows me only through my letters.
If you're feeling a little unseen, you might like something I made. It's thirty journal prompts organized around beauty, connection, and reflection. My gift to you.