Namaste, Reader.
In Letters from Japan, I’m sharing five personal reflections inspired by my family’s time in Japan and the values that stayed with me long after we returned home: inclusion, energy, emotional honesty, creativity, and space.
These aren’t lessons I’ve mastered, but practices I’m continuing to explore in how I care for myself, connect with others, and move through the world. My hope is that these reflections offer you a moment to pause, a fresh perspective, or a little more compassion for your own journey.
From My Heart 2 Yours,
Taylor Lee Hitaffer, RYT-500, CYMC
Heart2Brain Yoga
Letters from Japan: a Heart2Brain Yoga series.
Value One: Inclusion
I’m going through my daughter’s backpack, prepping it for an upcoming outing with her friends. I unzip the pockets and see the things I’d packed for the long flight home from Japan.
Its contents haven’t all been unpacked yet. Truthfully, I don’t think the backpack has moved from its spot next to the couch since we’ve been home. Inside, there’s still a small bag of clothes, her sketchbook and pencil box, and two games: Go, packed inside a foldable travel board, and a stack of Uno cards stored inside a Ziploc bag.
I try to bring the Uno cards with us wherever we go. They usually sit at the bottom of my purse, ready to be pulled out during a lull at a restaurant or whenever we need a quick, screen-free activity.
The Go set was a gift from my husband’s cousin. She’s a mom of two boys, one of whom is the same age as my daughter. She keeps a Go board in her purse, I suppose also as a way to ward off a child’s boredom.
The first time she taught my daughter how to play Go was at the cremation service for my mother-in-law’s sister.
My husband, daughter, and I knew that my mother-in-law’s sister had been in the hospital for a long time. She was there when we visited Japan for the first time a year ago. But on this trip, we knew time was running out. Unfortunately, as soon as we landed at Haneda Airport, we received a call that my mother-in-law’s sister had just passed away.
At the funeral in Fukuoka, we saw the whole family who had come to say goodbye: my mother-in-law’s brother and sister, the cousins, and some of the younger relatives. My daughter and I got to meet some family members we hadn’t met before. The adults were so eager to get to know us, asking my daughter about her favorite foods, getting us drinks, and simply being so kind and incredibly hospitable. Even the funeral coordinator took time away from her responsibilities to show my daughter how to fold origami cranes to place on the casket.
Even so, we wanted to do our best to show respect for my husband’s family and remain mindful of the emotional weight of those days. We were able to be present as they held space for their lost family member, and we found ourselves reflecting on grief, peace, and what it means to say goodbye.
As the funeral service concluded, the family members gathered outside the building to watch the hearse drive away. As everyone discussed who would be following the car to the crematorium, I looked over at my husband’s cousin, her two sons standing beside her.
I thought of the Uno cards in my purse.
“Do you want to play Uno when we get there?” I asked.
It’s an easy game, just colors and numbers. Even with the language barrier, I felt confident we could communicate the rules in a way they would understand. I had heard that the boys were shy, but I knew that, given the chance, my daughter’s natural warmth and friendliness might coax them into a friendly game of cards.
Unfortunately, the boys went home shortly after the funeral. But the adults were still interested in learning. As we waited in the koshitsu—a private room where the family gathers while the cremation is taking place—we ate lunch and played Uno. Afterward, my husband’s cousin showed my daughter how to play Go.
The kids got another chance to play later, during a dinner party at a yakiniku restaurant in Nishijin. Apparently, Uno had become quite the sensation in their family!
As a mom, I felt so happy that my daughter had the chance to connect with other kids. But on another level, I was also glad that my husband’s cousin had found a new way to have fun with her sons.
…
I keep thinking about how something as simple as a deck of cards created an opportunity for connection. We didn’t need to speak the same language, share the same traditions, or even know one another very well. We just needed something to do together.
I think sometimes we imagine inclusion as something big: making space, extending an invitation, ensuring everyone has a seat at the table. And it can be all of those things. But sometimes, it’s much smaller. It’s noticing someone who might feel out of place. It’s finding a way to invite them into the moment. It’s being willing to participate in something unfamiliar, or sharing something familiar with someone else.
Inclusion isn’t simply about allowing someone into a space. It’s about helping them feel that they belong there.
As I think about the values I want to carry home from Japan, this is one I want to be more intentional about. How can I create more opportunities for connection in my everyday life? How can I make room for people to participate in ways that feel comfortable and meaningful to them? And how can I remain open to the possibility that, sometimes, I’ll be the one learning a new game?
Maybe that’s where inclusion begins: with a little curiosity, a willingness to reach across differences, and the understanding that we all have something to share.
Coming next week - Value Two: Management of Energy.
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