On New Year's Day, I stood at my family's kitchen sink in Los Angeles, washing the dishes and sobbing.

There was no tragedy, no bad news to push me over the edge that way. In fact, New Years Eve is one of my favourite times in the year. So why the tears? My best guess is, it has to do with expectations. Lots of expectations, all self-induced, pouring down on my pea-sized self. Despite my efforts to greet the coming year with bubbly resolutions, the truth was I still had too much 2011 to let out of my system. I was struggling to reconcile two distinct parts of my personality: the Japanese and American.

On the final day of the year, it felt as though I was braking down a steep, slick hill. Wait, I thought. I'm not where I want to be yet! I'm not as "thoroughly through" with my past as I tell people. I meant to be more independent by now...wait! I'm not ready! .

The Japanese part of my personality wants me to be grounded, while my American part induces flailing about to meet grandiose expectations that I set for myself through the year. These resolutions, the "shoulds", the anticipated milestones one can only catch glimpses of. "Go, Go, Go!" is to many, a very effective way of getting things done. But goals and ambitions to a compulsive overachiever like me are like candy, or drugs. You know what they do.

I decided this year, that hoopla was so very 2011.



The Japanese part of my personality wants me to be grounded, while the American part induces flailing about to meet grandiose expectations that I set for myself through the year.








In my house, and in Japan in general, the real star of the winter holiday season is New Years Day. Growing up in the United States, I've enjoyed my share of American-style NYE celebrations. From freezing our tails off in Times Square to tipping champagne glasses on a private boat in Newport Beach, to camping out on Colorado Blvd in anticipation of the Rose Parade (which we slept through), friends and champagne and little black dresses--some more memorable than others--flit about in my memory.

But every year, my Japanese DNA urges me to complete certain tasks before I partake in a NYE celebration at night. First, the "oh-soji", or great clean-up, is when we clean the entire house, inside and out. It's an excellent chance to scrub the floors, clean out the refrigerator, vacuum under the sofa, dust behind the television, sweep and toss the year away. While cleaning is encouraged throughout the year, cleaning with intention gives it a whole new feel and meaning.

This year, as I cleaned my parents' bathroom, sweeping, scrubbing and wiping with impressive purpose, snippets of arguments and tirades from the past year played back in my head. Cringing, I scrubbed and polished, intending to wash my irritation down the bathroom sink. An hour later, the spotless tile floors seemed to reflect my somewhat cleansed soul.

But this wasn't the only clean-up I needed to do.



While cleaning is encouraged throughout the year, cleaning with intention gives it a whole new feel and meaning.

I had made quite a mess of my friendships and relationships in the past, and they called for a careful sorting through. Scared or not, I needed to reconnect with friends and acquaintances with whom I had lost touch, either in person, via a Christmas or New Years card (or e-card), or yes, on Facebook and Twitter (as a segue to real-life meetings of course).

Thankfully, the apologies that escaped my mouth (and typing fingers) were sincere. I gulped, and hit "Send". Some apologies were acknowledged, others not so much, but it was no longer my place to expect anything in return. Life hands us answers either way.

The New Year is a gift, in the eyes of the Japanese, a chance (and choice) to touch base with friends, neighbors, and family members. Guess who has the power to make those choices?

So after my major oh-soji session at home, I made a quick visit to my best friend's celebration a few miles away in Redondo Beach, celebrated the American way with champagne and pie and hilarious conversation (I missed the poker game but got in some important hugs), and then ran home to finish the year off the Japanese way, sake and soba noodles for a long, prosperous life.

This is how you live in America as a Japanese person: the best of both worlds and mainly wonderful. So why was I sobbing in my suds the next morning?

If I am truly to celebrate the New Year in a Japanese style, I would "oh-soji" more than just the surface of my life, and quietly observe what's really going on beneath.

Amid the pressure of trying to make the new year work, the first thing to do was admitting it wasn't. The Japanese, especially after the earthquake and tsunami of last March, and the continuing nuclear reactor disaster, are much more realistic about living, not for the bright-lights promise of a soon-to-be-fabulous future, but for the very profound "right now". Hope is deeply engrained in the Japanese culture, and whimsical resolutions are not the answer to having, wanting, owning, or attaining it.

This New Years Day, I sobbed right into my realization, and then, I went outside. In true Southern California form, I hit the local trail for a New Years hike, soaking in the sun and 80-degree temperatures. How very American of me.

***
Happy New Year, wonderful readers! Thank you for stopping by this column. I'm so blessed to be starting my year with all of you.

Have a wonderful 2012. It's the Year of the Dragon!