When looking at Japanese culture it is easy to do so in panoramic as there is so much that is unique and different to take in. So much that it is easy to feel overwhelmed. I am often asked what I like best about my time in Japan and I usually make a broad sweep of all the options available, and answer randomly with the first thing that comes to mind. This varies depending on who I am speaking to. To a stranger it may be the food that I talk about. To a local I often mention the spontaneous kindnesses that I come across daily. To my city dwelling friends at home I rave about the mountains and nature that were a surprise contradiction of my image of crowded cities and busy narrow streets. All of these are true but none are complete answers. There is a phrase in Japanese
　 灯台もと暗し. It means that the darkest place is the one right at your feet. This is similar to my own search for a suitable response. I was asked that question again recently by a friend and this time I looked down and saw what was obvious. The thing I like best about Japan is what it has enabled me to become.
　 Everyone who comes to Japan has to be willing to change or adapt. Often people who come here to live or work, as I did, are actively seeking change and new experiences. I came to Japan straight out of university. I was expecting difference and I was eager to adapt and learn. But, my idea of what I would learn and how I would learn it was very different to what I found. I had just finished 3 years of intensive learning and I didn’t think learning about Japan would be any different. With wild overconfidence, or ignorance, I believed I would have a firm understanding of the language and culture within a year.
　 But, Japan is a country that reveals itself slowly. An older friend told me that you understand less about Japan after two years than you do in one. I thought, naturally, anything becomes more complicated as you understand it in more detail. Yet, this is especially true of Japan. Here the surface is rarely all that it seems and things are often more hinted at than said. For example, Haiku can conceal depths of meaning in just 3 lines; the beauty of Ikebana is supported by rigid rules; Shodo hides truths about years of discipline in its fluid strokes. To understand these things you have to learn how to appreciate them first. Japan is not a country that states things overtly and any student has to divide the meaning from the appearance before they can understand.
　 Last year I went back to England for a holiday. It was summer, the plane was full, and there was always a queue for the bathroom. When I went to line up a Japanese lady was waiting at the front. I stood behind her to wait my turn. A man also walked up and stood opposite her and when a cubicle became free she told him to go first. The same thing happened with the next person. Annoyed, I also went over and stood opposite and, sure enough, she told me to go ahead. But, just to check she wasn’t waiting, I returned the offer, and then she thanked me and finally went in.
　 I’ve thought about this incident a great deal since. I realized that the lady was letting others go in front of her in case their need was greater than hers. This patience was alien to me. There was a queue, a system that gave me the right to go first. My thoughts in this situation were entirely of myself. But, although this lady had the right to go first, she was capable of waiting, so she did.
　 I think in understanding what this lady was doing I had come a step closer to understanding Japan. On the surface her actions told me she wasn’t waiting, but by looking beyond the obvious I could see what she was really doing.
　 The patience she displayed is something I often experience here. For example, at the table, other people are always served first. When drinking glasses lie empty if other people don’t fill them up. Where I live, in Kochi, there is even a style of drinking called Hempai that takes this to extremes. Two people share one glass, one fills it for the other who drinks then fills it and passes it back. This can go on indefinitely and both people sink rapidly into drunkenness ushering the other person before them.
　 This is all in marked contrast to the serve yourself culture that I come from. Thinking of others first is doubtless considered a good thing but it is something more talked about than practiced. In Japan it is built into the culture and practiced by everyone. Also, maybe because everyone does it here, it seems it is not seen as a special thing to do. If I asked the lady at the bathroom why she was waiting I wonder what she would answer. I expect that she didn’t realize that her actions were exceptional, and I’m sure she didn’t know the effect the incident had on me.
　 This modesty is also something that I find striking. If I look back again to when I first came to Japan, I had finished university and I was proud of what I knew. However, in Japan I didn’t know anything. I couldn’t speak the language and I knew little of the culture. The modest attitude of everyone around me was a huge help. Everyone freely admitted that they found kanji difficult. Everyone confided that they forgot kanji all the time. There was no embarrassment in admitting that they didnﾕt know something either and, even if they did, a dictionary would usually be checked anyway, just to make sure. This created a very supportive atmosphere. I felt I could turn to others for help without worrying about appearing an idiot.
　 In turn this also inspired modesty in me. I was less keen to push what I did know, less eager to force my own opinion. If everyone else is hanging back then it seems rude to push to the front. Also I wanted others to feel as comfortable about coming to me with their questions as I did with them.
　 Now, when I teach I sometimes find that it is best to pretend I don’t know any Japanese as it encourages students to volunteer all the English they have. This is something they couldn’t do if I jumped in with all the answers. In any situation being quieter about what you know encourages others to make themselves heard. A quiet teacher can often be much more effective.
　 This is also true regarding my own studies. The lady at the bathroom taught me more by waiting silently than anything she could have said. The modesty of the people who helped me with my homework was a more effective lesson than any lecture. Other people’s behavior is always a quiet teaching. Watching their actions can compel you to examine your own and in doing so you can recognize your own faults.
　 But, this is a very different form of learning to anything I had practiced before because it is not based on words. My studies at college were in English Literature. My hobby was reading. I interacted with my friends through rapid slang filled conversation. Looking back it seems most of my interests and even my abilities centered on language. When I came to Japan I felt lost. I had no words to play with and I had to re-learn a more basic form of communication instead. This required patience and understanding from both myself and my friends and colleagues. I had to fortify my sense of humor, lose my pride and accept that I had to make the mistakes before I could learn from them. I learnt how to judge my successes from other people’s reactions. How to read the suppressed shock on people’s faces when I stepped, shoes on, into my house. I discovered it is possible to laugh off the embarrassment of writing unknown swear words up on the board.
　 When practicing Zen Buddhism you learn by watching your own thoughts. As they come you observe them and let them pass. The self becomes its own silent teacher, which teaches and learns just by watching and waiting. It is a different kind of education to the one received in books. It is not based on reasoning but simply on understanding.
　 Similarly to understand how to interact in Japanese culture I had to learn to watch myself. Beyond this I also had to learn to take notice of other people, to put myself in their position so I could understand what their actions meant.
　 A common criticism leveled at Japanese culture us that there is too much conformity; that people want to blend with the group rather than stand out. There is a proverb that sums up this attitude: 出る杭は打たれる (a protruding stake will be pounded down). In my classes I often see an element of truth in this. Students are often embarrassed to speak out even if they know the answers. Group work will usually draw better results than if I ask individuals to come forward.
　 I come from a competitive culture where originality and individuality are prized. Standing out is seen as necessary if you want to progress, if you blend with the group then your talents will remain unrecognized. Therefore imitation is generally an unvalued skill. There is no merit in trying to be the same as other people.
　 Yet since I’ve come to Japan I’ve learnt that sometimes the best way to understand is to imitate, to reflect other people’s actions back to them. Just as asking the lady at the bathroom to go first allowed her to go in. Just as admitting I don’t know either allows other people to come forward. I am learning that the way I act towards people elicits their reaction. Sometimes it is better to act the same way and be supportive than to stride in with my own opinion. Also sometimes it is better to sit back to wait and see what I can learn from others before I try to tell them what I know.
　 In this way we are students learning from others what our actions could be. But we are also all silent teachers teaching through our own behavior.
　 During my time in Japan I have lived in Kochi, next to the Kagami River. Sitting by the river the other day a friend explained to me that we are all like pebbles in the water. On our way down stream we rub the rough corners off each other and all end up the same shape. I wasn’t convinced by the analogy at first, I thought it meant that everyone should conform and become the same. But I’ve since realized that we do change through our interactions with other people. If we learn from them it smoothes down our rough edges making it easier for us to live together.
　 In Kochi, on my own way downstream I have come to understand how to learn from other people. When I first came to Japan I was prepared to change. In fact, when I visualized the end of my stay I saw a reflection of my improved, more knowledgeable self, smiling back. But, the changes I have made are not the ones I foresaw and I know now that I will never stop learning from and teaching others. And now when I look into the river to see how my reflection has changed I hope I don’t just see myself but also the others who are traveling with me.