Last week, I attended a Japan Society event featuring Jake Adelstein and his newest book, The Devil Takes Bitcoin. The room was packed, and the energy was electric, people asked sharp, fascinating questions that sparked deep discussion. If you’ve read Tokyo Vice, first published in 2009, you know Jake is a master storyteller: sharp, fearless, and utterly captivating.

Hearing him speak live reminded me why I’ve been a fan since his first book came out. He doesn’t just tell stories; he pulls you into them with his voice, his timing, and his ability to make complex truths feel immediate and real. And for me, it’s more than storytelling; it’s a reminder of what it means to stay true to yourself, even when that path comes with risk and resistance.

When I first moved to Japan, I’ll admit. odén didn’t win me over right away. A simmering pot of assorted ingredients like daikon, boiled eggs, konnyaku, and fish cakes floating in a light soy-flavored broth? It felt unfamiliar, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

But like many things in Japan, odén is a slow burn. Over time, I came to appreciate its quiet charm. Now, it’s one of my favorite winter comforts, especially when enjoyed sitting at the kotatsu, that magical heated table I wrote about recently. There’s something deeply grounding about gathering around a warm pot, watching steam rise as flavors deepen, and sharing bites with loved ones while your legs stay toasty under the blanket.

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This week, I had the chance to watch a thought-provoking event hosted by the Japan Society of Northern California, featuring the documentary The Making of a Japanese by filmmaker Ema Yamazaki. The film offered a deeply personal and nuanced look into the Japanese elementary school system, one that is often admired globally for its emphasis on teamwork, discipline, and community spirit.

But admiration alone doesn’t tell the whole story.

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Last Friday, I had the chance to attend the Japan Society Gala, held at the Grand Hyatt at SFO Airport, a fitting location for an evening celebrating international connection. Just outside the windows, a Pokémon-themed ANA jet was parked on the tarmac, having brought the CEO of ANA all the way from Japan especially for this event. That detail alone speaks volumes about the significance of the evening.

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There’s a kind of warmth that goes beyond temperature, a warmth that invites you to slow down, sip tea, and be present. That’s the magic of the kotatsu, a beloved piece of Japanese winter furniture that I’ve long admired and finally brought into my own home… with a little DIY twist.

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During a recent visit to Nashville, Tennessee, I was reminded of how deeply interconnected our world can be, and how mindfulness often lives in the quiet spaces between cultures.

What many don’t realize is that Nashville, known for its vibrant music scene and Southern hospitality, shares a special bond with Kamakura, Japan, as official sister cities since 2014. Kamakura, a coastal town just south of Tokyo, is steeped in Zen Buddhist history, home to ancient temples, the iconic Great Buddha and a serene atmosphere that invites reflection.

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A few weeks ago, I wrote about my Amtrak train ride through the Rockies: a slow, scenic journey that invited me to pause, reflect, and reconnect with the rhythm of nature. In that piece, I briefly mentioned another train ride that’s stayed with me for years: a quiet autumn escape to Nikkō, Japan.

I boarded the Tobu Limited Express from Asakusa early one morning, opting for a touch of luxury in the Green Car, Japan’s version of first class. Plush seats, quiet ambiance, and impeccable service made the ride feel more like a retreat than a commute. It was a stark contrast to my recent Amtrak journey through the Rockies, which, while scenic and soulful, had a more rugged charm. Both experiences offered space to reflect, but in very different ways. One polished and serene, the other raw and expansive.

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Growing up in Belgium, I’ve always considered myself reasonably eco-conscious. We separate our recyclables, compost when we can, and try to avoid single-use plastics. But nothing prepared me for the level of recycling discipline I encountered in Kamakura.

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