My mind is not so different from when I came to America at 19—
still curious, still moving at my own pace.
still curious, still moving at my own pace.
What has changed is the quiet.
A deeper calm lives in me now.
With time, I have softened.
I enjoy each day more fully,
and I accept myself—and others—just as we are.
A deeper calm lives in me now.
With time, I have softened.
I enjoy each day more fully,
and I accept myself—and others—just as we are.
Perhaps I can say
I live with a free spirit, most of the time.
I live with a free spirit, most of the time.
On my 71st birthday,
I felt no desire to do much at all.
Only a few simple things, gently chosen.
I felt no desire to do much at all.
Only a few simple things, gently chosen.
I didn’t plan ahead,
which is unusual for me—
and yet, I felt completely at ease.
which is unusual for me—
and yet, I felt completely at ease.
The night before,
a feeling came to me:
“I want to see cherry blossoms.”
a feeling came to me:
“I want to see cherry blossoms.”
Of course, I am not in Japan.
Still, I asked Eric.
Still, I asked Eric.
He looked at me, surprised—
“What cherry blossoms? Where? We are not in Japan.”
“What cherry blossoms? Where? We are not in Japan.”
I smiled inside.
There was no need to explain.
There was no need to explain.
“We’ll see in the morning,” I said.
And morning came.
I woke early, as I usually do,
feeling quietly happy to be one year older.
I searched, followed a feeling, and chose a place—
not for certainty, but for possibility.
feeling quietly happy to be one year older.
I searched, followed a feeling, and chose a place—
not for certainty, but for possibility.
At the South Coast Botanical Garden,
only a few blossoms remained—
soft, fragile, almost gone.
only a few blossoms remained—
soft, fragile, almost gone.
And still, they were enough.
We walked slowly,
held by the scent of herbs and flowers,
surrounded by the gentle life of trees and air.
held by the scent of herbs and flowers,
surrounded by the gentle life of trees and air.
That evening,
I said yes to an invitation—
a simple dinner with a friend and her mother.
I said yes to an invitation—
a simple dinner with a friend and her mother.
There was laughter,
and a mochi ice cream cake with a candle.
and a mochi ice cream cake with a candle.
For a moment,
I was a child again.
I was a child again.
The next morning,
we went to the dog beach in Santa Barbara—
with our beloved dog family, Nalu, Kai, Lani, Makani,
and our guest dog, Mocha.
we went to the dog beach in Santa Barbara—
with our beloved dog family, Nalu, Kai, Lani, Makani,
and our guest dog, Mocha.
We walked along the shore,
listening to the ocean breathe.
listening to the ocean breathe.
Clouds stretched wide across the sky.
Pelicans and birds moved freely above us.
Pelicans and birds moved freely above us.
The water touched my feet,
cool and alive.
cool and alive.
I watched Eric and Kai swimming in the ocean.
And I thought—
this is one of my favorite ways to be alive.
this is one of my favorite ways to be alive.
On the way home,
we stopped in Ojai.
we stopped in Ojai.
At my favorite stationery shop, “Noted,”
I found small treasures—
Japanese washi tape,
and a simple toolbox I can use for my sashiko while traveling.
I found small treasures—
Japanese washi tape,
and a simple toolbox I can use for my sashiko while traveling.
At Farmer and Cook,
I chose macrobiotic cookies
and a rose elixir drink—
a quiet sweetness to carry with me.
I chose macrobiotic cookies
and a rose elixir drink—
a quiet sweetness to carry with me.
Over the weekend,
love arrived in many forms—
flowers, cards, small gifts,
voices across distance,
messages from near and far.
love arrived in many forms—
flowers, cards, small gifts,
voices across distance,
messages from near and far.
I felt held.
I felt loved.
I felt grateful.
I felt loved.
I felt grateful.
It was simple.
And it was enough.
And it was enough.
It was, truly,
the birthday I needed.
the birthday I needed.
Four weeks before,
my body told a different story.
my body told a different story.
A cold that stayed—
longer than expected.
longer than expected.
Eric recovered quickly—
but I did not.
but I did not.
Each time I thought I was better,
I returned too soon—
to teaching, to walking, to qigong—
and the cold returned to me.
I returned too soon—
to teaching, to walking, to qigong—
and the cold returned to me.
Again and again,
I had to stop.
I had to stop.
My symptoms were mild—
a little cough and a runny nose,
a slight fever each day, and a quiet weakness.
a little cough and a runny nose,
a slight fever each day, and a quiet weakness.
And yet, in that weakness,
another voice appeared:
another voice appeared:
“Is it coming back?”
Both of my past cancers
began this way—
softly, quietly.
began this way—
softly, quietly.
So I listened.
Not with fear,
but with awareness.
but with awareness.
This kind of thought
belongs to those who have walked that path.
belongs to those who have walked that path.
I do not push it away.
I acknowledge it.
I acknowledge it.
And then—
I choose patience.
I choose trust.
I choose patience.
I choose trust.
I do what I can,
and I care for myself.
and I care for myself.
I remember a saying from Japan:
“The common cold is the root of all illness.”
“The common cold is the root of all illness.”
So I nourish myself.
Through the lens of Yin and Yang,
I listen more deeply.
I listen more deeply.
Eric’s cold was Yang—
strong, active, with coughing at night—
easing with grated apple and its juice,
and fresh lotus root tea.
strong, active, with coughing at night—
easing with grated apple and its juice,
and fresh lotus root tea.
Mine was different—
more Yin, more quiet—
a sore throat, a morning chill, a headache,
a body asking for warmth, with little appetite.
more Yin, more quiet—
a sore throat, a morning chill, a headache,
a body asking for warmth, with little appetite.
When one path did not help,
I changed direction.
I changed direction.
Miso scallion tea.
Strong ume-sho-kuzu.
Azuki beans with miso.
Tekka condiment.
Strong ume-sho-kuzu.
Azuki beans with miso.
Tekka condiment.
Slowly—
very slowly—
my body returned.
very slowly—
my body returned.
Today,
for the first time in four weeks,
I entered the water for Aqua Yoga.
for the first time in four weeks,
I entered the water for Aqua Yoga.
I moved—
gently, fully.
gently, fully.
Tomorrow, my body may ache—
but it will be a joyful ache.
but it will be a joyful ache.
A living ache.
I am grateful—
for what I have learned,
for what I can practice,
for the ability to return to myself.
for what I have learned,
for what I can practice,
for the ability to return to myself.
Good health—
this quiet, steady presence—
is the greatest gift of all.
this quiet, steady presence—
is the greatest gift of all.
More valuable than anything we can count.
And alongside it,
love.
love.
A husband who walks beside me,
as my partner and my best friend.
as my partner and my best friend.
Friends who remember,
who reach out,
who care.
who reach out,
who care.
Happy Birthday to me, Sanae.
I honor myself—
my patience,
my trust,
my quiet strength
to heal again.
my patience,
my trust,
my quiet strength
to heal again.
With love,
Sanae❤️
Sanae❤️