This house looked a little lonely

“This house looked a little lonely while you were away, Mika.”

That was how my husband greeted me when I returned home after a month away.

As someone who works from home, I spend my entire day in the house.

I switched to remote work several years ago.
About six months after my way of working changed, my husband gifted me a month-long stay in Kyoto as a way to refresh myself.

With remote work, both my professional and private life are contained within a single space.
I didn't think I was feeling any particular stress, and I even thought remote work suited me, as I enjoy working silently on my own.

“I’ll pay for the Shinkansen and the hotel, so you should go.”

I was surprised by his sudden proposal and struggled to find an answer.
Was it really okay for me to leave my husband behind and enjoy myself in Kyoto for a whole month?

However, I felt hesitant to refuse. I wanted to reward my husband for his thoughtfulness.

“...You're right. Maybe I will go.”

My husband’s ability to take action when he is convinced of something is remarkable.
Even though I felt like I was still half-undecided, he took my answer at face value and had the Shinkansen and hotel booked that very same day.

Looking back now, perhaps my husband had sensed it.
The small stresses I felt from the changes and confusion in my daily life.

The following weekend, I was on the Shinkansen.

I couldn't take a month off work, so I left with my laptop and the bare essentials.

I arrived in Kyoto.

On weekdays, I worked as usual from my hotel room or a coworking space.
And on the weekends, I wandered around Kyoto.

I woke up early to take a walk to the Kyoto Imperial Palace. It cleared my head and helped me get more work done.

On Friday night, after finishing work, I watched a movie at a late-night showing.

Saturday morning begins with coffee at a long-established coffee shop.
I intentionally avoid the standard tourist spots and walk around the small alleys.

On Sunday, I experienced Zazen meditation at a temple in a serene atmosphere.
In the void I saw with my eyes closed, only the sound of cicadas echoed, and I felt a sensation of my body's boundaries dissolving.

Here in Kyoto, there is not a single person who knows me.
Time that is all my own, unbound by anyone or anything.

What I value above all else is 'always having possibilities open and being free'.
I think my husband understood that even better than I did.

The more fulfilling my days are, the happier my husband will surely be.
That is exactly the reason why he planned this stay in Kyoto.

Midsummer in Kyoto is so harsh that going out during the day is dangerous.
With consecutive days of extreme heat reaching nearly 40 degrees Celsius, tourist spots were deserted across the board.

With only a few days left in my one-month stay, I visited Byodo-in Temple, which is registered as a World Heritage site.

── I thought, this is the Pure Land.

The vivid vermilion burned into the back of my eyes.
The robust green growing powerfully.

The blue sky that embraces everything in this world, indifferent to the passage of time or human activities.

Faced with such overwhelming harmony, I could only stand still.
Forgetting even that the scorching sun was burning my skin.

'Even those who cannot believe in the existence of the Pure Land may be able to realize its existence by visiting Byodo-in.'
This is a passage related to Byodo-in written in a book from the Heian period.

Without any prior information or background knowledge, just as these words indicate, at first glance, I thought this place was the 'Pure Land'.

The reason such extraordinary scenery reflects so vividly in my heart is surely because I have a solid foundation called "everyday life."

For instance, if I had no place to return to, I would likely not have been moved by this view.

I would likely not have thought about the continuous, eternal flow of time either.

When I think of "everyday life," I realize that I have a place to return to.

It is like the sense of security of being firmly anchored, even when drifting in a vast ocean, swayed by waves, carried far away, or occasionally struck by storms.

The mental support of knowing that I can always return to where I started gives me the courage to row out into the unknown.

── I don't want to go home yet.
Being able to think that is a privilege for those who have a place to return to.

A dwelling to spend time in with peace of mind.
A warm, safe house that shelters from the rain and wind.
A place to live with someone precious.

I have a place I want to return to.
How grateful I am for that.

If I hadn't spent time in Kyoto away from my usual life, I surely would never have noticed.

That the days I spent taking for granted were happiness itself.

I want to return to the place where my husband is waiting.
I want to tell him thank you as soon as possible.

Carrying heavy luggage and more stories than I can hold, I open the front door.

My husband greets me.

"While you were away, Mika, this house looked a little lonely."

At my husband's words, I feel my everyday life gently returning.

"I'm home."

There is someone waiting for my return.
This is the place I want to return to.