Stillness to recharge

At a quiet inn in northern Japan, time seems to stand still. The old building rests on a mountainside surrounded by lush forest. Guests in yukata shuffle softly through the halls between meals and the onsen—the rhythm of life slows down.

I’m sitting in an open-air hot spring surrounded by nature. The autumn leaves sway gently in the wind, a gust of winter air brushing against my face. Yet my body feels warm and calm, soaked in the heat that brings my mind and body back together. I feel like my body battery has just been fully charged.

But after a while of recharging in stillness, I start to crave movement again. I want to return to my home studio—to create something meaningful for someone. Stillness leads me to action, and action brings me back to stillness.

It’s like a phone taken off the charger once it’s full—ready to be useful again, until it returns to charge when the battery runs low.

If comfort is the moment when our battery is recharging, then it’s a good and necessary thing. But we can’t leave the phone on the charger forever. A fulfilled life, I think, is one where we go out, do something that matters, and know that our charger is waiting for us when we run low.