Following the pattern of most new experiences in life, my time in Tokyo was fleeting and not at all how I imagined it would be. I've found that my imagination usually trumps reality, providing the smoke and mirrors necessary to make the ordinary something magical. As a result it's a rare thing when waking life measures up to what's in my idealistic dream-mind. In there I never have to hold my pee for an hour on the subway or walk a mile with blood dripping between my toes because I wore the wrong shoes. My kids never whine about being hungry or beg to go to the gift shop five million times and I never get overwhelmed by the mass of people surrounding me, all frantically scrambling to get somewhere else.
Tokyo was beautiful, big and pulsating with life. It was neon lights, buses blasting Japanese pop, horns honking, blisters and sore feet. It was feeling very small, a little lost and eternally grateful each time I returned to my cold, quiet hotel room. It was Aidin burying his face into my hair on every ride at Disneyland while repeating the mantra, "I don't like this, I don't like this." It was eating and shopping and bright lights beckoning me to buy buy buy! It was saying "cheese" and posing in front of places and then on to the next one.