Essay

Pocket change

By Kit Pancoast Nagamura

Recent worldwide news is full of layoffs, store closings, bailouts and bankruptcies. Those who haven't been hit directly with financial disaster are likely wondering just when and if they too will be affected. In a climate such as this, it's natural to shift into survival mode, to hoard one's resources, tighten belts, and shore up reserves. I'm going to try exactly the opposite approach.

No, I'm not planning to fling cash around, make a down payment on a private jet, or blow a month's salary on a gala dinner — not on a writer's salary — but what I have in mind is, in fact, a creative use of wealth. It has to do with opening closets, pockets, coffers, and minds. Let me explain.

About two decades ago, while I was still finding my way around Japan, I stopped in at my neighborhood police box to ask directions to the local ward office. Off to one side, perched on the edge of a rickety chair, I saw a woman, somewhat red-eyed and panic-stricken. I grew panicky, too, when it became clear my fifty-word vocabulary with the police ("Where, office, foreigner, where, yes, help please?") wasn't going to get me to my destination. Hand signals only served to alarm the officers further, and they backed up slightly behind their desks. Suddenly, the woman stood up, translated for me, and obtained directions. I'm bad with directions, even in my native language, and she could somehow sense this. She then climbed into a little delivery truck, beckoned me to hop in, and drove me to the office. I got out at the ward office, full of gratitude, and then she handed me a box with a hot obento in it.

I was frankly non-plussed. Not so much at her kindness, which amazed me all on its own, but at the larger circumstances of our meeting. On the way to the ward office, I learned why she was at the police station in the first place. Turns out she prepared and delivered obentos for a living, and her money pouch had just been stolen from the truck. She had been at the police box to report the robbery, and in fact, she drove back there after dropping me off, to finish filling out the report.

We exchanged addresses, became friends, and I had the delight of every now and then finding an obento (a "left-over" she claimed) placed outside my apartment. I can't claim to have discovered the precise philosophy that caused this woman to place her own misfortune aside to help a stranger. I suspect she'd describe it as a balancing mechanism, something along the lines of exorcizing bad karma with an action of extraordinary good. Or perhaps it was merely instinctual. Regardless, her strategy comes to mind as an exemplary way to respond to the challenging circumstances of our time.

In the midst of losses and hardship, it might be the best time to reassess how much we each really have. It's easy to clear out a closet and make sure the excess clothing, books, or toys go to the needy rather than up in smoke. Second Harvest Japan always welcomes help distributing food to those who need it. Twice a week, walk or ride a bike instead of using the train, put aside the money saved, and donate it. This kind of change is small scale — pocket change if you will — but an investment in kindness pays out in ways the market cannot begin to predict.

Shukan ST: February 27, 2009

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