Rising sophomore Niki Kawa explores Tofuku-ji Temple in Japan during on May 28, 2026.
When I booked my three-week trip to Japan, I knew I would be thousands of miles from home, setting my clock 13 hours ahead and immersing myself in a foreign culture.
What I did not know was that I would be adapting to an entirely new way of life.
I was there as a part of the University of Miami’s Mind-Body Health, Healing, and Performance course, which explores the remarkable ways our state of mind can influence our health and well-being. The lectures gave me new ways to think about the mind-body connection, but it was the ordinary moments outside the classroom that stayed with me most.
Stepping into Japan was like turning down the volume on a world that had always been too loud.
Each morning, people made their way across the Kamo River on a series of broad stepping stones. One mother was walking with her daughter, pausing mid-river so the little girl could take her shoes off and splash in the wet stones.
I found myself here each day, unable to sleep much later than 4:45 a.m. when the daylight would break through.
By 6 a.m., one woman was almost always there. She looked to be in her eighties, and arrived each morning with a pink floral tote bag neatly tucked under her arm. When she wasn’t reading from what appeared to be a religious text, she would chant for nearly an hour with her willowy arms stretched toward the rising sun.
People of all ages would effortlessly sleep on public buses and trains, with most conversations kept to a minimum. Quiet was never strictly enforced, but simply respected.
It made me realize that the biggest difference wasn’t how busy people were, but how differently they treated the moments in between. After living in Kyoto for three weeks, I realized just how much constant stimulation had become my default.
Getting used to Japan’s culture as someone from Miami was definitely an adjustment. I was used to a city where loud phone calls, music in public parks, or aggressive honking in traffic was a part of daily life.
Back on campus, my days were always busy. I’d rush from class to work, squeeze in a workout, meet my friends for dinner and end the night scrolling through social media before falling asleep, just to wake up and do it all over again.
I spent so much time moving from one thing to the next and rarely gave myself the space to process what I was actually feeling and doing.It wasn’t until I experienced a culture that made space for quiet that I realized how uncomfortable silence had come into my own life.
The more I reflected after returning home, the more I realized I wasn’t the only one experiencing this. Constant stimulation and the pressure to always be doing something have become deeply ingrained in our culture.
In a city that never seems to slow down, it isn’t unusual to see someone squeezing in lunch between meetings, answering emails by the pool, or even studying Quizlet while walking on the treadmill.
Somewhere along the way, simply doing one thing was no longer enough. We’ve become experts at “multi-task maxxing,” squeezing entertainment, productivity or self improvement into every spare second.
We’ve gotten so accustomed to constant stimulation that we’ve forgotten how to simply exist. In the long-winded pursuit of self improvement, every empty moment becomes a moment to self-optimize.
Read another book. Listen to the latest podcast. Learn another language. Dodge the guilt trips of the Duolingo owl every time you skip a lesson. Eventually, even rest starts feeling like something we must perfect. The irony is that the pressure to “take care of ourselves” can end up becoming yet another source of stress.
When we’re never still, we deny our brains the space to wander, process emotions and connect ideas in ways that constant stimulation often interrupts. Research suggests that when our attention isn’t focused on the outside world, the brain shifts into the Default Mode Network. When we’re in this state, we’re more likely to reflect on our experiences, process emotions and make creative connections between ideas.
In Japan, the soundtrack of everyday life was different. You could hear bicycle wheels rolling over the pavement, the hum of passing cars and soft conversations filling the streets. Despite the movement, there was an ease to it all. I couldn’t explain why I felt so much more refreshed, even after days spent walking for miles and sightseeing. It taught me that feeling restored isn’t always about adding another wellness habit. Sometimes, it’s as simple as making space for quiet.
Self-care doesn’t have to be expensive, aesthetic or even productive. There is no “right” or “wrong” way to do it. In fact, it is adaptive and may look different for everybody. For one person, it might be a face mask and a spa day. For another, it might be turning off their phone, watching their favorite movie, going for a walk, or simply going to bed early. There’s no universal formula for rest, and trying to make it one may defeat the purpose.
So while it’s fun to post in a fluffy bathrobe and face mask on Instagram, making time for simple stillness may be one of the most underrated forms of self-care we have. In fact, some of the world’s most successful people intentionally make time for this quietness. Bill Gates, for example, has long scheduled “Think Weeks,” taking a break from the demands of everyday life to read, reflect and simply think.
I’m not saying phones are entirely at fault. Music can make long car drives enjoyable and podcasts are a great way to learn something new. Modern day technology has given rise to platforms that let us express ourselves, get inspired from others, and connect with like minded people.
The problem isn’t the stimulation itself, it’s forgetting that silence can have value too.
Japan didn’t teach me how to meditate. It didn’t make me think I needed incense, special pillows, or crystals to do so — even though I may have bought some.
It simply reminded me that silence isn’t empty.
Maybe all it takes is one quiet shower, one walk without headphones or one uninterrupted moment to remember that some of our best thoughts don’t arrive when we’re searching for them. They arrive when we finally give them room to.
AloJapan.com