Today’s Sunday morning walk to the store for toilet paper shouldn’t have been particularly noteworthy. Yet somewhere between my apartment and the shop, I caught myself doing it again – that internal check-in that’s become increasingly familiar since, well, 419 days ago (yes, I’m counting, at least my Duolingo streak).
Am I dressed appropriately? Is my stubble intentional or just neglected? Did I acknowledge my neighbors properly? Am I balancing my hobby time with basic responsibilities?
These silent questions arise more frequently now, these quiet audits of my own behavior and appearance that I never used to consciously perform.
When the Mirror Disappears
For twenty years, my wife provided that mirror – sometimes explicitly (“that shirt doesn’t match”) and sometimes just through daily interaction. Even in the challenging moments of our relationship, those mood swings and inevitable tensions, there was someone there registering my existence, calibrating my sense of self against another person’s perception.
When she left Japan for America – green card in hand, daughter waiting – something profound shifted. I’m not ashamed to admit it broke me. Not permanently, not irreparably, but significantly enough that 419 days later, I’m still putting pieces back together in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
Living in Japan with limited language skills compounds this experience. My interactions with locals necessarily remain surface-level – smiles, nods, basic transactions. There’s no real opportunity for authentic connection or feedback. The vocabulary of my inner life exists in English, locked away from the Japanese-speaking world around me.
Sunday Morning Inventory
So there I was, making a second trip out that morning (the store not opening until 10am), mentally checking boxes: Showered? Yes. Laundry started? Running now. Basic grooming? Passable. Apartment in reasonable order? Getting there.
This isn’t a pity party – I’ve lived contentedly alone before and often prefer my own company. Everything is fine. But something about loss or change creates this need for periodic self-assessment, as if checking to make sure I haven’t missed something obvious in the absence of external feedback.
The shower, the laundry, the shopping – they’re just practical matters. The deeper check-in is about something else: Am I still functioning as a complete human? Am I maintaining balance? Have I retreated too far into hobby obsessions at the expense of other aspects of life?
The Missing Environment
Perhaps I should have moved after the split. New surroundings might have spared me the daily reminders of what once was and what now isn’t. Each corner of this apartment holds some memory, some established pattern that now leads nowhere.
But change affects us differently. Some say life is about weathering the storm, not avoiding the journey. Survival isn’t about finding perfect shelter – it’s about standing firm through the wind and rain.
The Necessary Check-In
However disciplined or resilient we consider ourselves, sometimes our knees buckle unexpectedly under the weight of change. Those moments of wobbling aren’t weakness – they’re signals prompting us to assess, adjust, and continue.
These check-ins aren’t about self-pity. They’re about self-awareness. They’re recognition that without external calibration, we need internal mechanisms to keep us balanced and present.
For me, they’re quiet confirmations that despite significant change, I’m still functioning, still moving forward, still caring about how I present myself to the world even when that presentation receives less feedback than before.
What About You?
I wonder if this resonates with you. Do you find yourself conducting these personal check-ins? Maybe after a loss, a change in circumstance, or even just during periods of isolation?
Are they triggered by specific situations? Do they focus on practical matters, emotional states, or something else entirely?
Perhaps you’re completely focused on the present, happily distracted by current endeavors or future dreams. Or maybe you’re weathering your own storm, conducting your own version of these silent assessments.
I’m genuinely curious about your experience. The comments section awaits your thoughts – and unlike my limited Japanese conversations, I promise to engage fully with whatever you share.
