Komorebi: Sunlight filtered through trees

A special kind of beauty that only emerges from the shadows

Source: kristin wong

Komorebi (Japanese)

I am sitting at a cafe with my son, watching him scarf down a macaron, wondering why I thought it was a good idea to give a toddler a plate of macarons. I guess I was excited to see the joy on his face when I handed him a plate of colorful cookies for lunch. Rookie move, I know. Sugar comes with consequences, and when he drops a half-eaten macaron on the floor and I explain to him that we probably shouldn’t finish eating it (right?) those consequences unfold. A meltdown begins in 3…2…1… and we rush out of the cafe while I actually morph into the grimacing face emoji.

Walking back to the car with a whiny, writhing child in my arms  — still hungry because I didn’t finish my own lunch  —  I try to avoid a meltdown of my own. I take deep breaths. I do what my therapist suggests and notice my surroundings: A happy couple on a date. The faint smell of coffee. Up ahead is a magnolia tree, and the afternoon sun shines through its thick, dark leaves. That’s when I get a flashbulb memory of the day my sugar-filled son was born. 

Minutes after the doctor pulled him from my body, he was rushed to the NICU. He was five weeks early, and his lungs weren’t as strong as they should be. Here’s what I remember: his little pterodactyl cries. His newborn velvet skin on my face. Then passing out and waking up in another room where we were told he would be fine, but he would probably need to stay in the hospital for a little while.

He spent the next two weeks in the NICU, and it was one of the hardest times of my life. Little strands of wire taped to his body, little tubes inside his nose. I remember that my own body felt broken in a thousand different places. My heart, my uterus, my back. It all ached.

It was rough. But, oddly enough, it was also one of the happiest times of my life. I would open the windows every morning and watch the sun rise over the mountains. A flock of birds would roost by our window every evening at 4:30, while I rocked this little baby in my arms and convinced myself the crows were watching over us. Sometimes I was so happy to be there with my husband and my son that I felt weirdly guilty. I should be more stressed, more anxious, more worried! Most of the time, I was. But there were lots of really blissful moments.

If there were an image to represent what that time felt like, it might be that magnolia tree with its dappled sunlight.

There is, in fact, a Japanese word that describes this very scene: komorebi. It means the interplay of sunlight filtering through the leaves of trees. It describes the beauty of nature's play on light and shadow. Like most untranslatable words, komorebi captures something much more than its literal meaning. It’s a reminder that even in the most challenging times, there are “little bright spots that can make the situation more tolerable,” writes Renu Vijayanand at Medium. 

Renu continues: 

“Western philosophy tells us that there is light at the end of the tunnel. In a very interesting contrast, Komorebi reminds us to find those thin shafts of light in between, while passing through the dark tunnel…Komorebi nicely highlights the point that very often in our mindless pursuit of the light at the end of the tunnel, we fail to recognise many little beams of light that have already passed by.”

There’s a sense of acceptance in this idea. Surrendering to the things you may not be able to control frees up your spirit to better notice those little bright spots around you.

I don’t remember where or when I first came across this word, but every time I notice komorebi in my day-to-day life, it’s like a reminder from nature that joy still exists, even in the most challenging times. Like a weed forcing its way through the crack of a sidewalk, it finds any open space it can and bursts through until it’s noticed.

But the other thing about komorebi is that it doesn’t just describe the way ordinary sunlight is pretty. It’s a special kind of beauty that’s only made possible by the dark foliage of trees. The beauty of komorebi isn’t just in the sunlight. It’s in the shadows, too.

From the archives

Why Self-Compassion Beats Self-Confidence (the New York Times): “Self-compassion is treating yourself with the same kindness, care and concern you show a loved one,” Dr. Neff said. “We need to frame it in terms of humanity. That’s what makes self-compassion so different: ‘I’m an imperfect human being living an imperfect life.’”

What’s new?

• I read  — and completely loved  — Minimalism Is Neat, But Clutter Makes A Home by Annie Midori Atherton. Her essay makes the case for clutter and what it says about our lives and the people we love. “A slight shift in my mood can transform a cherished heirloom into an obtrusive nuisance in a second.” Annie was also a Come Write With Us student and it’s such a joy to see her beautiful writing published at the Atlantic!
  

• I also loved this New Yorker piece by my friend Irving Ruan: Coördinating Brunch with My Mid-Thirties Friends: The Oregon Trail Diaries. 
  

• I listened to “The Paradox of Pleasure” episode of Hidden Brain, which features the work of psychiatrist Anna Lembke. She talks about how pain and pleasure are processed by the same parts of the brain, and how that leads to an addiction to everything from drugs and alcohol to online shopping and social media. This isn’t an episode I worked on, but it’s one of my favorites.

 — Kristin