I am delighted to announce that Tokyo Reverie, a literary travel memoir of my transformative adventures while studying Sogetsu Ikebana in Japan and beyond has won an IAN Finalist Award in their Book of the Year Awards.
This morning’s email included the news that TOKYO REVERIE is a finalist in the 2026 Book of the Year Awards. I found the Independent Author Network (IAN) competition for authors who are self published or published by a small indie presses online shortly after the book launch and submitted my entry. While not a Gold, Silver or Bronze finish, ranking among two other Finalists in the Travel/Travel Guide category is very sweet.
Marketing is such drudgery–but very nice when it pays off.
TOKYO REVERIE Book Launch, July 4, 2026
July 4, 2026 a group of family members, friends and associates gathered at the Friends Meeting House on Fern Street in Victoria to celebrate Tokyo Reverie with me. My friends of many years Kimberly, Patrick and their son Gavin, together with another friend, Louise, handled the front of house, book sales table and refreshments table. I set up the ikebana displays and greeted all those who chose to come.
Kimberly introduced me in one of the most loving tributes I have ever heard, after which I read from three chapters. One showcasing experiences at school, another encounters on trains, together with adventures in Michelin star dining. Questions which followed were interesting and provocative. Not having done this before, I now know that I’ll have to prepare better answers in the future.
No plan to study Sogetsu Ikebana in Tokyo.
No plan spend more than 90 days at it once I undertook it.
No ambition to work up the multiple levels toward Teacher Certification.
No desire to teach–after 34 years in a classroom, absolutely none.
No notion to write a memoir.
No confidence that there was anything to tell when I first received that suggestion.
No aspiration to publish.
No belief that such a book would be of interest to anyone.
No desire to throw good money at self-publishing such a dubious prospect.
No skills required to market the marvel now that it’s done.
Yet, here I am with Tokyo Reverie in hand, launched and facing the uphill challenge of sharing it with the world. Concurrently, I also work to complete the Second Degree Sanyo teaching certificate under the tutelage of my sensei, Fukushima Koka, via private lessons from Tokyo on Zoom.
Now I occupy a weird state on a spectrum between wonder and dismay, fraught with the symptoms of executive dysfunction. One beautiful project done, my challenging ikebana practice ongoing, and marketing–the latest twist on the kado (the way of flowers) which is light years outside my comfort zone, skill set or anything sparking joy–to conquer .
It’s been quite the ride over the past decade. Not sure what’s next other than plodding forward step by step. In the words of Trevor Noah: It’s bigger than you. Let it take you.
The effect of numerous losses and restrictions this pandemic entails has been especially difficult for some creative people. Others have learned new skills, come into their creative groove and accomplished great things; but not all. It’s especially difficult those who haven’t been able to find their métier during this crazy-making time. It’s also one reason for a long silence on this platform.
Still, it is possible to find a renewed joy that merits champagne and dancing. It is possible to realize that whatever has not measured up to dreams and aspirations once held doesn’t matter. What counts is the pathway walked–even while lost and confused, grabbing at this distraction after that or burying into the blankets.
Eckhart Tolle offers this:
Anything you accept fully will take you into peace. This is the miracle of surrender. …allow this moment to be as it is. And then, suddenly, where before there was irritation, there is now a sense of aliveness and peace. And out of that comes right action.
That action for me is to carry on. Not without nostalgia. But for the time being I bless and bid farewell to numerous aspects life formerly enjoyed. In its place I experiment. I welcome this and that or the other thing until something clicks. Meanwhile I practice multiple levels of self-care, appreciate the richness in little things and create beauty any opportunity I can find to do so. Thus, I carry on–with all the gratitude, grit and grace I can muster. That’s all I can do. Surprise. It’s enough.
A little lost for things to do during these pandemic doldrums—long, static, monotonous internal weather where the parched psyche longs for the sensation of movement, even a molecule nudged up, forward, around.
Into that stasis a question appears. What was I doing at this time in 2018 during my final two weeks at Sogetsu Kaikan? Easy enough to check. Initially I resist looking back thinking that it isn’t likely to be a helpful exercise when I yearn to move forward; however, it is a molecule and back is also a direction.
I had completed three two-hour classes that day. The first assignment was 2.15 Slanting Style Variation No 6 Nageire for which I chose a white container with pale green accents in the glaze, Japanese quince branches, white spider chrysanthemums with green deep green centers and used crossbar fixing.
The second lesson was Variation No.7 Floating Arrangement and Spreading Morimono Arrangement which required two arrangements in a single lesson. For the first requirement I floated a few leaves I removed from a splendid muscular branch of Mahonia Japonica in a large, brown suiban.
For the second spreading arrangement the remainder of the branch lay splendidly on the worktable. Sometimes, by great good luck the natural material does the work of creating line for me. However, it is not enough to toss it there and call it finished.
I deconstruct the foliage and fix it to the branch more artfully than nature has done. By another stroke of fortune a single yellow bud signals a future still invisible emerging from the fading, russet past–a highly desirable trope in ikebana.
During the evening class, Lesson 2.17 Variation No. 8 Combined Styles Moribana & Moribana. Being quite drawn to unusually moody flowers I choose magnificent near-black orchids together with branches of budding Japanese raspberry. These I fix in kenzans inside black containers.
Again, the symbolism suggests emergence from the depths of winter which will culminate in fruit.
Hmmm. How apposite this reminder. Fruition is my theme word for 2021. How ironic. By stepping back into my history—the early days of my progress as an ikebana student and artist–seeing anew the symbolism of the budding branches, I am reminded of the relentless, invisible forces quite outside what appears to be stasis.
I also remember well the endorphin rush during the creation process kicked into overdrive by Okazaki-sensei’s unrestrained compliments for my burgeoning abilities and excellent understanding of ikebana. Today, I touch that, feel it once more–as well as greater serenity for the unknowable future..
Festive arrangement for New Year with Japanese yew, elegance carnations, crane ornament and driftwood.
*
On Instagram @lyndawow
As the last strains of carols wafted through my home late in the evening on Christmas Day, I scanned the room enjoying the decorations, the lights sparkling on the balcony and the glowing tree. Though it was a solo celebration, it had been a serene, joyful and satiating Christmas.
Not to be defeated by a pandemic and all the irksome aspects that entails, I’d created a proper binge of traditional dishes, champagne, wine, nuts, Japanese mandarins and favourite cookies. As I considered the physical and mental energy required to do it up properly, I was glad that I didn’t have to mount it up again. It was done.
Instead, I could happily return to simpler fare, dial back the sugar load and coast along grazing from a well-stocked fridge.
Oddly enough, as wonderful as Christmas (my favourite time of year) is, I was also looking forward to putting it back in the box.
Having spent the last four months living in a heightened state of mindfulness, I note that there are parallels to Christmas. I note many positives: improved perception, greater efficiency, as well as more serenity and beauty in any mundane task.
However, more than that I put a greater value on small things that carry great significance. Prior to this mindfulness experiment I blew off the hundreds and thousands of minuscule moments as insignificant and irrelevant.
But living in a state of intense awareness for an extended period, like a drawn out seasonal celebration, also has a saturation point. Just as I didn’t expect to have more time to fill as the result of a mindfulness practice, I also didn’t expect to be bored by an overload of wonder.
The first cup of coffee sipped with total concentration or the first glimpse of Mars moving across my west window seemed miraculous marvels. The fifth or tenth not so much. And while I accepted that surprising insight without self-reproach, it didn’t feel like success.
Rumi wrote: Every moment contains a hundred messages from God.
As poetry, that’s poignant. But one hundred messages—even from God—is too much information. Divine spam. My default impulse is to click delete. Swipe left. Wonder palls, becomes ordinary and it’s all too easy to find it blasé. I confess, I hadn’t expected that.
Will I end the mindfulness experiment? No. Not entirely. Not yet. There’s merit in paying more attention, in being more open to the wonder in the mundane, in seeing things anew. But I realize there’s also an appropriate time to put Christmas back in the box.
*
Now you can also find me on Instagram @lyndawow
In spite of a long chain of significant heartbreak and grief, for many years now I have cultivated a Buddha (level) mind and lived a joyful life—often while walking hand in hand with sorrow. Even as I rattle and multi-task through the days, ecstatic moments of serenity and insight are a normal part of how I live.
Christmas Table Arrangement with Artificial Fruit
Therefore, when I undertook this experiment to live mindfully in every aspect, my main expectation was that it would serve to fill empty hours of pandemic time not occupied by concerts or events. By doing one thing at a time and sinking into a deep awareness, a task would stretch out. I wouldn’t arrive at the end of my daily to do list with empty evenings spent on Instagram, YouTube or Netflix.
Ingredients Mise en Place for a Braise
Ha! Wrong.
Thumbnail Cookies Baking
That surprising assumption was debunked in the early days of my experiment. By working mindfully I am able to accomplish more in less time. Simultaneously emptying the dishwasher while sipping my coffee, filling the compost and preparing the trash for takeout is not efficient. Ack! When done singularly and mindfully savoring the sensory elements of each, stuff takes less time. Much less.
A Simple Lunch: Grilled Ham & Cheese
More than that, mundane chores such as dusting, making the bed, washing a floor, cooking and baking offer an unexpected sense of wonder. Whereas I previously I blasted through such routines with careless disregard, now I am much more attuned to the dynamic force in deliberation and stillness. Bonus: I enjoy greater gratification and serenity living this way.
Tourtiere Filling Ready for the Freezer
Happy surprise. Simple tasks performed mindfully cease to be jobs on a to do list. Rather, they are stepping stones to a state of extraordinary bliss. Now, what about those evenings?
When operating in a state of mindfulness the distinction between secular and spiritual aspects of life begin to blur. The mundane takes on magnificence and the heightened state of awareness becomes commonplace.
However, getting into that space isn’t something that happens simply because I decide to experience it. It doesn’t work like a flight I can board and take off on a 24/7 mindfulness journey. Happily, I’m not starting from ground zero. I have a well-established daily meditation practice and routinely make a consistent conscious effort to live with compassion, grace and a level mind no matter what life throws my way—good or bad.
Even so, what I am contemplating is a change to my usual habits. I multitask all the time. In the middle of one thing I am distracted by another as I pass from room to room. Not long after, the original purpose is light years out of mind and I begin to wonder whether I’m losing it.
From previous experiments with changing my life I know that I need to have a plan; therefore, before I begin I set myself up for success. All the research shows that in order to change ingrained habits people do better if they take the following steps:
With that in mind, in order to create a mindfulness practice by taking a monastic approach, I also wish to savor the emptiness without feeling like an existential exercise in futility. Therefore, before I start anything, I spend time researching various monastic approaches. I consider the daily rituals, habits and the schedules of various orders. What emerges is a number of categories which are already very much a part of my normal existence. Nice. That helps.
Monastic centers normally include two mainstay practices undertaken daily:
These cornerstones vary in number from one order to another and may or not be conducted in silence or together with spiritual readings or instruction. In addition, throughout the week other practices which are part of the way I live are part of a monastic schedule:
One of the things I resist doing (but may need to change—or not, I’ll see) is setting a fixed schedule typical of monastic life. I spent 34 years of my working life answering to bells. Before that, I endured 16 years of the same while being educated. I don’t really wish to embrace that again.
No. No. No. When I retired I tossed all that for something more fluid. How that might work for me or against me during this regimen remains to be seen. Of course, it’s also vital not to beat myself up about missteps along the way. I will not follow the methods used by one of my piano teachers who hit me with a ruler during sight-reading exercises each time I made a mistake. SMACK!
No. No. No. I’ll not be taking that approach. No self-reproach and negative self-talk either. When I slip I’ll do the sensible thing: reflect, readjust and repeat. It’s called a mindfulness practice not a mindfulness perfection.
Gradually I map out the specifics and—like a reluctant swimmer who’s not quite sure whether a dip is a good idea—I put in a toe, shiver a bit between steps, and with a deep breath, plunge in. I’ll let you know how that goes.
I learn only to be contented.
