Purpose & Alignment

20 06 2025

I left Japan with confidence and purpose.

Keita had been an excellent host and travel partner. Our shared interest in history, arts and logistics was a good match.

As we said our goodbyes at the airport, for some reason, it felt like I would be back someday. There is still so much of the country to see, including Mount Fuji, which was shrouded in clouds on the day we traveled to Fuji Kawaguchiko for a hike.

Mt. Fuji hiding in the clouds

“Take care of yourself,” he said, before giving me a long hug, its squeeze a sign of the tight bond we had developed through the years.

Our embrace was a rare demonstration of public affection from this quiet and reserved man. There were no performative bows as we departed, just a respectful energy exchange. Equal parts love and admiration.

I slept most of the flight to Hawaii. With a three hour layover in Honolulu, I found a seat at a crowded bar and sipped on a crisp IPA, while scanning through backlogged emails on my phone.

Above the beer taps, cable television networks broadcast the latest developments from the presidential campaign. It was all but over at this point. A disastrous debate performance had felled President Biden. Trump 2.0 was on the way.

Even Keita was sold on the strongman schtick.

“Trump will keep you safe,” he told me one night over soba noodles in a trendy Tokyo restaurant.

Turning away from the news, I found an email from my recruiter about the train conductor program. From a pool of nearly 900 applicants, my number was one of 50 chosen. I felt lucky indeed.

The program would run for 12 weeks, from late November to early February. Several hurdles needed to be cleared to begin training.

A cognitive test, which included basic math, reading and writing was first followed by a panel interview with questions like: ‘Think of a difficult situation you experienced and how did you solve it?’

Then came the physical tests, making sure you could get in and out of the train, throw a switch and raise the pantograph (the part of the train that connects to the overhead wire) on your own. After that it was on to the classroom, where I joined a group of external hires just out of CDL training.

This would be my new family for the next three months and I couldn’t have asked for a more down to earth and kind hearted group. No more insensitive comments from immature assholes trying to one up each other on the toxic masculinity scale.

In my new setting, we applauded each other’s wins, sent encouraging text messages and genuinely wanted to see each other succeed.

That’s what made this group special. I could let my guard down and not have to worry about someone looking for a weakness to exploit.

Because of my previous experience in maintenance as a shop helper, I had a leg up on the early weeks as we learned about reading switches and the geography of the yards. Out on the mainline is where the big challenge would come as we were introduced to signals and system maps — known as the ‘alignment’ in work lingo.

“The alignment always wins,” one of my line trainers told me. “It’s like a casino. The house always wins.”

“But, why are we competing with the alignment in the first place?,” I asked.

Silent for a couple of seconds, the trainer shook his head and sighed.

“You’re not, John. That’s the point.”


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Categories : Confidence, Friendship, Japan

In Hot Water

29 05 2025

What left an impression on me about Japan was its culture of cleanliness and respect, qualities that were ever apparent as we traveled the country.

Admittedly, there was a sense of embarrassment for my homeland. Japan’s trains and stations were clean, riders were considerate of fellow passengers and there was nary a whiff of smoke — much less illegal drugs in the air.

Most of the platforms had vending and recycling machines, which would be impossible to maintain in a vandal plagued Portland.

To my surprise, some train cars were designated for women only. I found this a bit odd, considering the country’s reputation for male chauvinism.

Keita’s mother, on the other hand, was not one to be subjugated. An octogenarian who was still driving — a stick shift car no less — she fetched us from the train station and always made sure we ate a big breakfast each morning.

After a long bus ride from Tokyo we arrived in Kusatsu, where you are greeted instantly by the rotten eggs smell of sulfur from the hot springs.

In the town square sits the Yubatake, a field of water, where people gather particularly at night to socialize. Some believe the minerals from the hot springs have healing properties. If true, I was more than ready for a soak.

“Let’s do the Onsen after we check in,” Keita said to me as we hiked through the narrow and curved streets up to our hotel.

Donning our yukatas (robes), we entered the male side of the Onsen. Inside, phones and cameras are strictly forbidden and it is custom to bathe naked. To set the mood, relaxing zen music played overhead as I stepped into the tile enclosed pool.

Life takes unexpected twists and turns and here I was, the lone Western figure at a remote hot springs resort tucked away in the mountains of Japan’s Gunma prefecture.

And the water was wickedly hot!

It’s heat pulsing as I stood knee deep and naked in the Onsen’s large pool. The convection like an attack on my nervous system.

While the temperature stymied me, others were easily submerged in the mineral waters.

“John, are you okay?,” Keita politely asked, noticing my hesitation to take a deeper plunge.

“Yeah, it’s just very hot,” I replied, thinking there was no way I could go any further.

Then I heard what sounded like a frog noise beside me. I turned to see an older man, sitting in the pool, with no expression on his face. Then suddenly, that sound again:

“Ribbet, Ribbet.”

I smiled at him, but knowing very little Japanese, did not speak. Keita engaged the man in friendly banter, translating for me.

“He says you’ll get used to the temperature,” Keita told me. “And he thought you were French.”

The metaphor could not have been more fitting.

After that exchange we waded away from the man and I did eventually work up the courage to go completely under. This being the first step in my transformation. I was washed and exposed and felt no shame.

I slept good that night. The Onsen brought my Misogi challenge more into focus. I was determined to become a train conductor and upon returning home would enroll in a program to begin this process, leaving behind mundane janitorial duties.

Yes, this frog had escaped the boiling water.

Ribbet, Ribbet.

John & Keita at the Yubatake in Kusatsu, Japan


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Categories : Friendship, Growth, Japan, Travel, Water

Hawaiian Reset

12 12 2024

Heeding Stanley’s advice, I began to distance myself from River.

And the therapist wasn’t the only one delivering this message. Kieran — my loyal friend all through the pandemic and beyond — was uncharacteristically blunt. He had been observing a disturbing change in me.

“He’s using you and he’ll take you down with him,” Kieran warned. “A narcissist with addiction issues is a dangerous combination.”

River had a lot of drinking buddies so replacing me in his rotation would be no problem. My sympathies for him remained and as Stanley had predicted, it hurt as I cut off communication.

Luckily for me, I had some vacation time coming that would chase my blues away. Not long after the new year, David and I traveled to Hawaii to see my cousin Rob and his wife Shelley. Empty nesters, with both kids recently graduating from college, they had graciously offered to let us stay with them during our visit.

We left Portland just as a big winter storm approached. David’s brother chained up the tires on his SUV and navigated along frozen back roads to get us to the airport. On the tarmac, crews worked hard to de-ice the plane, enabling our takeoff in what felt like a true escape from winter’s clutches.

We flew directly to Kauai, one of the less populated islands, known for its lush greenery. It had been years since I last saw Rob and Shelley. Rob grew up in Miami, went to UF and worked as a defense contractor on the technical side, even living abroad for a time in the Middle East.

Rob picked us up at the airport in his blue jeep with a orange Florida Gators logo on the side door. He had long hair and was wearing shorts, flip flops and a T-shirt. It was the classic beach bum look.

Aside from the heat, one of the first things I noticed as we left the airport, were the chickens. They were everywhere and their cock-a-doodle-dos could be heard all over the island.

Rob took us to lunch at a waterfront restaurant where at night herds of sea turtles crawled to shore.

“How’s your dad?,” he asked.

“Not good,” I replied.

My brother had recently sold dad’s truck. He was never going to drive again. The Parkinson’s was progressing and dad refusing his medications didn’t help.

After lunch, we drove on Kauai’s one main road to the southern side of the island, where Shelley welcomed us into their cozy cedar home. They had two dogs and a big backyard full of colorful flowers, plants and trees.

Fritz House

It was so peaceful and serene. Just what we needed.

“Make yourself at home,” Shelley said as she showed us to the downstairs guest room.

The walls were covered with pictures of their wedding, children and travels. You could feel love resonating through the frames.

I slept soundly that night in paradise. Something was stirring inside of me. As we would soon find out, it was the power of CAN.


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Categories : Family, Friendship, Hawaii, Travel

Moving on up

10 05 2024

Having finally had enough of the abhorrent behavior from the sidewalk campers in the neighborhood, I set out to find us a better home.

We toured several apartment buildings before choosing a cute little studio in the Pearl District. It was high up enough that the problems on the street couldn’t reach us. The zone we would be moving to was a crucial business and tourism district that would not tolerate the antics from our previous neighborhood. Try as they might, pitching their tent and smoking crack on the sidewalk around breweries, bookstores and salons had an expiration date that was rapidly approaching.

David’s brother and my friend, Kieran helped us move. We rented a U-haul and packed up our stuff right in front of the druggies, who of course got in their last minute heckling. It took every ounce of discipline I had ever mustered to keep my composure. I remember losing my temper with the landlord in South Florida when he sold the apartment and gave us a month’s notice to vacate. It wasn’t a pretty scene and I was not going to take bait again.

“Ignore them,” David instructed. Kieran and I did just that as we loaded furniture into the U-haul.

I met Kieran at the grocery store, where we both worked menial jobs. He had flunked out of college and was washing dishes. Skinny with long brown hair that flowed down past his shoulders, Kieran reminded me a lot of myself at that age.

He was smart, but undecided on what kind of career to pursue. He still is.

We talked about going hiking a lot until one day, he said, “Do you want my number?” Looking back, it has been the most aggressive move he’s ever made.

We would go on a lot of hikes together and to the movies, concerts and out to eat. David gave his seal of approval and graciously understood that it was a friends night out. For the longest time, Kieran was the only person in Portland who I felt truly understood me. He has a sensitive soul and compassionate heart.

So Kieran and Russ helped us move into our new place. God bless Russ. David’s younger brother had helped us move in and knew the routine. We loaded up a dolly full of heavy boxes into an ancient elevator, the kind where you close one door and pull a metal gate in front of you before you can go anywhere.

Then we dollied the boxes down sets of narrow marble stairs, igniting loud bangs with each drop, before finally rolling out onto the street. We had been so happy to move in here four years ago and now couldn’t get out fast enough.

Portland had changed drastically in those four years and it wasn’t a good change either.

A fresh start was needed. We were moving from a building over 100 years old to one barely a year old. Quite a difference. Awaiting us was a beautiful view of the west hills, a kitchen complete with a dishwasher, onsite gym, rooftop clubhouse and many more amenities.

“John, you finally got your box in the sky, David quipped.

Now I had to get the job to pay for it and the clock was ticking…

David on the roof


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Categories : Friendship, Portland