Fallen Stars

I guess when you reach a certain age, the heroes, celebrities, and artists of your youth begin to pass away.  It is inevitable – even the brightest stars burn out – but it is still deeply upsetting.  In some ways, the death of a celebrity isn’t as personally impactful as the death of a close relative or friend.  You did not know them personally, so the daily struggle with their loss isn’t quite as poignant.  But in other ways, their death can cut even deeper than the loss of those near you.  These are the people that helped you dream.  That inspired you.  They shared their soul with you without you ever meeting them.  They shaped your mind, fashion sense, and personality in ways no other person in your life could have.  In a way, the death of an artist is a small death to that part of your soul they touched with their art.   

Since coming to Japan, I have felt the loss of four very important people – two actors, a musician, and an author.  Each time I have felt that the world lost an amazing talent.  That there was just a little less magic in the world.  And that I had lost an amazing source of inspiration and wisdom.

Watching the news of David Bowie’s death unfold across social media was painful and isolating.  As most of Europe is waking up, I am half way through my day.  Checking Facebook between episodes of anime, I was shocked to see the headline.  At first I thought it was a joke.  But then I realized it was a BBC post and the reality of it began to sink in.  As my day turned to night, and my friends and family in Europe and America were just waking up, the number of posts increased.  Comedy and nerd sites I follow, new sites and celebrities, artists, musicians, and friends – my Facebook feed became a memorial of pictures and music revolving around this amazing artist.  Some of my Japanese friends and entities shared their thoughts and feelings, he was an international icon, but as I scrolled through, I couldn’t help wanting to be home right now.  I felt isolated in my grief.  While some people here knew and understood how amazing the world was because of this man, many people around me did not.  Even worse, I could not even express my feelings with the ones that shared my pain.  As the news swept over Europe, I wished I could call friends and family in America.  Being the first to know and being unable to share your shock and distress with those you turn to in such situations adds so much pain to an already painful event.

Death is always sad.  But when it is an unexpected death, death at what seems an unreasonably young age, it is even harder to cope with.  For me, David Bowie’s passing wasn’t just the loss of an amazing man; it was a reminder of how fragile and short life can be.  I have spent almost two years in Japan.  Two fantastic years of self-growth, adventures, and just pure wonder.  But I have also spent almost two years away from those that I love the most.  I have been away from my fur babies the equivalent of fourteen dog years.  I have been separated from Anata for one fifth of our relationship and a quarter of our marriage.  I have missed holidays, weddings, and births.  And I have missed countless tiny moments with people I love – moments that might not be milestones in life, but the moments of pure being that are what really make up a life.  I do not regret my decision to come to Japan, but I am also beginning to understand what I gave up in exchange. 

As the world mourns the loss of a great man, I hope we do not forget the things his life taught us about magic, acceptance, and the stars.  Or those things we learned about ourselves from his death.