Sake, sushi, and courage

When I began traveling, I made a promise to myself. Eat new things, even the ones that scared me. Sushi was first on my list. At home, the idea of eating raw fish had never appealed to me. It was too squishy in the mouth. But here I was, sitting at a table in Japan, repeating over and over, You have to do this. You promised you would.

Our server came to fill our sake, sliding each cup to the top, where it spilled over a red-and-black lacquered box that caught the overflow. I took a sip. And another. And suddenly the voice in my head that said no to new things fell silent. With each sip, it became easier to taste the next bite, and the next. At the end of the meal, I was eating sushi, the real stuff, not the supermarket California rolls I’d always shied away from.

Before I left Japan, I bought a sake set in the same deep red of that lacquered box. It was a reminder to say yes: to food, to strangers, to a culture that was not mine but embraced me when I opened myself to it. The set came back with me, but the souvenir I valued most was the bravery I took with me from that table. Evidence that new doesn’t always mean mountains to climb or oceans to swim. Sometimes it’s the first bite.