Traveling East to Meet the Waves — A Weekend in Shōman Season

This weekend, I'm taking the shinkansen east to Shizuoka.

The reason for the trip is an international adaptive surfing competition.

Have you ever heard of adaptive surfing?

The word adaptive means "to adjust" or "to adapt."
It's a form of surfing where each person rides the waves in a way that fits their own body and abilities.

Some surfers stand on prosthetic legs.
Some ride while seated, or lying on the board.
Others enter the ocean with the support of guides beside them.

And yet, watching from afar, what you notice first is not disability.

It's the sea.
The waves.
And the joy of meeting them.

The reason this trip happened at all is because one of the athletes works at my husband's company.

Apparently, he's strong enough to win international competitions.
When my husband mentioned he was going to cheer him on in Shizuoka, I immediately said, "Then I want to go too."

I've never seen adaptive surfing in person before.

Even now, I feel a little restless in the best way — like the quiet excitement before a journey begins.

The Season of Shōman

Right now in Japan, we are in a seasonal period called Shōman, one of the traditional 24 solar terms used in the old calendar.

Shōman literally means "small fullness."

It is the time of year when sunlight grows stronger, plants stretch upward, and living things quietly begin to thrive.
The air itself feels fuller somehow.

Within this season comes another delicate marker from the traditional calendar:
Benibana Sakaū — "the safflowers bloom."

A moment when fields slowly fill with color.

Everything is becoming a little more alive.

And somehow, this journey arriving during this season feels meaningful to me.

Traveling East

From where I live, Shizuoka lies to the east.

In Japanese folk traditions and practices like Kyūsei Kigaku — a traditional system that connects direction, timing, and seasonal energy — directions are believed to carry different qualities depending on the time of year.

This month, east is considered an especially fortunate direction for my husband.

For me, not quite so fortunate.
Actually, according to the calendar, it's supposed to be a rather difficult direction for me this month.

But still, I decided to go.

Perhaps because journeys are not always about perfect timing.
Sometimes they are simply about being invited by life itself.

Besides, Shizuoka is a place I've passed many times by train without ever stopping.
That alone makes this feel special.

The Energy of the East

In traditional Japanese thinking, the east is associated with growth and beginnings.

It is where the morning sun rises.
The direction of movement, momentum, and things beginning to unfold.

And this month, the east is said to hold particularly strong energy for development and bringing one's abilities into the world.

That feels strangely fitting for a surfing competition.

To watch people challenge the waves in their own way, during the growing season of Shōman, while traveling toward the rising sun.

It almost feels too perfectly arranged.

Riding Your Own Wave

What moves me most about adaptive surfing is this:

Each person rides differently.

And that is not treated as weakness.
It simply becomes their style.

The waves do not arrive according to our convenience.
You cannot control them.

You wait.
You watch.
And when the wave comes, you meet it with the body and strength you have.

Standing.
Sitting.
Lying down.

There are as many ways to ride a wave as there are people.

Soon, I'll watch an athlete skilled enough to win on the world stage take on the ocean before my eyes.

I can already feel my heart lifting at the thought.

Lately, I too have been quietly preparing for something new in my own life.

And perhaps that is why this trip feels timely.

Maybe "riding your own wave" simply means learning how to move forward in your own shape, at your own rhythm.

I think I'll sit beside the sea and reflect on that for a while.

What does "east" look like in your life right now?

Perhaps somewhere ahead of you, there is also a wave waiting to be caught.

I'll bring back stories from the sea.