Every time I arrive in Japan, it’s in the afternoon or later. By the time the plane touches down, my body is already behind. I don’t sleep on flights — never have been able to — so I arrive carrying that familiar mix of exhaustion and adrenaline. The kind where your eyes feel heavy but your mind is wide open, taking everything in whether you want it to or not.
Jet lag hits fast, but I’ve learned not to fight it on that first night in Japan.
There’s a rhythm I fall into almost instinctively now. Clear immigration. Pick up my bags. Navigate my way into the city via shuttle or UBER. Everything still feels slightly unreal, like I’m moving through a place I recognize but haven’t quite stepped into yet. Signs blur together. Conversations float past me. My body is tired, but something else has taken over.
I’ve made it.
No matter how many times I return, that realization always lands the same way. Quiet, steady, undeniable.
Once I get to the hotel and drop my bags, there’s one rule I follow without exception: I find a good meal. Not a “best of” spot, not something I saw online — just something nearby that feels right. Sitting down to eat on that first night does more than fill the gap left by airplane food and long hours. It grounds me into the reality that I’m back in the country that has taken my heart.
The noise fades. The day becomes real.
There’s comfort in that first meal. Warm food, simple choices, the sound of plates and low conversation around me. Even when I’m too tired to fully register every detail, I feel myself settling. Japan has a way of doing that — welcoming you without ceremony, without fanfare, just by existing as it always does.
After eating, there’s one more stop I always make.
FamilyMart.
It’s almost funny how consistent this ritual has become. No matter the city, no matter the neighborhood, that late-night stop feels essential. I wander the aisles slowly, half-awake, picking out familiar snacks and drinks I’ve missed. Things I don’t need but want anyway. Items that instantly make me feel like I’m back where I belong.
There’s something comforting about that moment — standing under bright lights, holding a basket with too many snacks, knowing I don’t need to rush anywhere. The trip has officially started, even if my body hasn’t caught up yet.
By the time I make it back to the hotel, the exhaustion finally settles in. But it’s different from the kind you feel at home. This tiredness comes with relief. With gratitude. With the quiet satisfaction of knowing the hardest part — the waiting, the traveling, the long hours in between — is over.
I’m back in Japan.
That first night is never about doing much. It’s about arrival. About letting the day end naturally instead of forcing it into something productive. I might step outside briefly, just to feel the air and see the city glow at night. Neon lights, passing trains, people moving with purpose while I move slowly.
Despite the jet lag, despite the exhaustion, there’s a deep sense of comfort that settles in. A feeling I don’t try to analyze in the moment because it doesn’t need explaining. It’s enough to feel it.
That first night never looks impressive on paper. No landmarks, no highlights, no perfect photos. But it matters more than most moments that come after it. It sets the tone. It reminds me why I came back. Why I’ll keep coming back.
The first night in Japan always feels different.
And somehow, that feeling never gets old.
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