JMTS 018: Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow
How to say goodbye in Japan like a pro.
At the Kotobukian 寿庵 guesthouse on the Japanese island of Awaji, my taxi arrived. The owners of the guesthouse, a gracious middle-aged couple, kindly walked me outside, greeted the driver, and helped me get my bag in the car. We said our goodbyes and thank yous. Then, as the taxi driver closed the door, the couple began to wave.
I waved back through the window. They waved and bowed some more. I waved back some more. And as we started to drive away, I turned my head back to look, and there they were, still waving. So I kept waving, too, not that they could see me at this point, in the distance, inside the car. But we carried on like this until the taxi went round a bend and ultimately we lost sight of each other.
Mind you, I had known this couple for less than 24 hours. I'd been their guest for only one night. But they were giving me a classic Japanese send-off, an honorable farewell, or omiokuri お見送り in Japanese. And it stirred something in me. I was sincerely touched. It felt like they genuinely cared about the brief time we had shared together.
This kind of elaborate parting ritual is customary in Japan. Business and restaurant owners will often escort you to the door of their establishment, and keep waving and bowing - with unflagging enthusiasm - until you are no longer in sight. It's a way of saying "thank you for coming, and please come again soon." It's an extension of hospitality, to honor a guest's visit until the very last second. And it's a powerful way of communicating gratitude and respect.
Similarly, spend time in any train station in Japan, and you'll notice a group of friends or colleagues or members of a school club performing a prolonged farewell, slowly tearing themselves away from each other -- waving and bowing while walking backwards, very gradually increasing the distance between them, and waving and bowing some more, ad infinitum.
There's a slightly different nuance of feeling that underscores this practice among friends and family: nagori oshii 名残惜しい, or the reluctance of saying goodbye.
The expression evokes the way, upon parting, the image of someone or the memory of someone lingers in the mind for a time...and then is lost. Inevitably. It's a stab to the heart.
By drawing out a farewell, both parties honor the poignant pang of separation at the end of an enjoyable time together. Leaning into to the pain of parting fortifies mutual feelings of affection and cements an emotional bond. It heightens and beautifies the ephemeral remains of the moment.
To be honest, I've never much cared for long, drawn-out goodbyes, stuck in the doorway with my coat on, trying to make an exit just as somebody decides to launch into a story, or bring up a topic that could easily have been discussed an hour ago. When it's time to go, it's time to go.
But, lately, I've been changing my tune a bit, and trying out the omiokuri-style farewell. Seeing a friend into a cab at the end of the night. Saying goodbye on a subway platform. I linger, and start waving.
Alas, the friend doesn't know to expect a send-off, and within seconds usually gets out their phone.
But if they were to turn and look back in my direction, they'd see me wholeheartedly waving. Waving until they are no longer in sight.
How do you feel about the ritual (or pragmatic necessity) of saying goodbye? What do you love/not love? If you’ve been to Japan have you experienced an omiokuri send-off? What about elsewhere in the world? Please share your thoughts in the comments (button below), and thanks so much for being here!
👋 O genki de ne,
Still waving,
👋👋👋👋👋👋,
Still waving,
👋👋👋👋👋👋!!!
Julia Morrison
Our daughter comes home for dinner every Sunday. We were talking tonight about the “Midwestern goodbye”. She had it mastered in her early twenties. I have always enjoyed watching guests drive away rather than close the door before they’ve left the driveway. It feels more intimate and respectful.
When my parents, brother and I would drive away from my grandparents’ house in Lakeway,TX, my grandpa would stand outside and wave till we were out of sight, his face etched with emotion, anguish in his eyes and tears streaming down his face.. it was such a full-blown indication of love, pretty hard to forget for a kid – and also seemed to illuminate something mysterious about aging and life experience that I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but felt it anyway.
All of this sort of ironic because he fought in World War II, and had a friend up the road who was in the Bataan Death March — obviously strong feelings there about the Japanese. Yet, as this demonstrates – so much commonality and shared basic human emotion.