How to find balance with the ancient Japanese principle of chowa

One of the truly great pleasures in life, for me at least, is picking up a book and unexpectedly discovering between its pages the exact wisdom or comfort you need at that very moment. So it was for me when I picked up The Power of Chowa by Akemi Tanaka (Headline, £12.99) at the beginning of October. Lifestyle guides based on Japanese philosophies and culture have been everywhere for the past decade but if you took Marie Kondo’s controversial advice earlier this year and threw away all your books, then perhaps you have a little room for this one.

As it is written in Japanese, chowa is a word consisting of two symbols. The first, cho, means “search”. The second, wa, means “balance”. So, at its simplest chowa means a search for balance. A striving for harmony.

Tanaka grew up in Japan but now lives in London, where she teaches Japanese culture and etiquette. She is descended from a family of 15th-century samurai and their historical sense of valour and chivalry punctuates her work. What makes chowa seem so relevant for now, however, is that it isn’t just about personal improvement. It’s also about what each of us can give to the world.

In The Power of Chowa Tanaka tackles sustainability, climate change and the #MeToo movement. She asks how we can bring about positive changes in our wider communities. And she walks the talk. In 2011, she was given a “Points of Light” award by the British government for her charity work in aid of the orphans of the 2011 tsunami. If you’re not ready to change the world, the chowa philosophy can be easily applied at home. Tanaka divides her exploration of chowa into three parts: finding your own balance, living in harmony with others, and balancing what’s most important. At the beginning of October, I chose a chapter from each section to live by for a few days.

The first was “Finding our style” and it concentrated on clothes. Why do we dress the way we do? How do our clothes make us feel? What do they say about us? Tanaka talks of wearing a kimono that once belonged to her grandmother. The design incorporates a dragonfly. The dragonfly is revered in martial arts for having a 360-degree field of vision – a valuable asset for any samurai. Tanaka writes: “Whenever I feel that I need to ready myself for an important event, one in which I have to be at my most alert, I wear this kimono. It helps me feel rooted and stable, a little like my grandmother is protecting me.”

I don’t have any hand-me-downs from my mother or grandmothers, alas. I’m at least half a metre too tall for that. But as I read about Tanaka’s dragonfly kimono, the power of symbolism in clothing was being echoed in the news. It was a week in which my Facebook and Instagram feeds were full of people proudly wearing the newly delivered spider brooches they’d ordered in honour of Lady Hale, first woman justice of the supreme court, who delivered that court’s blistering judgment on Boris Johnson’s prorogation of parliament. Her spider brooch, which seemed to be a nod to Sir Walter Scott’s couplet, “Oh what a tangled web we weave / When first we practice to deceive”, quickly spawned a thousand memes and a lucrative line of T-shirts. Judging by my friends’ posts, the symbolism of the spider was helping them feel better about the tangled situation in Westminster.

Thinking of Tanaka’s dragonfly and Lady Hale’s spider, I dug out my own lucky brooch: a lobster embroidered in sapphire blue thread with tiny pearl beads for eyes. Pinning it on to a jumper always makes me smile. It sparks conversation, even if a lot of the time, people ask if I’m a Scorpio when they see it. “Style is sharing what you love with others,” says Tanaka. “When we start to lead with what we feel makes us different from others – even with what we feel makes us unique – this can actually help us find our tribe…”

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My lobster brooch is hardly daring but I think Tanaka is right that little flashes of personality in our clothing are important when it comes to welcoming the right people into our lives. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that my sister’s decision to dye her hair bright pink coincided with her embarking on a new career in mental health care for young people. As Tanaka puts it: “When we lead with what makes us different, we send a powerful outward sign of inner commitment to others: that we will accept what makes other people different too.”

It’ll be a while before you see me with primary coloured hair, but my wardrobe contained other opportunities to get chowa. Regarding living in harmony with others, in “Finding Our Balance with Nature”, Tanaka introduces the concept of Mottainai, which translates as “no waste”.

“How would a society in which we always repaired or replaced items, rather than buying new ones, work in practice?” Tanaka asks.

My neighbourhood seems to be moving in the right direction. Taking my favourite boots to be reheeled for the fifth winter running, I fell into conversation with Danny the cobbler, who reported that business is booming. “People aren’t just throwing shoes away like they used to.” Maybe it’s economic uncertainty but maybe it’s a change of priorities. New isn’t always better. There is something wonderful about reheeled shoes that don’t have to be broken in. Wabi-sabi – finding beauty in imperfection and even in decay – is part of the chowa way of things too.

In the very last chapter of her book, “Treasuring Every Meeting”, which forms part of the section on balancing what’s most important, Tanaka describes the famous Japanese tea ceremony, which she herself practises as a “masterclass in mindfulness and gratitude”.

Tanaka also introduces the concept of ichi-go, ichi-e. One time, one meeting. “This short phrase encourages us to appreciate each moment as it happens ... We don’t know what tomorrow will bring. In the age of the samurai, the tea ceremony was practised with the knowledge that anyone in attendance, particularly samurai, could leave the room never to return.”

On the day I read about the tea ceremony, I received the news that a friend’s father had died. As I remembered the quiet, kind man who was endlessly forbearing as we teenagers sprawled about his home, it brought to mind a wider loss. I am of the age where many of my contemporaries are saying goodbye to their parents. The generation above us is thinning out and fading away. Thirty years after our parents shuttled us around rural Gloucestershire to 18th birthday parties, we are finally becoming “the grown-ups”. And sometimes that’s scary.

As one might expect, Tanaka has chowa wisdom for the autumn of life too. “Living our lives mindful of chowa teaches us that the search for balance is an active one… You may feel like there’s nothing you can do about growing older… We worry about what we are going to do with the rest of our lives, and about what we will leave behind. But we need to remember that, as we grow older, we never stop learning. We grow into acceptance… We grow into fearlessness… We grow closer to one another.” We realise that there’s just this one time.

With Tanaka’s words in mind, I made a plan right then to meet up with another childhood friend ASAP. The Japanese tea ceremony is a ritual of unparalleled elegance. Sharing a cuppa in a south London cafe doesn’t have quite the same class, but it has the same intention of reaffirming friendship and connection.

Slowing down, noticing beauty and creating a little beauty of your own. Thinking about how your actions affect those around you. Seeking harmony. They’re all worthwhile goals. Though it draws on the ancient and arcane, The Power of Chowa feels like a good guide for this moment in time, when bad manners seem to be everywhere and taking more care of the planet is an emergency. Following Tanaka’s wisdom is an easy way to start making life feel just a little more balanced.