The Hidden Journey: What Cicadas and My Grandfather Taught Me About Life
Imagine yourself putting in decades of continuous effort, alone and unseen, and ending up with an absolutely stunning performance that lasted for a week. How does that sound to you?
Decades of unseen work traded for a week’s performance? That doesn’t sound very fair, you might say. Well, that is how cicadas live their lives. For years, up to two decades in some species, cicadas live underground, developing and growing in solitude. In the dark, they patiently feed on tree roots, hidden from the world. When they finally emerge, their time above ground is brief but intense, filled with vibrant song and the fulfillment of their purpose.
Cicadas are considered a summer icon in Japan. Japanese people are captivated by the cicada’s song not only because it marks the arrival of summer but also because it embodies the philosophical theme of finding beauty in the transience of life. The ephemeral nature of their song echoes the fleeting yet beautiful moments we experience in our own lives.
It’s not surprising that cicadas appear in various literary and artistic works. In tanka, “The evening moon, born and dying, the sound of cicadas,” we see the brevity and beauty of existence. Haiku, such as Basho’s “The cicada sings, even as it sings, time flows on,” invites us to be present in the moment while acknowledging the inexorable flow of time. Cicadas are depicted in all kinds of Japanese paintings, both ancient and modern, often symbolizing the transient beauty of life.
Listening to the cicadas’ persistent song outside my window, I start to ponder the long period of time they spend underground. This reflection brings me to my grandfather. He dedicated his life to writing for the stage, spending countless hours in solitude, crafting stories that would only be shared briefly with an audience. Tragically, we lost him early in a fire that also claimed all his manuscripts. Yet, it’s not the loss that resonates with me and my family. Instead, we cherish the memories of playing in the rooftop garden he tended with love, the recipes he created, and the wine he carefully chose to complement his meals. These moments are etched in my memory, much like the cicada’s song that lingers in the summer air. His legacy, much like the cicada’s song, lives on in these cherished moments and the values he instilled in us.
For my grandfather, the years spent writing were not lonely or boring. They were filled with passion, care, and purpose, much like the cicadas’ time underground. Every script he wrote, every plant he nurtured, and every meal he prepared were expressions of his dedication and love. These activities brought him joy and fulfillment, making his journey rich and meaningful, despite the unseen nature of his efforts.
For the cicadas, the years spent underground are not a boring wait but a vital part of their journey. The nourishment they gather and the growth they achieve all contribute to their eventual emergence and brief, yet intense, time in the sun. The journey itself is part of the reward, filled with purpose and quiet fulfillment.
Just as the cicadas’ song fills the summer air with their brief yet powerful presence, my grandfather’s impact on our lives continues to resonate. Both remind us that the journey, filled with unseen effort and dedication, is as significant as the fleeting moments of brilliance it produces.
In the end, the cicada’s life and my grandfather’s legacy both highlight that long periods of unseen effort can lead to moments of profound impact. And perhaps, the journey itself, filled with growth, preparation, and quiet dedication, is as rewarding as the brief moments of fulfillment we ultimately achieve.
As Søren Kierkegaard said, “Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.”
