The Japanese Friendship Garden

Phoenix, Arizona

The Japanese Friendship Garden was almost an afterthought. I overheard someone mention it in my hotel lobby and decided to go. I had no agenda set in stone—which is absolutely perfect for Phoenix. I let the city decide what to show me.

I didn’t even take out my journal that morning. I didn’t write a single word. And yet, that experience remains one of my most vivid memories. I can still close my eyes and see the reflective water, feel the hot, light breeze moving across my face. I can see the bright, blood-orange orb of the sun and feel its radiance settling over every part of me. I can even smell the trees. It was a beautiful, welcoming piece of the city—one that asked nothing of me except presence.

As I entered the garden that day, it immediately whispered something into my spirit that I still can’t fully explain. The atmosphere inspired reverence without demanding it. That was simply the vibe. The voice of tumbling water called the songbirds into choir. The koi roiled the surface of still ponds, as if trying to listen. And I stood there, joyfully taking it all in, while the Arizona sun presided over everything.

I sat on a bench for a while, staring at water lilies so vivid they could easily have inspired Monet himself. Smaller fish schooled in the shallows, darting in and out of shadow. Water spilled gently over rocks a few yards away. A duck paddled past. It felt profoundly affirming that a city of 1.6 million people was mindful enough to create—and protect—a space like this. A place that recognized people needed it.

I needed it.

I walked the paths, touched the trees, inhaled the warm, fragrant, healing air. I passed others, and we all smiled, but no one spoke. Words weren’t necessary. I found myself wishing I could know their stories—and wondering whether the garden was whispering the same things to all of us. Shared space. Community, unforced. Presence without pretense.

I didn’t realize how much baggage I had been carrying until this city—this garden, in particular—very kindly, very gently, began to help me hold it. For so long I had been burdened with case after case of insecurity, fear, loneliness, and doubt that the weight simply felt like part of me. But the intense, inspiring sun began to lighten them. Then the warm desert breeze slowly swept them away.
More freedom.

I hope that everyone fortunate enough to visit this literal urban oasis will leave their worries outside the gates. And the ones you feel you must carry in with you? Give this sacred space permission to take them. Allow it to fill you with the strength to let them go.