Itinerant Digital Practices versus Regional Establishment: Why Aomori Was My Choice for JapanInsider

By: Zakari Watto | December 27, 2025

Why I chose to settle in Aomori: a native perspective on work, belonging, and what truly matters.

Introduction

People asked why I stopped traveling. The answer isn't complicated, I just got tired of being nowhere.

For fifteen years, I did cross-cultural work. Different countries, different languages, always translating something. It was fine. I was good at it. But one day I realized I didn't know any place deeply. I had stories from everywhere and roots nowhere.

I chose to move to Aomori, not for content or a story, but to live authentically in a real community. The outcome surprised both myself and others.

The Problem With Always Moving

Constant travel allows you to avoid challenges. If winter is cold, you leave by spring. If neighbors are difficult, you can move in a few months. If work becomes monotonous, a new city offers renewed energy.

While this lifestyle may seem liberating, it is ultimately a form of avoidance. After several years, I realized I was only skimming the surface of each place and taking photos, collecting stories, and leaving before forming genuine connections.

Superficial understanding can feel satisfying, creating the illusion of being cosmopolitan. However, without sufficient time, you miss what truly matters to people. You do not witness the contrast between tourist experiences and daily life, nor do you see the seasons, relationships, and authentic community dynamics that require time to appreciate.

Why Aomori, Specifically

Growing up in Okinawa, in the Ryukyu Islands, the traditional monarchy capital with its own distinct culture and history. Growing up in Naha meant understanding something deeper than typical Japan. Okinawan culture is rooted and complex, with traditions that run deep into the centuries. But I still have my home there, and I still return.

When I moved to Aomori, I wasn't escaping Okinawa. I was choosing another region with that same depth of tradition, that same refusal to be generic. Both Okinawa and Aomori resist the flattened "Japan" that gets exported to the world. Both have their own dialects, their own practices, their own way of doing things that doesn't match Tokyo's version.

Aomori is not a well-known destination. People visit because they live here or seek a deeper understanding of Japan. Aomori's traditions differ from those of my upbringing, and I wanted to experience another layer of Japanese culture from within, as I had in Okinawa. The local dialect is distinct, and traditions are practiced as part of daily life, not for tourists. The Nebuta Festival, for example, is a longstanding summer tradition, not a performance.

The people in Aomori are also distinct. They are unaccustomed to outsiders and may be cautious initially, but they are sincere. Once accepted, you are treated as a member of the community rather than a guest. I sought a place where authenticity is required, much like in Okinawa.

Building Real Relationships Takes Time

In the West, relationships are transactional. You exchange value, you move on. That's not how it works here. I understood this growing up in Okinawa, and I knew it would be the same in Aomori, just different in execution.

The first year in Aomori, I wasn't productive. By Western metrics, I was wasting time. I went to a neighborhood event. I helped with things nobody paid me for. I learned their names and stories. I made mistakes with the dialect and people corrected me gently. I showed up even when there was nothing to gain, because showing up was the only way to become part of the community.

Slowly, people stopped treating me as the foreign person who moved here. I just became the person who moved here. That distinction matters more than you'd think. It's the difference between being tolerated and being included.

Now, when I undertake projects, people assist because they know me as a community member, not as a visitor. This trust is more valuable than any network built through strategic relationships, yet it is fragile. If I stop participating or caring about the community beyond my business interests, that trust disappears. Living in one place creates accountability that travel cannot provide.

Language Becomes Real When You Live Somewhere

You can study Japanese in Tokyo without truly understanding it. In Aomori, language is a tool for daily life. The local dialect differs from both Okinawan and standard Japanese, as do the topics and manner of conversation. These nuances cannot be learned from textbooks; they are acquired through immersion, listening, and learning from mistakes.

My Japanese got better not because I was trying harder, but because I needed it to function. I needed to understand what the elderly woman at the grocery store was saying. I needed to communicate with neighbors about things that mattered to them, about snow removal, about community events, about the small concerns of daily life that nobody puts in language textbooks.

That necessity changed everything about how I understand language and culture. It's not academic anymore. It's just living. And when language is just living, you absorb the logic beneath the words; the way people think about time, about relationships, about what's important. That's something you can't get from any course or any amount of travel.

You Can't Rush the Seasons

In Aomori, winter is serious. Snow fills the streets. It's cold and difficult and long. I came from Okinawa, where winter means you wear a light jacket sometimes. Aomori's winter is a completely different experience.

If you're traveling through, you avoid winter or you endure it as a tourist experience, something to survive and then talk about. If you live here, you experience it as a person and figure out how to live in it, learning how people have adapted their lives, understanding why certain things are built the way they are, why certain practices exist. You see how communities prepare, what they prioritize, what they're willing to sacrifice.

Spring holds new meaning after enduring Aomori's winter, and summer feels well-earned. The Nebuta Festival is not merely entertainment; it is a celebration of overcoming hardship, rooted in genuine emotional and cultural need. This significance is lost on those who only visit briefly.

Understanding a place requires experiencing it over time, including its challenges. Being present for both difficult and convenient periods allows for a deeper appreciation of the culture.

Work Means Something Different When You're Accountable

When traveling, your work targets distant audiences. When based in a community, your work also serves local residents. This is a fundamental shift in perspective.

JapanInsider serves a global audience, but it also operates within Aomori, among people I know and a community I belong to. This influences both the content and its creation. I cannot write about Aomori's crafts without knowing the craftspeople, nor address local concerns without deep understanding. It is essential to give back to the community that provides these stories.

This is not about virtue signaling, but about accountability. Living in a community means witnessing the direct impact of your work. The individuals whose stories you share are part of your daily life and remember how their stories are used. This responsibility leads to higher standards in your work.

Stability Actually Enables Better Work

The nomadic lifestyle suggests that movement brings freedom. However, I found that stability offers a different kind of freedom—the ability to think, create meaningful work, and build lasting projects. Without the constant logistical challenges of moving, there is more mental space for substantive work.

Stable relationships with collaborators who understand your work enable projects to progress more efficiently. Familiarity with local routines and costs allows for better planning, eliminating the need to constantly adapt or reintroduce yourself.

The efficiency lost through constant movement is regained in higher quality output, completed with greater thoughtfulness and deeper integration. Time saved on logistics is invested in depth, which ultimately makes the work more meaningful.

Technology Doesn't Replace Being Somewhere

I can reach global audiences from Aomori as effectively as from any major city. The Nebuta Festival, for example, can be documented and shared worldwide from here. The key difference is that my writing is grounded in direct experience rather than memory or secondary research.

Technology connects me globally, while living here connects me to the material I work with. Both are important, but neither is sufficient on its own. Combining deep local knowledge with global reach produces stronger work, and this is only possible by staying in one place long enough to develop that knowledge.

When the Quiet Doesn't Mean Nothing Happens

Aomori is quieter than Tokyo, with less noise and fewer dramatic moments. However, depth is found in this quiet. Understanding culture involves observing subtle patterns, daily habits, and problem-solving approaches, which only become apparent when you slow down and pay attention.

Work created with this level of attention is more valuable and authentic. Audiences recognize the difference between content from someone deeply engaged and that from a transient visitor. Aomori's slower pace encourages careful observation, and genuine understanding requires time.

I'm Here Because This Is Where the Work Is

My decision to settle in Aomori was practical rather than philosophical. Here, I can engage in meaningful cross-cultural work. Bridging understanding between Japan and the West requires someone with experience in both cultures who is willing to live deeply in one and translate that experience honestly to the other.

This is the work to which I am committed. It requires remaining in one place and engaging in the often unglamorous process of belonging. This involves being present for both routine and significant events, building relationships that may not offer immediate professional benefits, and caring about the community beyond professional interests.

While traveling, I was often regarded as a knowledgeable visitor who would eventually leave. I am simply a resident writing about my experiences. This approach is less romantic but more honest, and it is this honesty that gives the work its value.

About the Author

I am a native Japanese speaker from Naha, in the Ryukyu Islands, Okinawa, the traditional capital of Japan's monarchy. My upbringing emphasized the importance of regional identity. I maintain my home in Naha and return regularly. With fifteen years of cross-cultural communication experience, I have worked internationally and gained diverse perspectives. Seeking to deepen my understanding of another traditional region, I moved to Aomori Prefecture while keeping my roots in Okinawa. I now run JapanInsider from Aomori, working with the local community and writing from the perspective of someone living between these two worlds.

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2025-12-27