You Can't Want What You Don't Know Exists

I have been living in Japan for the past three years, and during that time, I have noticed my understanding of what’s “normal” has slowly started to unravel. Growing up, I didn’t question the unspoken rules that shaped life, what success looks like, how much of yourself you owe to others, what you should believe, and even what matters most. These weren’t things I actively decided, they were simply there, like background music I never really listened to until it stopped.

Moving abroad interrupted that soundtrack. Suddenly I was surrounded by people who approached life differently, not just in small everyday routines, but also in the deeper ways they made sense of their lives. It became impossible not to notice.

One thing I noticed was how differently religion fits into daily life. Having spent twelve years in religious school in Indonesia, faith wasn’t just present, it was deeply woven into almost everything around me. It shaped conversations, decisions, habits, and expectations. It was strong, tangible, always quietly informing how people viewed themselves and the world. Yet in Japan, I have found religion to be much less visible, less actively present in public or daily routines. It isn’t that religion doesn’t exist here, but rather that its presence feels softer, quieter, and more personal rather than culturally enforced. Observing this contrast didn’t make me question the validity of either approach, it simply allowed me to see how context shapes our assumptions.

Another shift in perspective was understanding how societies view the relationship between individuals and their communities. Japan places great value on social harmony. People are incredibly attuned to how their behavior affects the group. You see it in how quietly people move through public spaces, in the way systems are built to minimize disruption, and in how consideration seems woven into everyday life. At first, this felt distant. Over time, though, I came to admire not just the outcomes, efficient trains, peaceful streets, but also the mindset behind it.

In Indonesia, where I grew up, there’s a different balance. There’s certainly a deep sense of community and interconnectedness, yet there’s also significant room for individual expression and personal ambition. The boundaries between self and community are often blurrier and more fluid, shaped by a diverse array of factors including family, religion, education, or even global media. Of course, not everyone fits neatly into these outlines, whether in Indonesia or in Japan. The aim isn’t to generalize but simply to recognize how subtly cultural norms shape people’s decisions and behaviors.

This awareness has given rise to another insight I have come to value deeply: Sonder. Sonder describes the realization that every person around you is living a life just as rich, complicated, and thought-through as your own. When someone makes a choice you don’t understand, it doesn’t mean they’re uninformed or misguided. They are simply acting in ways shaped by their own experiences, contexts, and deeply-held values.

Understanding Sonder has softened my judgment. Now, when someone chooses a path I wouldn’t have taken, I resist labeling it as wrong or misguided. Instead, I try to appreciate the unseen complexities that led them there. The result is less judgment, more respect, and a recognition that multiple paths can be equally right, given different contexts and experiences.

That, I believe, is precisely the gift of exposure. By experiencing different ways of living, you expand your awareness and your options. You realize that your previous assumptions aren’t necessarily incorrect, they simply aren’t the only way to live. With greater exposure comes greater agency. You’re able to choose more consciously, no longer driven solely by habit or societal expectation.

Maybe you will stay true to your original cultural norms after seeing what else exists. Perhaps you will embrace something entirely new. Or maybe you will blend experiences and craft your own unique path. Whatever you decide, it will be a deliberate choice made with genuine awareness.

That ability to truly choose for yourself, consciously and knowingly, is incredibly liberating. Because, again, it comes down to something fundamental:

You can’t want what you don’t know exists.

But once you do know, you get to choose. And choosing, truly choosing, is its own kind of freedom.