The Future is Already Here (and it's in Japan)

My glasses broke the day before we left for Japan. A 14-hour flight with no reading or TV? Shit. I glued the frame and taped the arm together, hoping it would hold.

After arriving, I walked into a Zoff, an eyeglasses kiosk in a department store. I had no prescription, but the technician measured my old lenses to match. I picked a frame and asked when I could pick them up.

"About an hour," she said.

No rush job or upcharge. Just the normal process. We walked around, returned in 45 minutes, and my new glasses were ready. They cost $70.

In the US, this takes days. I'd always assumed a lab had to grind the lenses and ship them back. Apparently not.

That moment set the trip's tone. The shrines and ramen were wonderful, but the feeling that ordinary life in Japan runs slightly ahead was what fascinated me.

Customs was the first clue. I scanned my passport, the camera blinked, and an officer stamped me through. At later checkpoints, a camera just matched my face and waved me on.

U.S. customs offered a funny contrast. An agent handed me a laminated piece of paper to prove I had been cleared, its edges worn from thousands of hands. Its label read "Mobile App”. It made me smile. I carried this card while I picked up my checked bag, then handed it to another agent on my way out. No facial recognition, just a cumbersome piece of paper.

Getting around the city was simple. I loaded a Suica transit card onto my phone, and it worked on every train in Tokyo, Osaka, and Kyoto. It even worked in taxis and laundry machines. One card, everywhere. In the U.S., every city uses a different transit card, and most systems feel years behind. The Japanese commuter trains themselves ran quieter, smoother, and faster. Beyond the machinery, people made clean lines and waited for every passenger to exit before stepping on. No mobbing of the doors that I'm used to.

The taxis were also smooth. When you walk up, the rear door swings open automatically. When you leave, it shuts behind you. You never touch a handle.

Even checking into the hotel was nicer. We didn’t have to wait in line for the one staff member to type my name into the computer. We just scanned our passports at a kiosk, grabbed our keys, and headed up. A staff member stood nearby, but we didn't need them.

In the room, the legendary toilets awaited. Heated seats, bidets, controls on the armrest. Every hotel had one. No one sits on a heated toilet seat and thinks, "I wish it was cold", and yet they remain rare in the United States.

Beyond the obvious tech, there were small niceties. At home, our sliding doors rattle on janky tracks and bathroom doors thud closed, but here, doors were caught a couple inches from the frame by a motor that eased them shut. The drawers did the same. I'm a bit like a bull in a china shop and this tech saved me from myself. Even the hair dryer had a sensor to prevent heat damage. Out at restaurants, there were small bins beside the table so my bag never had to touch the floor.

The same care was everywhere. Japan has almost no public trash cans, yet the sidewalks were clean. Everyone just carries their own trash home. The trains and streets at home feel dirty by comparison.

No single piece was mind blowing. Heated toilet seats, one-hour eyeglasses, facial recognition, soft-close doors, a universal transit card. All of it felt achievable. Obvious, even. We have the money and engineering in the U.S. to do all this, but we don’t. Our transit cards don't talk to each other and our airport security still relies on pieces of laminated paper.

I don't know why there's a gap. I just know that for one week, life felt like it worked better. Not because it was exotic, but because I got eyeglasses in an hour and the toilet seat wasn't cold.