The Japan Update
- Sarah Celaya
- Jan 3
- 6 min read
If you’re new here, let me give you the cliff-notes version of where we’re at in life. My wife, Morgan, our two pups (Rosie and Junior), and I recently relocated from sunny Southern California across the globe to the beautiful island of Okinawa, Japan. Sounds exciting, right? Trust me—it was. It is?
At the time of our move, Morgan was five months pregnant.
When we arrived, we were immediately humbled. Within 72 hours, we spent 24 hours in the hospital, endured a full week of torrential downpours, experienced our first tsunami warning, and—within the first month—our first earthquake. To be clear, none of these natural disasters were as dramatic as they sound. What was far more challenging was the expectation management of what life here would actually look like once we arrived.
I read military spouse blogs. I watched hours of YouTube videos about “PCSing” (permanent change of station, for those not fluent in military life). I prepared—or so I thought—for every situation, outcome, challenge, and issue that could arise. I was wrong.
Honestly, there were so many things that could have been avoided with proper communication and expectation management, but that’s the military for you. It’s not their priority.
No matter how much preparation we did, I knew some things would slip through the cracks. We can only educate ourselves with the information we’re given—by the military and by the internet. I watched hours of YouTube, read dozens of blogs, and completed all the required onboarding through the Marine Corps.
And yet… here’s where we messed up.
Our biggest mistakes:
Expectation management
Not setting up the right bank account
Traveling for an entire month before the move
Assuming our home in Japan would be much smaller than our place in SoCal
Packing like total dumbasses
Let’s dive in.
Expectation Management
I was under the impression we’d be staying at the base hotel for maybe a week—honestly, I thought even that was an exaggeration. Two days after arriving, we met a family who casually mentioned they’d “only” been there for two weeks. That was my first oh shit moment.
I went back to our room and told Morgan, confidently, “We’ll be out of here in a week if I have anything to do with it.”
Spoiler alert: I did not.
No amount of planning, organizing, emailing, or reaching out to realtors mattered. We were officially on the military’s timeline—and that timeline does not move quickly. After one week in the hotel with zero movement on our housing approval, the anxiety, fear, and anger finally set in. We were stuck. At least two weeks. During typhoon season. With daily rain and thunderstorms.
Our kitchenette was barely functional—grilled cheese and soup were about the limit. The TV wouldn’t connect to anything, so we watched everything on my laptop (which, fun fact, we’re still doing because we don’t have a TV yet). It was an adjustment I didn’t plan for and absolutely wasn’t mentally prepared to handle.
At this point, we’d already been traveling for a month around California doing our goodbye tour. I’m incredibly grateful for that time, but I was desperate for a space of our own. My usual coping mechanisms—cooking, baking, painting, housework, landscaping, swimming, bike rides, walks—were completely unavailable. Morgan was back at work within two days of arriving, and I was left trying to keep myself occupied in a totally unwalkable area.
I went to the gym. That helped. Beyond that, there wasn’t much I could do.
Driving (AKA the Thing I Was Most Afraid Of)
I didn’t expect to start driving here for at least a month. Right side of the car, left side of the road, signs in a foreign language—I was terrified. But after a few days of being trapped in the hotel, I had no choice.
I started slow, driving only on base to learn the rules of the road. Commissary runs, trips to the PX (aka on-base Walmart). After a few outings, I made the leap and drove off base.
My heart was pounding the first time I passed through those gates. And you know what?
It was so. Freaking. Easy.
Honking here is illegal unless it’s to avoid a collision. No honking at red lights. No honking because someone’s slow. Just… no honking. In the month we’ve been here, I’ve heard it twice—and both times I’m pretty sure it wasn’t locals. The emphasis here is on respect, not rushing. Life moves slower, and somehow that makes everything feel less stressful as a non-native.
Driving became the least stressful adjustment of all. Who knew.
Banking: Learn From Our Pain
If you’re PCSing to Okinawa, please read this and do not follow in our footsteps.
Set up a bank account with Navy Federal—even if you have USAA.
This was, without question, the worst communicated and most emotionally taxing oversight. If you read The Celaya Luck, you already know about our banking nightmare.
Here’s the deal: when you rent off base, you’re required to pay first month’s rent, two months’ deposit, and an agency fee—all upfront, all in cash (yen), and all within a few days. For us, that totaled close to $10,000 USD.
Because of ATM withdrawal limits ($500 every 24 hours), we nearly lost the apartment we loved. The day the payment was due, we were still short $300—and they refused to accept partial payment. No exceptions.
Does the military reimburse you? Yes… and no. They covered the agency fee and a prorated portion of the first month’s rent. The two months’ deposit? That’s on us—and we fully expect to never see that money again.
In Japan, there’s no “normal wear and tear.” You return the apartment in exactly the condition it was in when you signed the lease. No scuffs. No holes. No scratches. No stains. We knew this going in and accepted it, but it still stings.
Moral of the story: save, save, save if you plan to live off base. It’s incredibly expensive upfront, even if it evens out over time.
Don’t Assume the Size of Your Home
You don’t know where—or how—you’ll be living until after you arrive. You aren’t even legally allowed to sign a lease for about 1–1.5 weeks once you’re on island.
We assumed we’d be downsizing significantly. We stored our larger furniture and bought smaller pieces in preparation.
We were very wrong.
Our apartment here is 2200 square feet—double the size of our 1100-square-foot home in San Diego. That meant unexpected furniture expenses almost immediately. Thankfully, thrifting here is next level, and I’ve found some truly incredible pieces (I’m obsessed).
My advice: if you have furniture you wouldn’t mind selling once you arrive, bring it. Facebook Marketplace is huge here, and American-sized furniture is hard to find. If it doesn’t work in your space, you will be able to sell it.
Pack Smart (We Did Not)
We packed only a third of our allotted weight—four large crates. We thought we were being minimal and smart.
We were not.
We’ve since purchased furniture, replaced hundreds of pounds of gym equipment, and shipped expensive area rugs from mainland Japan because they’re nearly impossible to find here.
If I could do it again, here’s what I’d bring:
Weights & Gym Equipment Dumbbells, specifically. They’re rare, overpriced, and sell out instantly. Yes, there’s a free military gym—but it’s crowded, stinky, and full of service members (as expected). Hard pass for me. A home gym is the move.
Area Rugs We left behind beautiful rugs because we assumed our place would be too small. Wrong. Hardwood floors are standard here due to humidity, and rugs are essential for soundproofing. Bring them—you can always resell.
Floor Lamps They do not exist here. Table lamps? Sure. Floor lamps? Absolutely not. If you care about mood lighting (same), bring them.
Large Dog Beds Dogs here are tiny. The beds are not built for American-sized pups. Bring the good ones.
Mixtiles > 3m hooks They don’t work here due to the humidity. At all. If you want to hang art without losing your deposit, look into Mixtiles (not sponsored—just obsessed). Ship them with your HHG.
If nothing else, let our mistakes be your roadmap. Or at least your warning label.
Okinawa has been equal parts overwhelming and beautiful, frustrating and grounding. We didn’t arrive ready—but we arrived willing. And for now, that’s enough.
More to come. Always.
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