Ikigai

Life is not just an equation to be solved. In fact, life is no equation at all. Because living escapes any exact calculation, it slips through the fingers, vanishes into corners. What remains? What disappears? I don’t know. But there is a point where everything converges: what we love, what we know, what the world needs, and what keeps us standing. The Japanese call it ikigai – a beautiful name for something that often has no name.

And where do we find this point? Is it in a sudden flash of enlightenment, a spark in the middle of the day? Or is it built slowly, like someone stitching their own skin without realising it? I know that some spend their whole lives searching and never find it – perhaps because they expect a bright light, a visible sign, a message written in the sky. But purpose does not shout. It whispers. And one must be silent to hear it.

Childhood tells us we can be anything. But time, oh, time... it narrows us, prunes our excesses, fits us into moulds. Work. Produce. Earn money. But don’t forget to be happy. How, when happiness is always somewhere ahead? And now, what do I do with this thirst for meaning?

Ikigai is not static. It is not a fixed point on a map. It moves as we walk. Today, it may be in work, in art, in touch. Tomorrow, it may be something else, because we change, the world changes. The important thing is to keep feeling that something beats, that something calls, that something, however small, makes sense.

And what is the point of waking up every day without a soul in what we do? And of everything, a little remains... but what remains? Time wears down hands, ideas, promises. Only what is true endures. The rest, the wind takes away.

Perhaps purpose is this: not a final destination, but a way of walking. A way of existing without letting life pass by unnoticed. It is opening our eyes and knowing that, even without applause, something in us connects to the world. Something blooms.