Skip to main content

Flourishing with 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.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Accounting for the Invisible

It is once more that time of year — the season for gathering documents, for preparing the annual offering to the revenue gods. Tedious, draining, bureaucratic. Yes, all of that. But it is also a curious interval of observation, a quiet adjustment of memory’s lens. After all, the past year — or at least its more tangible husk — lies partially inscribed in these papers. I say partially, for what is captured on the page is a witness of uneven fidelity. Absent are the details, the reasons, the delicate chain of responsibility. The numbers are all there: the income, the transactions, the movement of capital. But backstage remains hidden — the weight of effort, the hush of a conscience at peace. What is left is a pale suggestion of something more vital — this elusive current we call money. Energy transmuted, but only faintly traceable. A flicker of something once vivid, now flattened by ink and deadlines. And so I sift through the papers. Not merely to comply, but to remember. To...

Research shows that parental warmth shapes our worldview — how might acupuncture offer a reparative experience in adulthood?

  It is becoming increasingly clear that our worldview — whether we perceive life as welcoming or hostile — is shaped far more by the emotional bonds of early childhood than by material hardship or environmental risk. A recent study, published in Child Development , revealed that an adult’s sense of safety, beauty, and benevolence in the world is deeply rooted in the warmth received from parental figures — more so than in their exposure to poverty or danger. This finding resonated with me on a personal level. Time and again, I encounter patients in clinical practice who, despite being outwardly successful and high-functioning, carry an abiding sense that the world is cold, fragmented, even threatening. In acupuncture sessions, it is not uncommon to witness how such emotional imprints — stored not only in the mind, but also in the body — manifest as chronic anxiety, diffuse pain, insomnia, or emotional detachment. Through the lens of Chinese medicine, these states reflect imbalances...

What Strength Truly Means: A Letter to Men

There exists, hidden in the quiet undercurrents of our culture, a grand illusion: that manhood is synonymous with silence, that strength demands the concealment of pain, and that the measure of a man is his ability to endure without faltering. Such ideas pass through generations like whispered codes, accepted without question, repeated without reflection. And yet, when held to the light of reason, they wither like old parchment, for they are not truths, but relics of fear. It must be said — and said without apology — that you are allowed to speak of what has wounded you. To give voice to pain is not to surrender to it, but to name it, to limit its dominion. Silence may seem noble in the moment, but over time it hardens into a cage. Words, carefully chosen and honestly spoken, are the first instruments of freedom. You are allowed to weep — not as an act of collapse, but as a testament to your humanity. Tears are not the language of the weak; they are the body's recogniti...