Introduction
When I first moved to Japan as a young woman and later became a mother, I often heard the word Ikigai. It seemed to be everywhere—on book covers in English bookstores, in TED Talks, even in conversations with my Japanese neighbors over tea. The world seemed fascinated by this mysterious word, often translated as “reason for being.” At first, I thought it was something like a clear answer you arrive at, like checking a box on a life’s to-do list: career, family, hobbies, Ikigai—done.
But the longer I lived in Japan, the more I realized how different the Japanese view actually is. Ikigai is not about reaching one perfect goal or unlocking some grand life secret. Instead, it’s a continuous journey—sometimes exciting, sometimes ordinary, and often hidden in the small corners of daily life.
In my neighborhood, I see elderly women tending to their garden every morning, carefully pulling out weeds, trimming flowers, and chatting with friends passing by. When I asked one of them if gardening was her Ikigai, she just laughed and said, “I don’t know. But it makes me smile every day.” That answer stayed with me, because it showed me that Ikigai doesn’t have to be a big thing you define once and for all. It’s about noticing and embracing the tiny sparks of joy that keep you moving forward.
As a homemaker, my life is full of repetitive tasks—cooking meals, folding laundry, helping my kids with homework. At first, I used to feel that these were just responsibilities, not meaningful pursuits. But over time, I began to realize that even in these small acts, I could find my own version of Ikigai. The smell of rice cooking, the way my children’s faces light up when I prepare their favorite miso soup, the sense of calm after the house is cleaned—these moments may seem small, but they create a rhythm of life that feels deeply fulfilling.
And yet, it’s not always easy. There are days when I feel tired, lost, or unsure of what I’m doing. On those days, I remind myself: Ikigai is not about perfection. It’s not about being happy all the time. It’s about allowing myself to pause, reflect, and ask: What brings me joy today? What matters most right now? Sometimes the answer is as simple as enjoying a walk under the cherry blossoms, or treating myself to a quiet cup of coffee before the day begins.
What I’ve learned is that Ikigai is not fixed—it evolves with us. When I was younger, my Ikigai was about learning new things, exploring, and chasing dreams. As a mother, it shifted toward raising my children and building a loving home. And I know in the future, it will change again. The beauty of Ikigai lies in this fluidity. It’s less about achieving a final state and more about continuously discovering meaning in each stage of life.
So in this blog series, I want to share not just the cultural background of Ikigai in Japan, but also how it plays out in everyday life—through small habits, personal reflections, and even struggles. My hope is that by sharing my experiences as a Japanese homemaker, readers around the world can reflect on their own journey and see that Ikigai doesn’t belong only to Japan. It belongs to anyone who is willing to look for joy, purpose, and balance in their own daily life.
✨ And here’s my invitation for you: Take a moment after reading this and ask yourself—what small thing today gave you a sense of meaning? Maybe it was the smile of your child, the aroma of fresh bread, or even just a few minutes of silence. That, too, can be your Ikigai.
Community, Culture, and the Everyday Meaning of Life
When people outside Japan talk about Ikigai, they often imagine it as a purely personal thing—something you find deep inside yourself, like a hidden treasure. But living here, I’ve discovered that Ikigai in Japan is also deeply connected to the community and the way society works. It’s not just about “me,” but about “us.”
Take for example, the mornings in my neighborhood. Every first Sunday of the month, families and elderly neighbors gather for gomi hiroi—a community clean-up. We put on gloves, pick up trash, and chat along the way. At first, I honestly thought, “Why should I spend my Sunday morning picking up garbage when I already have so much housework to do?” But then, as I saw everyone smiling, children running around with little trash bags, and older men proudly pointing out how clean the street looked afterward, I realized something important. For many of my neighbors, this small act of caring for our shared space is part of their Ikigai. It’s a ritual that brings purpose, belonging, and connection.
Japanese society has a strong sense of wa (harmony), and that harmony often shows up in daily routines. For example, my children’s school asks parents to rotate responsibilities like cleaning classrooms, organizing events, or supervising the walk-to-school route. At first, I felt it was a burden. But as I got to know the other mothers and fathers through these tasks, I noticed how much joy they took in contributing. One mom told me, “When I help with school events, I feel useful. It makes me happy to know I’m part of my children’s growth.” That sentence struck me because it showed how naturally people in Japan weave Ikigai into everyday duties—not by separating “meaningful life” from “responsibility,” but by blending them.
Another cultural aspect that shapes Ikigai is the idea of shokunin kishitsu—the craftsman’s spirit. Even in ordinary jobs, there’s pride in doing things carefully and with attention to detail. I once spoke with a local tofu maker who has been running his small shop for over 40 years. He wakes up at 4 a.m. every morning to prepare fresh tofu for the community. When I asked if he ever felt tired of doing the same thing every day, he smiled and said, “Maybe, but seeing people line up for my tofu keeps me going. This is my life.” His words reminded me that Ikigai doesn’t always come from chasing something new. Sometimes it’s found in doing the same task again and again, with love and dedication.
As a homemaker, I’ve come to notice how this mindset shapes my own daily rhythm. Cooking dinner isn’t just about feeding my family—it’s about carrying on traditions, trying recipes passed down from my mother, and creating moments where we can sit together around the table. That shared meal is not just food—it’s connection, comfort, and, in many ways, my Ikigai.
But community can also be challenging. There are times when I feel pressure to “fit in” or contribute in ways I’m not always ready for. In Japan, the expectation to be part of the group is strong, and it can feel overwhelming. Yet, even in those moments, I’ve learned that Ikigai is not about ignoring yourself to please others. It’s about finding balance—being part of something bigger while still honoring your own values and joys.
One thing I especially love about Japanese life is how small traditions turn into shared meaning. Take hanami (cherry blossom viewing). Every spring, families, coworkers, and friends gather under the blossoms with food and drinks. On the surface, it’s just a picnic. But for many Japanese people, it’s more than that. It’s a celebration of beauty, impermanence, and togetherness. Sitting under the pink flowers, sharing rice balls and laughter, I always feel a deep sense of belonging. It’s a reminder that Ikigai is not only personal reflection but also the connections we nurture with others.
Through these experiences, I’ve realized something essential: while Western interpretations of Ikigai often focus on “finding your passion” or “doing what you love,” in Japan, it’s just as much about relationships, community, and shared responsibility. The joy of being useful, the pride of contributing, the warmth of small daily interactions—all of these create layers of Ikigai that make life rich and meaningful.
And here’s the beauty—you don’t have to live in Japan to experience this. Even if you live abroad, you can create your own version of Ikigai through community. Maybe it’s volunteering at your child’s school, organizing a potluck with neighbors, or even just smiling at someone at the grocery store. Meaning doesn’t always come from grand goals; it often grows from the little ways we connect with people around us.
So as you think about your own Ikigai, I encourage you to ask:
- How does your community shape your sense of purpose?
- What small contributions make you feel useful and connected?
- Are there traditions, however simple, that bring joy and meaning to your daily life?
Ikigai is not something you discover once and then hold onto forever. It’s something you nurture, with yourself and with others, in the flow of everyday life. And just like the cherry blossoms that bloom and fade each year, it’s something you keep rediscovering, season after season.
When Ikigai Feels Out of Reach
When I first started hearing about Ikigai, especially from English books and online articles, I felt a strange kind of pressure. Everyone seemed to present it as if it were a magical formula: Find what you love, what you’re good at, what the world needs, and what you can be paid for—and that intersection is your Ikigai. It looked so neat on paper, so perfectly logical. But when I tried to apply it to my own life as a homemaker, I felt like I was failing.
I don’t earn a salary from cooking dinner or folding laundry. I don’t have a glamorous career that fits neatly into a Venn diagram. And for a while, that made me wonder: Do I even have Ikigai?
There was a period after I had my second child when this doubt grew very strong. My days were filled with diapers, sleepless nights, and endless chores. Friends around me were advancing in their careers, posting pictures of business trips abroad or exciting projects they were working on. Meanwhile, I was at home, exhausted, sometimes not even having the energy to put on proper clothes. I remember scrolling through social media late at night and thinking, Everyone else has a purpose. Why don’t I?
It was during that time that the Western idea of Ikigai—something tied to productivity, success, or recognition—felt suffocating. Instead of inspiring me, it made me feel inadequate. I thought Ikigai was supposed to be a shining light guiding my path, but it felt more like a mirror showing me what I lacked.
But slowly, through small experiences, I began to question that view. One turning point came when my neighbor, an elderly woman in her seventies, brought me homemade pickles one afternoon. She knew I was struggling with my newborn, and she simply said, “I made too much, please take some.” That tiny act of kindness lifted my mood more than she probably realized. In that moment, I thought: Maybe her Ikigai is just this—sharing what she can, when she can.
That realization made me reflect. Maybe my own Ikigai wasn’t supposed to look impressive on Instagram. Maybe it was hidden in the quiet, unseen parts of my day. Like the way my baby calmed down when I hummed a lullaby. Or the way my husband smiled when he came home to a warm meal after a long day. Or even the sense of relief I felt when the house finally became quiet at night and I could sip tea in peace.
Still, the journey wasn’t smooth. There were times I resisted the idea of finding meaning in such small things. I kept thinking, Isn’t Ikigai supposed to be bigger than this? Shouldn’t it be some grand mission? The world outside, especially in Western media, seemed to suggest that real purpose was tied to professional achievement or making a visible impact. And yet, the more I compared, the emptier I felt.
It wasn’t until I started talking to more Japanese friends—other mothers, shopkeepers, even the elderly people at the park—that I realized I wasn’t alone. Many of them didn’t describe Ikigai as a “mission statement.” Instead, they spoke about it as something alive, something that shifts with the seasons of life.
One mother said, “When my children were small, they were my Ikigai. Now they’re grown, and my Ikigai is caring for my garden.” Another told me, “Sometimes my Ikigai disappears for a while, and that’s okay. It always comes back in a new form.” Hearing these words was like a weight lifted off my shoulders.
I began to accept that it’s natural for Ikigai to feel out of reach sometimes. Life isn’t always stable; we go through exhaustion, doubt, even loss. In those seasons, forcing yourself to “find Ikigai” can make things worse. What helped me was shifting the question. Instead of asking, What is my Ikigai? I started asking, What tiny thing today gave me a reason to smile?
That change in perspective was powerful. It turned something overwhelming into something gentle, something possible. Some days the answer was “my child’s laugh,” other days it was “the smell of fresh laundry,” and sometimes it was simply “a quiet five minutes to myself.” Slowly, I realized those small answers were Ikigai.
Looking back, I see now that the mistake wasn’t mine—it was the misunderstanding that Ikigai has to be something extraordinary. The truth, at least from what I’ve lived and seen in Japan, is that Ikigai doesn’t need to be visible, measurable, or impressive. It can be invisible, private, and deeply personal. And yes, it can even disappear for a while, only to reappear when you least expect it.
So if you ever feel like Ikigai is out of reach, please know this: you’re not broken, and you’re not failing. Ikigai is not a prize at the end of a race. It’s more like a quiet companion that sometimes walks beside you and sometimes hides, waiting for you to notice it again.
And maybe, just maybe, those moments of doubt are part of the journey too. Because they teach us to look closer, to slow down, and to appreciate the little sparks of meaning that are already there.
Embracing the Journey, Not the Destination
Looking back on my years in Japan, I’ve come to understand that Ikigai is not something you “arrive at.” There’s no single moment when you can say, Yes, I’ve found it, and now I’m done. Instead, it’s a continuous journey, one that shifts and adapts as our lives change.
When I was younger, I thought my Ikigai would be tied to big dreams—learning languages, traveling the world, building a career. And in some ways, it was. Those experiences gave me energy and meaning at that time. Later, as a mother and homemaker, my Ikigai transformed into something quieter: the joy of raising my children, the comfort of family routines, the warmth of simple meals shared around the table. And I know that in the future, as my children grow and my role changes again, my Ikigai will take on new forms I cannot even imagine yet.
That’s the beauty of it: Ikigai is alive. It breathes with us, grows with us, and even rests with us during hard times. There’s no need to pressure ourselves to define it perfectly. Instead, we can learn to notice it, to nurture it, and to let it evolve naturally.
One of the most important lessons I’ve learned is that Ikigai doesn’t always appear as excitement or passion. Sometimes, it’s quiet and steady. It can be the morning walk you take to clear your mind. The conversation with a neighbor that lifts your spirit. The sense of peace you feel after tidying your home. These may seem ordinary, but when you string them together, they form the fabric of a meaningful life.
I’ve also learned that Ikigai isn’t only about the self—it’s about connection. In Japan, I’ve seen again and again how community shapes people’s sense of purpose. Whether it’s an elderly man sweeping the street every morning, a mother volunteering at school, or a craftsman perfecting his work, there’s a sense that life gains meaning when we share it with others. That has taught me to value not just my own happiness, but also the small ways I can contribute to the lives around me.
Of course, there will always be seasons when Ikigai feels blurry or far away. And that’s okay. Instead of chasing after it desperately, I’ve found comfort in trusting that it will come back in different forms. Life is not about holding onto one unchanging purpose—it’s about flowing with the seasons, like the cherry blossoms that bloom and fall each year, only to bloom again.
So here’s what I want to leave you with: Ikigai is not a finish line. It’s not a perfect formula. It’s a journey that unfolds day by day, through small joys, values, connections, and reflections. You don’t need to have all the answers right now. All you need is curiosity—the willingness to ask yourself, What matters to me today? What brings me joy right now?
For me, today, my Ikigai is writing this blog and connecting with you. Tomorrow, it might be cooking miso soup for my children or walking under autumn leaves. And for you, it might be something entirely different—and that’s the beauty of it. Each person’s Ikigai is unique, and it changes as we do.
🌱 So I invite you to take a moment right now. Ask yourself:
- What small thing gave me a sense of meaning today?
- Who or what do I feel grateful for?
- How can I bring a little more joy or connection into my tomorrow?
You don’t have to share it publicly if you don’t want to. But if you’d like, I’d love to hear about it. Share your thoughts in the comments, or simply reflect on it privately. Ikigai becomes richer when we exchange stories, because it reminds us that we’re all walking this journey together, even if our paths look different.
And if this exploration of Ikigai resonates with you, I hope you’ll subscribe to this blog. I’ll continue sharing insights from my life in Japan, weaving together cultural traditions, daily routines, and personal reflections. Together, we can keep discovering new ways to live with purpose, not as a fixed goal, but as a continuous, evolving journey.
Because at the end of the day, Ikigai is not about chasing a perfect life. It’s about living fully in the life you already have—embracing its imperfections, celebrating its small joys, and walking forward, step by step, with curiosity and gratitude.
✨ Your Ikigai doesn’t have to be extraordinary. It just has to be yours.
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