Tired of feeling like you’re constantly chasing a moving target? Imagine a life where ‘success’ feels less like a struggle and more like a state of being. This story will guide you through a powerful process of unlearning to finally achieve personal and professional fulfillment on your own terms.
When I first moved back to Japan after spending some time abroad, I thought I already knew what “success” meant. Success was about achievement: landing a stable job, working hard, and checking off the boxes of what society expects. It was about effort, about not stopping until you reached the next goal. But the longer I lived here as a wife and mother, the more I realized that my definition of success didn’t match the rhythm of life around me in Japan—and sometimes, not even my own heart.
Japan has a fascinating way of blending tradition with modern life. On one hand, there’s this strong cultural narrative around perseverance—gaman (endurance) and ganbaru (to do one’s best) are deeply woven into everyday life. On the other hand, there’s also an appreciation for balance, for finding beauty in small moments, like sipping tea in the afternoon sun or admiring cherry blossoms that bloom only for a short while.
At first, I felt torn between these two worlds. I saw friends and neighbors working long hours, some of them barely making it home in time to say goodnight to their kids. In conversations, there was often an unspoken assumption that working hard—even at the expense of personal well-being—was admirable. And yet, when I chatted with local mothers at the park or with elderly women at the market, I discovered another perspective: that life isn’t only about striving endlessly, but about living meaningfully day by day.
This contrast hit me hard. Back in my early days here, I constantly felt like I wasn’t doing enough. I compared myself to others—my Japanese friends who seemed to juggle housework, child-rearing, and part-time jobs with grace. I worried about whether I was contributing enough to my family, whether I was “productive” enough, whether my choices aligned with what society thought was acceptable.
But slowly, through small encounters, I began to see another side of Japanese society: a quiet but powerful way of living where “success” isn’t measured by how far you climb or how busy you are, but by whether your daily life feels balanced, connected, and meaningful.
I remember one afternoon, standing outside hanging laundry. My elderly neighbor, who often stopped by to chat, looked at me and said, “Isn’t it nice, the sound of the wind today?” At first, I didn’t think much of it. But later, I realized she wasn’t just making small talk. She was pointing out something I had overlooked—that there’s value in pausing, in noticing, in appreciating. In that moment, her words stayed with me longer than any lecture about hard work or achievement.
That was the beginning of my shift. Instead of seeing success as something far away—a moving target I had to chase—I started asking myself: What does success look like for me, right here, right now, in my everyday Japanese life?
And that’s where this journey begins.
Understanding the Social Blueprint of Success
When I began to look more closely at how success is defined in Japan, I realized it wasn’t just about individual ambition. It was about the social blueprint—the invisible set of expectations and unwritten rules that shape how people live, work, and even raise families here.
Growing up, many Japanese children are taught the importance of fitting in, working hard, and not causing trouble for others. There’s a phrase you’ll hear often: “Deru kugi wa utareru”—“The nail that sticks out gets hammered down.” It’s a saying that reflects how strongly society values harmony. On the surface, this can sound restrictive, but in reality, it also creates a sense of belonging. Success isn’t just about “me.” It’s about how well you fulfill your role within the larger group—your family, your company, your community.
I noticed this most clearly after I became a mother in Japan. At my child’s kindergarten, there was an unspoken rhythm that every parent seemed to follow. Mothers prepared handmade bento lunches that looked like works of art. Fathers worked long hours but made a point to attend sports festivals or entrance ceremonies, even if it meant taking a rare day off. There was a sense that being a “good parent” wasn’t only about your own child’s happiness, but also about contributing to the group’s smooth functioning—showing up on time, participating in school events, and supporting other families.
At first, I felt overwhelmed. I remember spending hours trying to make a cute lunchbox with rice shaped like animals because I thought that’s what was expected of me. I compared myself constantly, and in doing so, I felt smaller and smaller. But I also began to see the beauty in this collective approach. Parents helped each other out, sharing extra supplies, offering advice, and even stepping in to watch another child if someone was running late. Success, in this sense, wasn’t about being the best—it was about being reliable, dependable, and part of a supportive circle.
This collective mindset extends far beyond family life. In Japanese workplaces, for example, long working hours aren’t only about productivity. They are a signal: “I am committed. I am part of the team.” Even if it means staying late after finishing your tasks, showing solidarity by being present carries its own weight. This can be exhausting, of course, and it has sparked a lot of debate in recent years about karoshi—death from overwork. But it also reveals how deeply success here is tied to social contribution rather than just personal achievement.
I once asked a Japanese friend what success meant to her. She paused and said, “It’s not about how much money you make. It’s about whether you can be trusted.” That answer stayed with me. In my own culture, success often gets measured in numbers—salary, job title, even square footage of your house. But in Japan, I learned, there’s a quieter form of success: being someone others can rely on, someone who fulfills their role gracefully, someone who contributes to harmony rather than disruption.
And yet, this collective idea of success has its shadows too. Many people—especially women—feel trapped by these expectations. Some of my friends told me they wanted to pursue different careers or lifestyles but felt pressured to follow the “standard path” of marriage, motherhood, and part-time work. Others struggled with guilt when they chose to prioritize personal dreams over traditional responsibilities.
That’s when I realized: the social blueprint of success in Japan is powerful, but it isn’t unbreakable. People are starting to question it. More women are starting their own businesses, more families are experimenting with alternative lifestyles, and younger generations are seeking work-life balance in ways their parents never did. The definition of success is slowly shifting—from one dictated by society to one shaped more by individual choice.
For me personally, understanding this blueprint was both eye-opening and liberating. I stopped seeing Japanese social norms as rigid rules I had to follow and started viewing them as cultural lenses I could choose to learn from. I could embrace the parts that resonated—like the value of reliability and community—while gently questioning the parts that didn’t align with my own values, like overwork or constant comparison.
That was the heart of my turning point: realizing that I didn’t have to accept the entire blueprint wholesale. I could draw inspiration from it while also redefining success on my own terms.
The Turning Point: Learning to Unlearn
The more I observed Japan’s social blueprint of success, the more I felt a tension inside me. On the one hand, I admired the sense of community, the reliability, the way people supported each other. On the other, I couldn’t ignore how much pressure it placed on individuals—especially women—to live up to an almost impossible standard. And I began to ask myself: Do I really want to measure my life by these rules?
For a long time, I thought I had no choice. When I saw other mothers making beautiful bento lunches, I forced myself to do the same, even though it stressed me out. When neighbors worked tirelessly on community events, I felt guilty if I couldn’t contribute at the same level. And when my husband’s colleagues worked late into the night, I wondered if we were failing as a family because he came home “too early.”
It wasn’t just exhausting—it was suffocating. I felt like I was living someone else’s definition of success, not my own. And that’s when I stumbled upon a word that changed everything: unlearning.
Unlearning, for me, meant gently letting go of the beliefs I had absorbed without questioning. It wasn’t about rejecting Japanese culture or criticizing it. It was about asking myself: Which parts of this are truly meaningful for me, and which parts are just inherited expectations that no longer serve me?
One small but powerful moment of unlearning came during a school event. I had stayed up late the night before, preparing a perfect lunchbox for my child. But in the rush of the morning, I accidentally spilled part of it, and it looked messy. I was mortified. At the picnic area, I saw another mom pull out an elaborate lunchbox with colorful foods arranged like a cartoon character. I almost wanted to cry.
But then something unexpected happened. My child looked at the lunch I had packed—crooked rice balls and all—and said, “Wow, Mama, it’s my favorite!” In that moment, I realized my effort wasn’t about impressing other parents. It was about showing love to my child. The comparison, the pressure, the need to fit in—it all melted away. That was the first time I truly let go of the idea that success meant keeping up appearances.
Another lesson came from watching my elderly neighbor. She lived alone, in a small, modest house. She didn’t have fancy possessions, but she always welcomed me with tea and stories. She laughed easily, found joy in her garden, and seemed deeply content. One day I asked her what made her happy. She said, “Every day I wake up, I’m alive, and I can hear the birds. Isn’t that enough?”
Her words struck me more than any book on self-help or productivity. She embodied a kind of success that wasn’t about striving, but about being. It was about presence, gratitude, and living fully in the moment. That conversation planted the seed of a new perspective: maybe success isn’t something you chase—it’s something you notice.
Of course, unlearning wasn’t instant. Old habits die hard. I still found myself comparing, still worrying about how others saw me. But slowly, I began to experiment. I gave myself permission to pack simpler lunches. I chose not to volunteer for every single community activity, focusing instead on the ones I genuinely cared about. I even began carving out time for myself—reading, walking, writing—without labeling it as “unproductive.”
Each small act of unlearning felt like peeling away a layer of pressure. And beneath those layers, I began to uncover a new kind of freedom: the freedom to define success not as meeting every social expectation, but as creating a life that felt authentic to me and my family.
This process wasn’t about rejecting Japan or escaping its culture. On the contrary, it deepened my appreciation for it. By unlearning the parts that didn’t resonate, I could embrace the parts that did even more fully—like the value of community, the beauty of seasonal traditions, and the quiet moments of appreciation that Japanese culture celebrates so well.
The turning point was realizing that I could live in Japan, respect its traditions, and still honor my own sense of balance. Success didn’t have to be a moving target anymore. It could be a state of being—a choice I make every single day.
A New Definition: Success on My Own Terms
Looking back now, I can see how far my perspective has shifted. When I first returned to Japan, I felt trapped inside an invisible box of expectations—trying to live up to what I thought a “good wife,” a “good mother,” or even a “successful adult” was supposed to look like. That box was heavy, and it drained the joy out of my everyday life.
But through unlearning, through small acts of courage, and through countless gentle lessons from the people around me, I realized something powerful: success is not one-size-fits-all.
In Japanese society, there are so many beautiful values to learn from—commitment, reliability, harmony, appreciation for the present moment. These are treasures I’ve absorbed deeply and carry with me every day. But I’ve also learned that I don’t need to adopt every single expectation wholesale. I can choose. I can integrate what aligns with me and let go of what doesn’t.
For me, that means redefining success in a way that feels more fluid, more personal:
- Success is seeing my child’s smile when I hand them a simple lunch, knowing it was made with love.
- Success is taking a walk in the afternoon sun, noticing the way the wind rustles through the trees.
- Success is being there for my family, not with perfection, but with presence.
- Success is saying “no” when I need to, without guilt, so I can say a wholehearted “yes” to what truly matters.
And here’s the truth I wish someone had told me earlier: unlearning doesn’t mean rejecting. It means rewriting. It means giving yourself permission to question the narratives you’ve inherited and to create your own.
For those of you reading this—maybe you’re a mother abroad, maybe you’re someone who feels caught between cultures, or maybe you’re simply tired of chasing after society’s definition of success—I want you to know this: you are allowed to define success differently.
You don’t need to match someone else’s standards. You don’t need to constantly compare. You don’t need to prove your worth through endless busyness. You can pause, breathe, and ask yourself: What feels meaningful to me, right now, in this season of my life?
That question has become my compass. It has guided me through moments of doubt and helped me anchor myself when I felt lost. And the answer is never the same every day—it shifts, it evolves, it grows with me. That’s what makes it alive.
In many ways, living in Japan has been the perfect classroom for this lesson. This is a country that celebrates impermanence, that finds beauty in fleeting moments—the cherry blossoms that bloom and fall, the red leaves that blaze and fade, the tea that is enjoyed before it cools. Success, too, can be like that. Not a static trophy on a shelf, but a living experience we notice, cherish, and redefine, again and again.
So here’s my invitation to you: start unlearning today. Notice the invisible rules you’ve been following without questioning. Ask yourself which ones serve you and which ones don’t. Then, little by little, create your own blueprint—one that feels lighter, freer, and truer to who you are.
Because at the end of the day, success is not about keeping up. It’s about showing up—authentically, wholeheartedly, and on your own terms.
And trust me, when you begin to live that way, success won’t feel like a moving target anymore. It will feel like home.
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