- Introduce
- How Simplicity Changed My Everyday Life
- When Life Tested My Simple Living
- Redefining What It Means to Live Fully
Introduce
Hello there, lovely readers! I’m a homemaker living in Japan, and I’ve been blogging in English to share slices of Japanese life with women overseas who are curious about daily life here. In this post (and the ones to follow), I’d like to take you into the mindset, culture, and small hacks of living in Japan — not the dramatic tourist version, but the quiet routines, the small decisions, the little time-savers that make daily life smoother. Over time, I hope to show you how Japanese principles of simplicity, mindfulness, and efficiency can translate into lasting benefits — less stress, more presence, and (with luck) more financial freedom.
So in this first section, let me introduce why this matters, how Japanese social ideas shape daily choices, and a few snapshots from my own life that illustrate what I mean.
Why Simplicity Matters — A Long-Term View
When I first moved (or settled more firmly) into homemaking life in Japan, one of the things I found myself facing was constant overwhelm. Between shopping, meal planning, kids’ needs, cleaning, errands — the to-do list never ends. But over time, I stumbled upon a shift: small choices toward simplicity and mindfulness gradually built momentum. The effects weren’t immediate fireworks, but steady—less mental clutter, fewer decisions, more breathing room in my day and mind.
That’s what I want to communicate to you: the idea that simplicity isn’t about deprivation or austerity, but choice. And over the long term, those choices ripple outward:
- Less time spent repairing, decluttering, managing stuff → more time for creativity, rest, human connection.
- Lower consumption → lower costs, less financial stress.
- A calmer environment → better mood, clearer mind.
- A mindset of gratitude and contentment → joy found in small moments.
These are the long-term impacts I hope to share with you, so that you feel empowered to adapt ideas to your context, wherever you live.
The Japanese Perspective: Social Ideas That Shape Daily Life
You might wonder: what is it about Japan that nurtures (or at least provides a fertile ground for) this kind of mindset? Here are a few cultural threads I see woven through daily life here. (Think of these as background settings — they don’t determine everything, but they shade many of my small choices.)
- “Ma” — the value of empty space / negative space
In Japanese aesthetics — in art, architecture, gardens — there is often attention to 空白 (kuuhaku) or ma (間). It’s the understanding that what is not there matters as much as what is there. A room benefits from breathing room; a line in calligraphy gains resonance by the space around it. In daily life, this can translate into not overfilling drawers, leaving “breathing zones” on shelves, resisting the urge to cram every inch with stuff. It’s a quiet push against clutter. (Oishya) - Danshari / 断捨離 — refuse, dispose, separate
This concept is well-known in Japan — the idea that you refuse to bring in unnecessary items, dispose of what doesn’t serve you, and separate yourself from material burden. Rather than simply accumulating, you consciously curate. Many Japanese minimalism discussions focus on these three actions. (Oishya)
Over time, practicing danshari helps reduce the friction of managing stuff — fewer decisions about what to store, maintain, clean, or repair. - Modesty, humility, the beauty of modest things
In Japanese aesthetics (and historically), ostentation is often seen as gaudy, while understated elegance and quiet beauty are more respected. Wabi-sabi — the acceptance of imperfection, aging, patina — encourages us to see beauty in the gentle aging of objects rather than chasing pristine newness. (The Minimalist Vegan)
For me, this mindset helps me resist the constant lure of new “solutions” or gadgets and instead appreciate what I already own, make small repairs, or let items age gracefully. - Small homes, multifunctionality, efficient use of space
Many Japanese homes — especially in cities — are compact. There is a built-in pressure to design clever storage, foldable furniture, multi-use rooms, sliding doors, etc. The architectural approach is to squeeze maximum utility from limited area. The “jutaku” (narrow/compact-house) phenomenon is one example of how Japanese architecture innovates with small plots. (ウィキペディア)
As a homemaker, I’ve come to see that with constraints, creativity often blossoms. You find pleasing ways to combine functions, and you become more aware of “what truly matters.” - Collective social norms of order and respect
There is a baseline social expectation (though it varies) around cleanliness, respect for common shared spaces, and minimizing waste or disruption. Many public spaces are kept clean, people are careful about noise, and there is a cultural respect for tidiness in shared areas. This ambient social order nudges one toward smaller messiness in private life as well.
A Glimpse into My Day: Where These Ideas Meet Action
To ground all that abstract talk, let me take you into a slice of my own morning as a homemaker in Japan, and show how those cultural ideas seep into my tiny choices.
It’s 5:45 AM. The house is quiet. I open the sliding shōji door slightly to let in the soft morning light. I head to the kitchen and pour a small cup of green tea to sip while I breathe and plan mentally. I find that giving myself this “quiet moment before motion” helps me start with calmness.
Then: laundry. Because space is limited, I typically run a small batch early, and hang the clothes right away on a compact drying rack in the veranda. I avoid overfilling the washing machine — that just leads to extra wrinkles, longer drying, and frustration. (I’ve learned to calibrate load size to what can dry quickly in our small space.)
Next: I prep my children’s school lunch and my husband’s bento. One small hack I picked up: I batch-cook certain staples (grains, boiled vegetables, simmered beans) in bulk at once, so that during the week I only reheat or assemble. This reduces daily chopping time. Also, I designate a fixed drawer for frequently used utensils, so I don’t search across multiple cabinets. (Again, applying “ma”: leaving empty space around commonly used tools, so my hand can find them easily.)
Before everyone wakes, I do a quick 5-minute tidy: I walk through the living area and put away stray items (toys, magazines) to their bins. This small act prevents clutter accumulation. Because my rooms are small, a little mess distracts the eye quickly, so staying ahead of clutter means I spend less mental energy later.
By 7:30 AM, everyone is out or moving. I pause, glance around — nothing feels too scattered. I feel a sense of small control, even though there is still a long day ahead. That sense of quiet is a small gift.
In those few moments, the values I mentioned (ma, simplicity, modest tools, spatial awareness, small habits) all interplay. The result is not perfection, but a habitual rhythm of small adjustments, so the day ahead doesn’t feel chaotic.
How Simplicity Changed My Everyday Life
When I first started leaning toward a simpler lifestyle, it wasn’t because I read some trendy book or followed a minimalist influencer. It was born out of exhaustion. There was one day in particular when I looked around my apartment — the piles of kids’ clothes, the unopened mail, the crowded kitchen counter — and thought, “I clean every day, but nothing feels clean.” That’s when I realized: the problem wasn’t my effort. It was the system itself. I was managing too much.
From that small frustration, my journey toward simplicity began. And over the next few years, the impact slowly unfolded — not just in my home, but in my mind, my family dynamics, and even my finances.
1. Financial Freedom through Less Consumption
One of the biggest surprises of simplifying was how much money we actually stopped spending without feeling deprived.
In Japan, where homes are compact and storage is limited, buying less isn’t a trendy choice — it’s almost a necessity.
At first, it felt restrictive. I used to buy extra things “just in case” — extra towels, spare kitchen gadgets, another cute cup. But once I committed to a rule of “one in, one out,” everything changed.
Before buying something new, I would ask myself:
- “Where will this live in my house?”
- “What will it replace?”
- “Will it truly make my daily routine easier?”
Most of the time, the answer was no — and surprisingly, that felt freeing. The fewer things I owned, the fewer things I had to manage, clean, and repair.
By simply not buying replacements for things that broke or wore out — unless absolutely necessary — I began noticing our savings grow month by month. We started tracking our family budget with a free Japanese app called Money Forward, and it became clear: less stuff means less spending and less hidden maintenance cost.
Over a year, the extra money allowed us to build an emergency fund and take small weekend trips instead — experiences instead of possessions. That was a major mindset shift: I started valuing memories over materials.
2. Reduced Stress and More Emotional Space
In Japanese daily life, order and rhythm are highly valued. You’ll see it everywhere — from the way bento boxes are arranged to how people line up at train stations. That rhythm also influenced my emotional habits.
After decluttering our home, something subtle happened: the mornings became smoother. Because everything had a place, I didn’t have to shout, “Where’s your hat?!” before the kids went to school.
My mind also felt less scattered. I realized clutter had been a silent stress amplifier — even when I wasn’t looking at it, it lived rent-free in my brain.
One small but powerful practice I adopted is what I call “3-Minute Zen” — three minutes after lunch where I just breathe, tidy a single surface, or wipe down the sink mindfully. It’s not meditation in the traditional sense, but a micro-reset that grounds me in the present.
That’s something I love about Japanese life: mindfulness doesn’t always come through big spiritual routines. It’s embedded in small actions — the way we pour tea carefully, or fold laundry with attention.
Now, when I sit on the tatami floor with my tea, even for a moment, I feel the sense of stillness that Japanese culture quietly encourages: You don’t need to do more to be enough.
3. Cultivating Gratitude and Presence
There’s a phrase in Japanese: “Arigatai” (有難い) — it literally means “hard to exist,” or something so special it’s rare.
I began using this mindset consciously. Instead of wishing for a bigger house or more time, I tried to notice small moments:
- The smell of miso soup in the morning.
- The sound of wind chimes in summer.
- The warmth of futon blankets on a cold night.
These moments don’t cost anything. But they make life feel richer.
Gratitude shifted my focus from “what’s missing” to “what’s already here.”
And over time, that awareness reduced my urge to compare myself to others — especially on social media, where perfect homes and perfect routines are everywhere.
I still have messy days, of course. But gratitude became my anchor. When I’m overwhelmed, I whisper to myself: “I already have enough.” That small thought helps me breathe deeper and move slower.
4. How You Can Adapt These Ideas Anywhere
You might be reading this from the U.S., Europe, or somewhere else entirely — and wondering, “Can this really work for me?”
The answer is yes — because minimalism and mindful living aren’t about culture, they’re about intention.
Here are a few practical ways you can bring Japanese-inspired simplicity into your own routine, no matter where you live:
a. Start with one small zone
Pick a single space — maybe your kitchen counter or your entryway. Clear everything off.
Then, only put back what you use every day.
Notice how it feels. The emptiness might seem strange at first — but soon it becomes peaceful. That’s the essence of “ma” (間): creating space for life to flow.
b. Rethink your “convenience” habits
Convenience often costs us time later.
For example, I used to buy pre-packaged lunch snacks because they “saved time,” but they created more waste, clutter, and guilt.
Now I make simple homemade snacks on weekends — one hour of prep saves stress for the whole week.
Ask yourself: “Is this shortcut really saving time, or just pushing the effort somewhere else?”
c. Use rotation instead of accumulation
In Japan, people often rotate seasonal items — futons, clothes, even decor.
This approach helps avoid the “more storage boxes” trap.
In your own home, try rotating favorite items instead of owning multiples.
Less storage, more breathing space.
d. Make gratitude a ritual
Before dinner, we often say “Itadakimasu”, which means “I humbly receive.”
It’s not just about food — it’s about acknowledging everyone and everything that made the meal possible.
You can create your own small gratitude cue — a pause before eating, a thank-you note, a mindful breath before checking your phone.
These rituals remind you: abundance isn’t about more things, it’s about more awareness.
5. The Long-Term Ripple Effect
After a few years of living this way, I noticed something I didn’t expect: adaptability.
When life changes — new jobs, school schedules, moving homes — I adapt faster now.
Because simplicity builds resilience.
When your home isn’t overstuffed, moving takes less time.
When your routines are grounded in essentials, you can pivot easily.
When your joy comes from presence rather than possessions, you don’t feel as shaken by change.
This, I think, is the hidden beauty of Japanese-inspired minimalism:
It’s not about restriction — it’s about creating space for life to change.
When Life Tested My Simple Living
There’s a saying in Japan: “Life doesn’t always go as planned — なるようになる (naru you ni naru)”, which loosely means, “Things will become what they’re meant to be.”
I used to think that phrase sounded peaceful and wise. But when life actually threw me off balance, it was harder to trust those words.
A few years ago, my husband’s company went through a restructuring. Overnight, his work hours changed, and our household rhythm collapsed. Suddenly, mornings became rushed chaos, dinners were eaten at odd hours, and my sense of calm evaporated.
It was as if my carefully arranged minimalist home had turned into a battlefield of bento boxes, laundry piles, and half-drunk coffee cups.
At first, I panicked. I thought, “All my routines are falling apart. So much for simplicity!”
But what happened next surprised me — and showed me the real meaning of adaptability.
1. Simplicity Became a Survival Tool
When everything else felt unstable, my simple home setup became my anchor.
Because we didn’t own too much, cleaning and resetting spaces was quick.
Because I’d already built small, repeatable systems — like the 5-minute nightly tidy or prepped lunches — I could keep our home functional even when my energy was low.
One night, after a long day, I sat at the kitchen table with cold tea and realized something:
I wasn’t failing at minimalism — I was relying on it.
Minimalism wasn’t just about beauty or calm anymore.
It was about resilience — being able to function and stay grounded even when everything felt unpredictable.
It reminded me of the Japanese idea of “Gaman” (我慢) — quiet endurance, patience, the strength to get through hardship without losing yourself.
But unlike the old-fashioned idea of enduring silently, my version of gaman came with gentleness: giving myself permission to rest, simplify tasks, and let go of what didn’t matter that day.
If dinner was just rice and pickles, that was okay.
If laundry waited one more day, that was okay too.
Simplicity meant knowing that perfection was never the goal — peace was.
2. Rediscovering “Enough” in Uncertain Times
When my husband’s income temporarily dropped, we had to adjust our spending.
At first, it was stressful — cutting back, tracking every yen, saying no to small luxuries.
But this period also revealed the quiet power of having fewer needs.
Because our lifestyle was already modest, the adjustment didn’t feel catastrophic.
We had already trained ourselves to enjoy life with less.
One night, I remember lighting a single candle on the dining table. The kids thought it was fun — a “candle dinner.”
We laughed, ate simple miso soup and rice, and somehow it felt… special.
That night I thought, “Maybe simplicity was never about discipline. It’s about freedom — the freedom to still feel joy when life strips away the extras.”
Over time, gratitude filled the spaces where anxiety used to live.
We didn’t need expensive outings or constant upgrades.
We had each other, a warm home, and peace in small routines.
That, I realized, is the essence of “shiawase” (幸せ) — happiness in the quiet ordinary.
3. The Emotional Side of Letting Go
During that chaotic season, I also learned something deeper about clutter — it’s not just physical.
It’s emotional.
There were days I’d open my closet and feel a pang of guilt over clothes I never wore.
They reminded me of “old me” — the one who thought she needed to impress others, or always be prepared for every situation.
So one weekend, I decided to do a “心の断捨離 (kokoro no danshari)” — a decluttering of the heart.
I went through my wardrobe, my kitchen drawers, even my phone photos.
Each time I hesitated, I asked:
“Does this still represent who I am now?”
Some things stayed — a few cherished mugs, handwritten letters from friends, the apron I wear every morning.
But many things left.
It was bittersweet, but freeing.
I began to see that simplicity wasn’t just a style — it was a mirror.
It reflected my growth, my values, and my readiness to move forward.
4. Learning to Accept Imperfection
Japanese culture often embraces “Wabi-sabi” (侘び寂び) — the beauty of imperfection and impermanence.
I used to admire the concept but didn’t truly live it until that period.
Our apartment wasn’t spotless anymore.
Some plants withered. My handmade curtains had tea stains. The walls had kids’ scribbles.
But somehow, all of it felt… human. Real.
There was a quiet beauty in the evidence of life happening — a cup left on the table, a toy under the couch, a crumpled futon after a long nap.
I began to think: maybe minimalism doesn’t mean “tidy perfection.”
Maybe it means leaving room for life to happen — and learning to smile at the mess.
Because life in Japan isn’t picture-perfect either. The trains can be late. The rain can ruin your plans. The store can sell out of your favorite tofu.
And yet, people still bow, say “お疲れ様です (otsukaresama desu)” — “thank you for your effort” — and keep going.
That’s the kind of grace I wanted in my own home — imperfect, but full of care.
5. Finding Balance Between Control and Flow
One thing Japanese minimalism taught me, especially during hardship, was the dance between control and surrender.
We often try to control everything — schedules, outcomes, appearances.
But the more we tighten our grip, the more stress we create.
Through this experience, I learned the power of flow — allowing some things to unfold naturally, and only controlling what truly matters.
Now, I try to divide my day into two lists:
- “Can control” (meals, routines, my reactions)
- “Can’t control” (weather, others’ moods, unexpected events)
Focusing only on the first list changed everything.
Suddenly, my mental energy returned. I could laugh at surprises again.
This idea aligns with a Japanese philosophy called “Shikata ga nai” (仕方がない) — “It can’t be helped.”
It’s not passive acceptance; it’s active peace.
You do your best, and then you let go.
6. The Turning Point of Mindset
By the end of that year, our family rhythm stabilized.
The financial situation improved, and life became calmer again.
But I was different.
Before, I had chased simplicity as an aesthetic goal — clean lines, calm spaces, perfect routines.
Now, it was a spiritual practice.
I understood that simplicity wasn’t about how little you own — it was about how lightly you live.
It was about being adaptable, flexible, and at peace even in uncertainty.
In that sense, the Japanese minimalist mindset had quietly reshaped me.
It taught me to see change not as disruption, but as invitation.
An invitation to realign, rethink, and rediscover what truly matters.
A Note to You, Wherever You Are
If you’re reading this from another country, maybe your challenges look different — job stress, parenting struggles, digital overload.
But the principle is the same: simplicity gives you space to breathe when life feels too full.
You don’t need to move to Japan or own a tatami mat to live this way.
You just need to begin — one drawer, one breath, one choice at a time.
And when life tests you, don’t see it as failure.
It’s just a gentle reminder to return to what’s essential.
Because in simplicity, there’s always room to start again.
Redefining What It Means to Live Fully
When I first began simplifying my life in Japan, I didn’t expect it to lead to such a deep transformation.
At the time, it was just about saving a little time, reducing stress, and finding order in daily chaos.
But now, looking back, I realize this journey was never about “less.”
It was about making space for what truly matters.
In Japan, minimalism isn’t a trend—it’s a quiet philosophy that lives inside everyday actions.
Whether it’s how people prepare a meal, fold clothes, or greet the new season, there’s an underlying respect for time, space, and impermanence.
You start to notice that everything—from a cup of tea to a morning walk—can hold beauty, if you slow down enough to see it.
🌿 What “Richness” Really Means
Many of us grow up believing that a successful life is filled with things: a bigger house, a faster car, a longer list of accomplishments.
But in the stillness of a Japanese morning—when I open the windows and hear the rustle of the wind through bamboo leaves—I’ve come to understand that richness is not measured by possession, but by peace.
It’s in the moments when I can breathe without rush.
When I can cook dinner slowly, without checking the clock every five minutes.
When I can watch my child laugh, or take a short walk after lunch and feel the sun touch my face.
These small, “uneventful” moments are where life actually happens.
And that’s the irony of simplicity—it doesn’t take away; it reveals.
It reveals what we’ve been too busy to notice: the gratitude, the stillness, the quiet joy of being alive.
💡 What You Can Start Today
The beauty of this philosophy is that you don’t need to live in Japan to experience it.
You don’t need tatami floors, shoji doors, or a minimalist apartment.
You only need a shift in perspective.
Here are a few small steps you can take, starting today:
- One-in, one-out rule.
Every time you bring something new into your home, let go of one item.
This simple act keeps your space (and mind) balanced. - Create a “pause” moment.
Before you start your day—or before you end it—pause for just one minute.
Take a deep breath, stretch, look out the window, or light a candle.
That single minute of awareness can reshape your entire mindset. - Simplify one routine.
Maybe it’s your morning prep, your cleaning, or your meal planning.
Choose one area to streamline, and notice how much mental energy it frees. - Practice mottainai.
When you feel tempted to throw something away, ask: “Can this still serve a purpose?”
This simple question cultivates both gratitude and creativity. - Celebrate imperfection.
Let things be slightly undone, slightly unplanned.
In Japan, this is called wabi-sabi—the beauty of the imperfect and incomplete.
It’s a reminder that life doesn’t need to be polished to be beautiful.
🌼 The Lasting Gift of Mindful Living
As I continued to embrace this lifestyle, I noticed how much lighter I felt—not only physically, but emotionally.
I no longer rushed to fill silence with noise or busyness with tasks.
Instead, I learned to let silence be a friend.
Financially, my spending naturally decreased—not because I was restricting myself, but because I stopped chasing temporary satisfaction.
The things I did choose to buy brought me real joy and purpose.
This shift gave me a new kind of freedom—not just financial, but emotional and spiritual.
It’s what I like to call quiet abundance.
A life that may look simple from the outside, but feels deeply fulfilling from within.
And when I connect with friends overseas, many of them ask,
“Can I really live like that too? Even if my life feels too busy?”
My answer is always the same:
Yes, you can.
Because simplicity isn’t a place—it’s a practice.
And you can begin that practice wherever you are, right now.
🌸 Closing Thought
Living in Japan has taught me that adaptability and peace come from the same root: awareness.
When we pay attention—to our surroundings, our routines, and our emotions—we begin to live more fully, no matter where we are.
So if you take just one thing from this story, let it be this:
You don’t have to overhaul your life to find joy.
Start with one small act of mindfulness—a slower morning, a decluttered drawer, a moment of gratitude.
That’s where transformation begins.
Because in the end, the goal isn’t to have less.
It’s to feel more alive in the space we already have.
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