I first left home when I was around eighteen.
I was living in Tokyo at the time, and moving out for university felt like the natural next step. After that, life took a few turns—I eventually dropped out, moved back home, rented places, and repeated that cycle until around twenty‑five.
By twenty‑seven, my work had finally started to take shape, and from then on I lived entirely on my own.
Hardly home in my late teens
I started working part‑time as soon as I entered high school, so coming home after 11 p.m. was normal for me.
It wouldn’t fly today, but back then, even if a high schooler worked past 10 p.m., people would shrug and say, “We’ll adjust the paperwork somehow.”
Seeing students in uniform smoking in entertainment districts was, in a way, an ordinary sight.
I grew up in that kind of environment from my mid‑teens to early twenties. I loved my parents, but looking back, I was almost never home.
It wasn’t just me—most people were probably the same
I wasn’t home because I was socially out of place and spent my time working or doing things outside school. But if you think about it, students in elite sports programs traveling constantly, or those living in dorms, probably spent even less time with their parents.
I may only have about twenty years with this child
About a year and a half ago, my daughter arrived in our lives.
At first, she felt like a tiny alien—unable to communicate, only making newborn sounds. But now she understands what we say. She smiles, sulks, makes strange octopus‑like faces, and makes us laugh in ways I never imagined before becoming a parent.
She’s teaching me emotions I could never have known in my single years.
If she takes after me, she’ll probably start thinking about her future early and become independent sooner than later.
And at the same time, I’m realizing that the time I have left with my own parents is also limited.
Seeing them hold my daughter with such joy, I suddenly notice how much they’ve aged—far more than I had allowed myself to see.
It’s obvious, of course. As I grow older, so do they.
We spend 150 hours a year looking for lost things
We really don’t have time to waste on unnecessary possessions.
Money can be earned again. Time, once lost, is gone for good.
I’ve always been a business‑minded person who didn’t consciously prioritize family time. But having a child made me acutely aware of how finite time is.
Through decluttering, I’m trying to simplify my surroundings so I can commit my time and attention to the people and things that truly matter.
Lately, I’ve been reaffirming that intention.
