Looking to the North Star
— A Voyage Through Life
This essay is somewhat long, so I will publish it in three parts.
Part One begins with my father’s aging and the loss of my teachers. From these experiences, I reflect on life as a voyage.
Part Two considers the “North Star” that helps us find our direction. It also explains what I mean by the term Budo Man.
Part Three returns to the meaning of studying Budo. It ends with a reflection on gratitude and the kind of life I hope to live.
Through these three parts, I would like to consider one question. How should I live, both as a human being and as one Budo Man?
Part One: The Voyage of Life
— Reflections Inspired by My Father’s Aging
Some time ago, on Father’s Day, I wrote a short poem about my father.
Thoughts on Father’s Day
On Father’s Day, I think of my father.
To me,
he is one of the greatest people
to whom I owe a debt of gratitude.
And throughout my life,
there have been many such people.
Teachers who taught me so much
when I was still immature.
Friends who shared their friendship with me.
Friends who supported me
when I was struggling.
People who walked beside me
when I was filled with passion.
And among them,
the woman who became my wife.
There were also
many rivals
who helped polish my spirit.
And all the people
I happened to meet
through the ties of fate.
Each one of them
gave meaning to my life.
On Father’s Day, I think of my father.
My gratitude toward him
gradually expands
into gratitude toward them all.
To every one of those people,
I wish to offer
my heartfelt thanks.
When I wrote this poem, I intended to write about my gratitude toward my father. Yet as I continued, that gratitude did not remain limited to him.
It spread to my teachers, friends, wife, and rivals. It also extended to the many people I had encountered throughout my life.
Looking back now, I think this short poem already contained something important. It held the beginnings of how I now think about life.
When I think of my father, several scenes from childhood return to me. He often put me in his car and took me to mountains, rivers, and the sea.
I loved riding in the car while my father drove. Even when I did not know our destination, simply being in the car excited me. I can still remember the scenery and atmosphere of those days.
I also remember the time when I entered adolescence and began to lose my way. Even then, my father did not try to control me by force.
He did everything he could for me and sometimes spoke rather sternly. My father was never a particularly quiet man. Yet when I was truly suffering, he often watched over me in silence.
At the time, I did not fully understand how much that meant. I could see little beyond myself. I had no room to consider what my father feared or felt.
Later, I became a parent myself and began worrying about my own children. Only then did I gradually begin to understand him.
How deeply must he have worried about me? How many words must he have swallowed while continuing to watch over me? Only now do I truly feel the depth of his kindness.
About fifteen years ago, my father became seriously ill. Since then, he has been unable to use one side of his body freely. Age has added further difficulty.
The father I see today is very different from the father of my childhood. In those days, he drove his car and took me to mountains, rivers, and the sea.
He seemed far larger and stronger than I was. Now I watch that same father grow old while losing much of his physical freedom.
Time changes the human body without exception. I have always known this as a fact. Today, however, I feel its weight very differently.
And this is not only about my father. The teachers who guided me when I was young have also passed away, one after another.
There were people whom I once thought I could meet at any time. Some of them are no longer in this world.
When I was young, death seemed like something far away. Of course, I knew that every person would eventually die.
Yet perhaps I understood it only as knowledge. Today, it feels very different.
I have watched my father grow old and said farewell to my teachers. I have also begun to feel aging within my own body.
Death has therefore become much closer to me. This does not mean that I have simply become afraid of death.
Rather, I have come to feel more clearly that life has an end. It is no longer merely an abstract idea.
Because of that, I have begun to ask myself one question. How should I live with the time that remains?
No one knows when the voyage of life will end. If so, in what direction should I continue to live until that time?
Can I continue living in a way that does not shame me as a human being? Watching my father has made me think about this more deeply.
The Voyage of Life
Living a human life seems somewhat like sailing across the sea. Each person sets out with a destination of their own.
We may want to succeed, win, become stronger, or become prosperous.
We may want to accomplish meaningful work. We may wish to make our families happy or fulfill our dreams.
Our destinations do not need to be the same. I do not deny the importance of having such goals.
Indeed, because we have destinations, we are able to set sail. They also give us the courage to enter rough seas.
My own life has been the same. I entered the worlds of combat sports and Budo in search of strength. I pursued victory and followed my own ideals.
Because I had goals, I was able to endure many hardships. Yet when I look back, life did not follow the chart I had drawn.
There were ports I reached and ports I did not. Sometimes the destination itself changed along the way.
There were storms. There were also times when I lost my direction.
At times, I believed I was moving in the right direction. Looking back later, however, I found myself questioning that belief.
Was I really moving in the right direction?
Perhaps this is simply what life is like.
When the Voyage Ends
There is another thing we must not forget. No one knows when the voyage of life will end.
I once thought of death as the final port of that voyage. On reflection, however, I think that image is slightly mistaken.
We are not living in order to reach a port called death. Human beings do not live for the purpose of dying.
We move toward destin
