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 destinations that we have chosen for ourselves. Yet the voyage may end before we reach them.
We may still be moving toward our destination. Even then, the voyage itself may suddenly come to an end.
That, I think, is death.
Death is not the final destination toward which everyone is traveling. It is the ending of the voyage, and no one knows when it will come.
I do not know what lies beyond that ending. Perhaps another world begins from there.
But that is not what I want to discuss here. I want to consider something closer to the life we are living now.
How should I live until the voyage ends?
That is the question I wish to consider.
Life Is Not Only About What We Accomplish
If the voyage of life may end at any time, its value cannot depend only on reaching a destination.
Did I succeed? Did I win? Did I fulfill my dream? How far did I travel?
Of course, such things matter. I will continue to have goals in the years ahead.
Yet the value of a life cannot be decided by achievement alone. Even if we fail to reach a desired port, the voyage itself may still have meaning.
The opposite can also be true. We may reach the port we wanted, yet lose something precious along the way.
If that happens, can we truly call it a good voyage?
Today, I think there is something more important.
Until the voyage ends, can I continue facing a direction that I need not be ashamed of as a human being?
A Direction I Need Not Be Ashamed Of
By “a life I need not be ashamed of,” I do not mean a life without mistakes. Human beings make mistakes.
I have made many mistakes myself. Things I once believed were right later proved otherwise.
I may have hurt people. I have also repeatedly become aware of my own immaturity.
Therefore, living without shame does not mean never losing one’s way. What matters is what we do when we realize we were wrong.
If I discover that I was mistaken, I must not turn away from that fact. If my direction has shifted, I must take the helm again.
I should then try to return toward a direction I can respect as a human being. That, I believe, is what matters.
When I began thinking in this way, I realized something else. A voyage needs more than a destination.
It also needs what I call a North Star.
In the next part, I will consider what that North Star means.
Part Two: The North Star of Life
— From “Budo Master” to “Budo Man”
In the previous part, I wrote that life requires more than a destination. It also requires what I call a “North Star.”
The North Star
Sailors of the past used the stars to understand their position. The stars also helped them determine the direction in which they were traveling.
Among those stars, the North Star served as an important guide. Yet the North Star itself was not their destination.
They did not sail toward the North Star. Each sailor chose a destination of his own.
The same should be true in life. Different people may choose very different places to go.
Yet we still need a point of reference. Without one, we cannot know where we are.
Nor can we know clearly which direction we are facing. I believe life works in much the same way.
Each person may decide what to pursue. Some seek success, while others place family happiness above everything else.
Some seek victory. Others find meaning in supporting another person.
Our destinations do not have to be identical. Yet along the way, we should ask ourselves an important question.
Am I moving in a direction that I can respect as a human being?
I believe we need some standard by which to ask that question. For me, that standard is the North Star of life.
Admiration for the Budo Master — and a Sense of Unease
I have spent most of my life in the worlds of combat sports and Budo. Looking back, I admired the idea of being a martial artist from childhood.
Words such as judoka, karateka, and budoka had a special sound for me. My admiration was not based on any clear theory.
I was simply drawn to people who sought strength and disciplined themselves. I admired those who devoted themselves to a single path.
Had I felt nothing when hearing such words, perhaps I would never have entered Judo or Karate.
For that reason, I do not reject my admiration for the martial artist. That admiration was one of the forces that led me toward Budo.
Yet at some point, I also began to feel a certain unease. It was an unease toward the image attached to the word budoka.
I cannot remember exactly when that feeling began. Yet the title can sometimes carry a certain sense of authority.
There are also times when martial artists behave as though they were somehow special. I have long felt uncomfortable with that attitude.
This does not mean that I reject martial artists. Many people devote themselves sincerely to Budo and deserve great respect.
My concern begins when the title itself comes to the foreground. Then the outer image may become stronger than the human being within.
I think that was what made me uncomfortable.
“The Person Seen as a Martial Artist”
Over time, I myself continued to walk the path of Budo. I accumulated experience and eventually became responsible for teaching many people.
That brought another feeling into my mind. Having continued this far, perhaps I should establish myself as a true martial artist.
I also wondered whether that was proof of the life I had lived. People around me increasingly saw me as a martial artist.
Perhaps, I thought, I needed to live up to that role. As an instructor, perhaps I was expected to behave like one.
I gradually accepted that image of myself. I tried to live as the person others saw as a martial artist.
Yet another feeling remained at the same time. There was a gap between that image and myself as an ordinary human being.
Creating the image of myself as a martial artist was one thing. Deciding how I truly wanted to live as a human being was another.
Those two things were not always the same. For many years, I could not completely resolve that unease.
An Intuition from Thirty Years Ago
Looking back, I began using the expression Budo Man about thirty years ago. At the time, I could not explain clearly what I meant.
I simply felt that the word budoka was not enough. It did not fully express the kind of human being I wanted to become.
This did not mean abandoning my admiration for martial artists. Nor did it mean rejecting the idea of the martial artist.
On the contrary, I wanted to respect the Budo that had guided my life. Yet I sensed something that could not fit entirely within that framework.
Nearly thirty years have passed since then. I continued practicing Budo, meeting people, and building organizations.
I experienced victory and defeat. I experienced joy and failure. I also came into conflict with people and experienced separation.
I built a life with my family as well. Today, I stand before my aging father.
I have also lost teachers who once guided me. And I have begun to feel my own aging.
The voyage of life has an end. Today, that fact feels far more real to me.
Only now do I feel that I understand my earlier unease more clearly. I can finally see something of what I sensed all those years ago.
The Meaning of “Budo Man”
For me today, the term Budo Man does not describe someone above others. It does not mean someone superior to a budoka.
It is not a new title. Nor does it describe a person who has reached human perfection.
It is not a term for declaring proudly, “I am a Budo Man.” Rather, it is a word that keeps a question alive within me.
As a person who has studied Budo, how should I live?
For me, Budo Man is a term that helps me continue asking that question.
I want to value my own path. At the same time, I want to recognize that others have paths of their own.
I want to seek strength. Yet I do not want to forget the dignity of others.
I may seek victory. Yet I do not want victory alone to define the value of my life.
I want to have my own convictions. Yet I do not want to impose them on others as absolute truths.
And I do not want to turn away from my own weakness or immaturity.
A person who tries to live in this way is what I mean by a Budo Man.
As One Budo Man
Today, I no longer think mainly about “perfecting myself as a martial artist.” Instead, I hope to live as one Budo Man.
The word “one” is important to me. I do not want Budo Man to become another source of authority.
I do not want it to become a title. Nor do I want it to become a word used to place oneself above others.
I want to remain simply one human being who studies Budo. Through Budo, I want to continue questioning how I should live.
If I realize that I have moved in the wrong direction, I can look again toward the North Star. Then I can take the helm once more.
For me, a Budo Man is not a completed human being. It is a person who continues trying to live in this way.
In the final part, I will return to the meaning of studying Budo. I will also consider what I hope to feel at the end of life.
