2603 Koto and Hito

 This week I sat down to write a memo for my CBL colleagues, and halfway through I realized I was really writing about the thing I've been circling for two decades of project management: there are two completely different jobs hiding inside the job title "project manager," and I've spent most of my career treating them as one.

In Japanese I split them as koto and hito. Koto — literally "the matter" or "the thing" — is the schedule, the budget, the risk register, the status report, the process. Hito — "the person" — is why a stakeholder is stalling, why a team goes quiet in meetings, why two departments that should cooperate instead quietly sabotage each other. For most of my career the two blurred together into one skill called "project management," and the koto side was where the credentials, the Gantt charts, and the professional identity lived. Hito was the messy overflow you handled with instinct, if you handled it at all.

What made me actually write the memo, rather than just think it, was watching how fast AI has started eating the koto side this year. Schedule optimization, cost forecasting, risk analysis pulled from historical data, progress reports auto-summarized from meeting transcripts — the tools I trained a generation of junior PMs to painstakingly build by hand are now something you generate in a prompt. And PMI saw this coming before I did: PMBOK's sixth edition, the one I studied for my own certification, was almost entirely a koto document — process, tools, techniques, prescribed in detail. The seventh edition, published in 2021, pivoted hard toward what they call "power skills" — principles for how a team actually creates value, not a checklist for how to run one.

That's not a coincidence. It's the largest project management body in the world quietly admitting that the technical half of the job was becoming commoditized well before AI made it obvious.

Here's the part that actually matters, though, and it's the part I underestimated for years: AI is extraordinarily good at statistical patterns, and hito problems are not pattern problems. "Why won't this team move" isn't sitting in a dataset — it's sitting in a history between specific people, in resentments nobody wrote down, in a culture gap nobody named out loud. You cannot prompt your way to that diagnosis. You have to be in the room, and you have to actually know the people.

This week an AI tool drafted a full project schedule, a cost forecast, and a risk register in a fraction of the time it used to take — work that once ate a full day of mine, back when I built these things by hand. I sat there a little stunned, and a thought I've circled for two decades finally clicked into words: project management has always been two different jobs stitched together, and I'm not sure the one I trained for is the one that matters anymore.

In Japanese I split them as koto and hito. Koto — literally "the matter" or "the thing" — is the schedule, the budget, the risk register, the status report, the process. Hito — "the person" — is why a stakeholder is stalling, why a team goes quiet in meetings, why two departments that should cooperate instead quietly sabotage each other. For most of my career the two blurred together into one skill called "project management," and koto was where the credentials, the Gantt charts, and the professional identity lived. Hito was the messy overflow you handled with instinct, if you handled it at all.

I'm not the only one who's noticed the split widening. PMBOK, the project management bible I studied for my own certification, was almost entirely a koto document in its sixth edition — process, tools, techniques, prescribed in detail. The seventh edition, published in 2021, pivoted hard toward what PMI calls "power skills" — principles for how a team actually creates value, not a checklist for how to run one. The largest project management body in the world quietly admitted the technical half of the job was becoming commoditized well before AI made it obvious.

Here's the part I underestimated for years, though: AI is extraordinarily good at statistical patterns, and hito problems are not pattern problems. "Why won't this team move" isn't sitting in a dataset — it's sitting in a history between specific people, in resentments nobody wrote down, in a culture gap nobody named out loud. You cannot prompt your way to that diagnosis. You have to be in the room, and you have to actually know the people.

So the koto knowledge I spent years accumulating — the tools, the methods, the certifications — is depreciating in market value in real time, whether I like it or not. But the hito work — reading what actually motivates a stakeholder, building a room where people function as themselves instead of performing a role, turning a cultural gap into leverage instead of friction — isn't just AI-proof. Its scarcity is going up precisely because everything around it is getting automated.

The broader takeaway, for me, is uncomfortable and clarifying at the same time: the parts of this career I was proudest of on my resume are the parts getting automated first, and the parts I used to file under "soft skills" are turning out to be the whole point. If that schedule is any indication, the koto side isn't coming back as a differentiator. The only question left is how deliberately I invest in the hito side instead of treating it as something that just happens if I'm lucky.

2602 GUC Is live

 I stared at a blank "publish" button for longer than I'd like to admit. Not because the website wasn't ready — it had been ready for days — but because clicking it meant the thing I'd been quietly building since I left T&T was no longer a private project. It was now a company other people could find, judge, and, hopefully, call. This week I clicked it. GUC — Growth Unlimited Co. — is officially live at guc-intel.com.

Two posts ago I wrote about why I was leaving. Last week I wrote about the disorienting first week of having no structure at all. This week the structure finally started to take shape, and it took shape around one decision I kept coming back to during every conversation I had this month: GUC will not be a firm that takes projects off your plate. It will be a firm that gets on the plate with you.

That distinction sounds like branding, but it's actually the whole thesis. I spent 25 years watching how expensive external advisory work usually plays out — a PM firm parachutes in, runs the project competently, and parachutes out, taking all the hard-won judgment with them. The client is relieved for eighteen months and then right back where they started, because nothing was transferred. I've been that parachuting expert. I got good at it. And I've decided I don't want to build a company on repeating it.

So GUC's model is deliberately less convenient for me and more useful for the client: work alongside the team, not instead of it, and treat "does the client's own staff walk away better at this" as a real success metric, not a nice-to-have. It's why the services page leads with advisory work embedded inside client teams, and only gets to training and organizational development — strengths-based, in partnership with CBL — once that embedded trust is established. You can't teach an organization to run itself if you're the one running it.

The insight that surprised me, building this out over the past few weeks, is how much that philosophy is really just lean thinking applied to consulting itself. Lean says don't build more process than the work needs. Applied to advisory services, it says don't build more dependency than the client needs either. Every EPC project I ever ran taught me that the healthiest projects are the ones where, by the end, the client barely needs the outside expert anymore. I'm trying to build a business whose success is measured the same way — not by how indispensable I become, but by how quickly I make myself less necessary.

The broader takeaway: if you're building something new, the model you choose says more about your values than your mission statement does. I could have built GUC around maximizing billable hours per client. Instead I built it around minimizing them, deliberately, because that's the version of this work I actually believe in. It's a harder way to run a company. It's also the only way I wanted to run one.

The site is live. The real work — the first client conversations — starts now.

https://www.guc-intel.com/

2601: Chasing the Pulse — Why I Traded Perfection for Passion

There is a particular kind of dissatisfaction that only comes from owning something flawless. For the past few years, I rode a Honda CB1100 — a motorcycle that, by almost every measure, gave me nothing to complain about. The engine was smooth and torquey, the reliability was unshakeable, and the classic styling turned heads at every stop. On paper, it was the ideal machine for someone like me: dependable, refined, and built to last. And yet, something was missing.

The Paradox of Perfection

The CB1100 never let me down — and that, oddly, became the problem. Every ride felt predictable. The engine hummed along with an almost engineered contentment, as if it were quietly reassuring me that everything was under control. There were no edges, no rawness, no moments where the machine surprised me. I began to realize: I was not truly riding the bike. I was simply being transported by it. This feeling reminded me of something I have observed in my professional life as well. Tools and processes that are too polished, too optimized, sometimes remove the very friction that keeps us engaged and learning. Comfort, taken too far, can quietly become complacency.

The Pull of the Twin

The BMW R nineT had been on my radar for some time. A boxer twin — an engine layout that is, in many ways, a deliberate step away from refinement. It vibrates. It pulses. The exhaust note is deep, mechanical, and honest in a way that modern multi-cylinder engines rarely are. What I wanted was not better performance. What I wanted was feeling. The moment I first opened the throttle on the R nineT, I understood the difference. The twin-cylinder pulse travels through the frame, through the handlebars, into your hands. The exhaust sound is not background noise — it is a conversation between you and the machine. Every gear change, every corner, every deceleration feels deliberate and alive.

Choosing Imperfection, Intentionally

This renewal was not a rational upgrade. By many technical metrics, the CB1100 was the superior daily companion. But motorcycling — like many things worth doing — is not purely rational. I think there is a broader lesson in this choice: sometimes we need to step away from the perfect to rediscover our passion. The R nineT demands more from me as a rider. It is less forgiving, more characterful, and requires genuine attention. And because of that, every ride feels like an event rather than a routine. As I approach my 50s, I find myself more drawn to experiences that are textured — rough around the edges, full of character, and genuinely engaging. The smooth and the seamless have their place, but so does the raw and the real. The CB1100 was a great motorcycle. The R nineT makes me feel alive.

2524: The Catalyst for Change—How a Slump Forced My Reskilling in Power BI

 

Hi, my valued followers.

I must sincerely apologize for the silence on this blog since August. After joining a project consulting firm, I haven't had the capacity to innovate my blog regularly. It wasn't just a matter of being busy; in fact, the overwhelming influx of new experiences created a kind of "slump" where I felt I needed to absorb rather than produce. I believe this period of professional realignment is a story best highlighted here.

Today, I want to write about my journey into reskilling, specifically my deep dive into Power BI.

The Old Challenge, The New Solution

I have always been passionate about automated processes using IT tools. Throughout my career—whether as an instrument engineer or a construction supervisor—my constant challenge was to visualize the up-to-date project status on a real-time basis. In the past, I had to rely on complex, command-heavy Excel tables, or even utilize system engineers to develop custom tools using platforms like Microsoft Access.

The frustration was always the same: The tools were too slow, too rigid, and required too much effort to produce a dashboard that truly reflected reality.

Now, tools like Power BI (in MS) and Looker Studio (in Google) are capable of solving these previous challenges. They generate dynamic, real-time dashboards that allow analysis from multiple aspects—the ultimate output for modern project controls.

Embracing the 40%ism of Learning

I started touching Power BI in November on my private basis, relying on YouTube tutorials and textbooks. I must admit, as a traditional user accustomed only to Excel, it has not been easy. It requires a fundamental knowledge of DAX (Data Analysis Expressions), which is an entirely new language.

I am still very much under the learning curve, but I am already confident that this tool is the path to achieving my desirable outputs for project controls.

The lesson here is simple: Year 2025 was a tough year, but the pressure stimulated me to expand my knowledge into new areas. If I were not in my current situation—if I were still relying on my old processes and familiar business tools—I may not have seriously attempted to learn Power BI. The necessity of a high-performance solution forced a much-needed reskilling.

I will write more about my thoughts after turning 50, but the common message remains forever true: We must continuously learn and find new ways to maximize our individual capabilities in life. I am deeply appreciative of my new colleagues and the environment that has pushed me toward this growth.

2523 Respecting Individual Strengths: Reflections on Eiji’s Path to Music and Achievement

 

A proud moment as my son’s band Mecha Bijin wins the Senko Riot Grand Prix — proof that passion and persistence lead to success. 

https://www.tfm.co.jp/lock/riot/

It has been almost a month since I last updated this blog — I was caught up in work and daily matters. Today, however, I want to dedicate this entry to my younger son, Eiji, and share his remarkable milestone.

On August 7th, his music group Mecha Bijin won the Senko Riot Grand Prix, a nationwide music competition for teenagers with more than 3,000 participating bands. To become the champion among such fierce competition is truly an extraordinary accomplishment. Eiji is the drummer of the group, a passion he has pursued since junior high school.

Our two sons have always taken very different paths.

• My elder son, Kansai, graduated from a prestigious preparatory junior high school, studied abroad in India at the age of 17, and is now immersed in liberal arts studies in Akita, living out his ideal student life.

• Eiji, on the other hand, decided early on to become a musician, leaving conventional schooling behind to attend a music academy.

I must admit, there were times when Eiji struggled, especially when comparing himself to his brother’s more traditional achievements. Yet what makes me proud today is not only his award, but the fact that he found his own career path and is realizing his dream on his own terms.

Behind this success lies an incredible amount of effort: countless hours of daily practice (sometimes more than 14 hours), supported by the professional electronic drum set we provided. He even gave up all his anime goods — once his favorite — to dedicate himself fully to drumming. Through his academy, his skills sharpened, his network expanded, and although he was never the most sociable, he never hesitated when it came to pursuing what he loves.

This achievement reaffirms my belief that a person’s true ability and results are maximized when they pursue their own strengths and passions. It may sometimes look like a detour, but respecting one’s unique preferences is, in my view, the surest path to success and happiness.

One regret remains: on that very day, August 7th, I was at my flat in Osaka and could not attend the event in person. Perhaps my biggest blunder of 2025… but even so, my pride in Eiji’s achievement is immeasurable.

2522 Why Do Our Customers Really Come to Our Shisha Bar?

 

July is always a tricky month for us. It’s the periodical test season at universities in Kyoto, and that means our usual flow of student customers slows down.

Our shisha bar, Zerobase, is located in Demachiyanagi, right in the heart of Kyoto’s university area. We’re surrounded by major schools—Kyoto University, Doshisha University, Ritsumeikan University. Many of our regulars are students, especially those from Kyoto University, since the Commodity Faculty is just across the street.

But during exam season? They vanish into the libraries. And unfortunately, this month’s revenue fell below average.

Our store manager, Kenji, came to me for advice:

“How can we minimize the impact this month?”

He proposed a simple idea—a short-term student discount during the exam period.

As usual, I told him:

“If you believe it’ll work, go ahead. It’s your call on how to turn things around.”

But something kept me thinking. I remember that I recently re-read a book that I love, “Competing Against Luck” by Clayton Christensen, which introduces the Jobs to Be Done framework.

So I asked Kenji a simple but powerful question:

“Why do our customers really come to our shisha café?
Is it because the price is cheap?
Because the flavors are unique?
Because you’re handsome?
Or maybe because our drip coffee is special?”

He went silent.

So I gave him a summer task: read the book and summarize it in a simple report.

A week later, he called me back. Instead of going for a discount campaign, he suggested something different:

“Let’s hold a collaboration event with a fortune teller. Lowering prices won’t necessarily bring more customers, and it could even have a negative effect on how other customers perceive our value.”

His idea wasn’t exactly what I expected, but I agreed with his decision. More importantly, I was happy to see him thinking beyond just price.

What I really wanted him to discover was this:

Which “customer jobs” can our shisha café truly solve?

This little episode might be the trigger for Kenji to start prioritizing the Jobs to Be Done mindset in his marketing decisions. And for me, that’s already a step in the right direction.

2521 Still Exploring My Style as a Consultant

 

It has been six months since I began working as a consultant. I often find myself wondering—am I truly qualified to call myself one?

The term consultant implies someone who provides valuable advice to clients. This advice is often expected to be specific, actionable, and result-oriented. In many cases, the clearer the recommended actions and the more measurable the outcomes, the better.

But what if that’s not my strongest suit?

If the ideal consultant is someone who gives sharp, one-way directions toward a defined result, then maybe I’m not that kind of consultant. I tend to value individual autonomy over issuing rigid instructions. In this blog, I often speak about concepts like effortlessness, reframing, and the power of autonomy—all of which suggest that there is rarely a single "right" way to do things. Instead, there are countless unique paths shaped by individual strengths and perspectives.

For example, I may see the most direct route from A to B. But someone else, using their own strengths, might find it more effective to go from A through C to B. That’s not a mistake—it’s their way, and in many cases, it might even be better.

This belief doesn’t just shape how I work with clients—it also shapes how I manage my team. Whether I’m acting as a consultant or as a manager, I try to create an environment where people can tap into their own capabilities, think for themselves, and discover the most effective approach for them. I don’t want to impose my judgment if there’s room to encourage theirs.

Of course, in real business situations, there isn't always time to explore all the possibilities. When time, budget, and resources are limited, we often default to top-down decision-making. In such cases, a single action must be taken quickly—and sometimes, that's necessary. But whenever time allows, I resist the urge to give one-way advice. I aim to hold space for dialogue and discovery.

So yes, I am still exploring what it means to be a unique and professional consultant. But I know what I aim for: to deliver value and satisfaction to both my clients and my team, by maximizing their individual strengths, not by replacing their judgment with mine.

Maybe that’s not traditional. But maybe that’s exactly the kind of consultant—and manager—I’m meant to be.

2520 “Done Is Better Than Perfect” – Why 70% Is Enough to Start

 

Mark Zuckerberg of Facebook famously said, “Done is better than perfect.”
It’s a powerful mindset shift—especially in Japan, where many young professionals hesitate to share their work unless they feel it’s flawless.

I’ve written about this before, but now that it's June, I feel the need to revisit the idea. Many new employees who joined companies in April are likely struggling with the same issue my team member Kenji recently faced.

The concept is what I call “70%ism.”
In short: Don’t aim for 100% perfection from the beginning. Aim for 70% completeness. Why? Because that’s often good enough to start meaningful discussions, receive feedback, and move forward efficiently. And most importantly, it avoids unnecessary delays caused by chasing perfection.

When experienced professionals prepare a slide deck or a concept note, 70% completeness can often be achieved in 2–3 hours—even for heavy topics. On the other hand, pushing from 70% to 90% or more usually requires double or even triple the time. That extra effort upfront isn’t always justified, especially if the direction might change after feedback.

A few weeks ago, I asked Kenji, a new graduate who joined in April, to explore business ideas outside of our current shisha bar operations. I asked him to summarize a business flow that our IT team could use to begin prototyping a new service.

I expected something rough within a week. But three weeks passed, and nothing came.
Kenji was stuck—he felt he couldn’t present his idea unless it was polished and complete. To him, even producing something 70% done felt like showing 90% of his full effort—and he wasn’t confident enough yet.

So I gave him a new target:
“Forget 70%. Just give me 40%. Spend no more than two hours. Don’t overthink it—just get the idea out.”

He looked a bit embarrassed, but smiled. Two days later, he submitted a few memos and gave a verbal explanation. It wasn’t fancy—but it was clear enough. And our IT staff immediately understood the direction and got started.

If you’re managing new graduates, you might face a similar situation. Perfectionism holds people back—especially when they’re just beginning. For first assignments, I actually recommend aiming for “40%ism.” It encourages early output, builds confidence, and prevents the paralysis that comes from trying to be perfect.

Perfection can wait.
Progress starts with action—even if it's only 40% complete.

2519 Looking Back to Look Forward: A Reflection Inspired by Life Shift

Since relocating to Osaka, my days have been packed with launching a new business in Kyoto, stepping into a new consulting role, and occasionally indulging in my weekend hobby—motorcycling. In the midst of all this, I realized I had stopped making time to read. But this weekend, I reminded myself: without reflection and learning, there is no growth. So I picked a book off my shelf—Life Shift by Lynda Gratton.

This global bestseller had been recommended to me many times, and I now understand why. Among its many insights, one passage in particular struck me like a message written directly to my present self:

"I want to turn time upside down and ask you this question—not how your 20-year-old self would view who you are now, but how your 70-, 80-, or even 100-year-old self would reflect on the decisions you’re making today. Will the choices you're about to make stand up to the judgment of your future self?"

It’s easy—too easy—for us humans to forget why we made certain decisions at pivotal moments in life. I’ve found myself recently, as I have many times before, wondering: Was this the right move? Should I have stayed in my comfortable, stable role instead of choosing change?

This quote brought me back to the decision I made last summer. I knew I could continue in my previous role and enjoy a stable life and well-balanced routine. But I asked myself: What actions must I take now to live the life I want to look back on with pride 20 or 30 years from now?

Life Shift reminded me of that moment, and why I chose the more uncertain path. It wasn’t about immediate comfort—it was about investing in my future self.

Reading this book again became more than just a weekend habit; it became a reaffirmation of my commitment to a multi-stage life. It reminded me that growth isn’t always comfortable, but it’s always worth it when it aligns with your long-term vision.

So here I am, back on track, embracing the shift.

2518: Before You Submit That Entry Sheet—Do You Really Understand the Industry Hierarchy?

 

Through my shisha business in Kyoto, I’ve had the opportunity to meet many college students—future members of the workforce. As I’ve gotten to know them, one recurring topic has come up: how to choose the right company after graduation.

Some of them have even asked me for advice during their job-hunting journey. Interviews are happening. Offers are being considered. And a question I hear over and over again is:
“Does my choice make sense?”

What I’ve observed is that most of them are focused on short-term benefits—monthly income, allowances, and employee perks. Honestly, that’s natural. Many of us made our own first career decisions the same way. Few of us thought seriously about our long-term careers when we were 22. But what I want to highlight today is not about salary or benefits.

What Most Candidates Miss: Understanding the Industry Hierarchy

Here’s what’s been bothering me:
Very few students seem to understand where their potential employer stands in the industry structure.

When I ask them, “Do you know your future company’s buyers and sellers?” or “What position does this company occupy within the value chain?”—I usually get blank stares.

Let me give you a simple example.
In the car industry, it’s easy to imagine the hierarchy: manufacturers, parts suppliers, dealerships, service companies, raw material providers, etc. But if you take a company name in another industry, students often don’t have the framework to evaluate where it sits in the ecosystem.

This matters. A company’s role in the supply chain gives you clues about your potential responsibilities, career growth, and the kind of impact you’ll have.

Even within publicly listed companies, there’s a wide gap between being at the core of innovation and being a bulk commodity supplier. I’m not saying one is better than the other—every role is important. But students should know what they’re signing up for. The problem is, most don’t. Instead, they focus on brand recognition, number of employees, or surface-level corporate image.

Just check out any recent ranking of popular companies among graduates—you’ll see what I mean.

If you’re navigating the job-hunting season—or watching your child do so—I’d love to support you. Don’t just dance with the crowd. Let’s take a step back and think seriously about what kind of career you’re really building.

Career Fit Consulting??

I welcome your asking to help students (and their parents) find companies that truly align with their interests, strengths, and long-term goals.

2517 Losing Sight of the Goal: A Lesson from My Shisha Business

We often miss our goals when outcomes deviate from expectations. In those moments, it's tempting to reach for quick fixes—like patching a deep wound with a band-aid. But these stopgap measures rarely work. They fail because they don’t address the root causes, and more often than not, they lack a foundation in fact-based analysis.

Take my own experience with our shisha business. We’ve been hovering at the break-even point, so I asked our store manager, Kenji, for ideas on how to pivot toward stable profitability. Kenji, aware that our current status doesn’t inspire confidence among stakeholders, proposed a couple of ideas.

One was to partner with local companies and offer shisha sessions as part of their employee benefits—essentially a B2B approach to build a stable income base. The other was to provide consulting services for café operators.

Honestly, both suggestions made me uncomfortable. While creative, they felt misaligned with our original goal: to grow a high-quality shisha and café business. Especially the consulting idea—it’s simply too early. We’re still refining our own operations; it’s premature to advise others. He had a few other proposals as well, but none were grounded in the core objective we set for this fiscal year.

I shared my concerns with Kenji and reminded him of the balanced scorecard we created last month. I didn’t have to say much—Kenji is a sharp and capable team member. He immediately realized his proposals had strayed from the KPIs and strategic direction we had agreed upon. This is precisely why setting clear KPIs and aligning them with our mission, vision, and values (MVV) is so important. They serve as our compass.

I also encouraged him to revisit the business books I had previously recommended. He agreed, even saying he would purchase and read them. That small act reflects the kind of shared learning culture we’re trying to build.

This episode illustrates how easy it is to drift from your original purpose—to fall into what I call “the cliff.” We forget our golden rules, lose our direction, and end up reacting instead of acting. But having a well-defined MVV, clear goals, and measurable KPIs keeps us anchored.

I’m now reflecting on how to truly turn our business around, not through detours, but by returning to the fundamentals we committed to at the beginning of this fiscal year.

2516: Respecting One’s Will—A Leadership Decision Beyond Performance

In my leadership journey, I’ve come to deeply value people who are genuinely interested in their current roles. Passion often drives performance more than skill alone. I recently faced a situation that reminded me of this truth—one that wasn’t easy, but necessary.

One of our key project members, originally assigned from another region, had been highly praised by our client. His knowledge perfectly matched the project's needs, and there was no doubt in my mind that he could stay until the very end. I was even preparing to recommend him for a higher position.

However, after working with him for a couple of months, I started to notice subtle changes. Although his performance remained stable, something felt off. It was as if he was holding back—he wasn’t fully engaged or performing to the best of his abilities. There was a quiet discomfort in his attitude, a lack of focus that I couldn't ignore.

So, I decided to address it directly in a one-on-one meeting. I told him frankly, "You always seem one step ahead of the team, and at times, it feels like you're detached from us." He denied it, but when I asked if he truly wanted to stay, his answer was telling: “It depends on you. If needed, I can stay.” He eventually admitted that his true desire was to return to his home country.

I explained my core belief—when there's a gap between one’s desires and their assigned role, performance inevitably suffers. I suggested that he demobilize from the project and pursue a path more aligned with his goals. As a professional, he initially resisted. “I can still fulfill the role,” he insisted. But I stood firm. I told him that I respected his capabilities deeply, and for that very reason, I believed he deserved a position where he could thrive with both mind and motivation aligned.

He was surprised—maybe even shaken—by my decision. Yet, he accepted it. Later, he repeatedly confirmed the demobilization schedule and asked me not to change my mind. He confided in others that the decision wasn’t in line with his personal wishes. But I explained once again: career alignment matters more than short-term assignments. When there's a mismatch between role and desire, the result is rarely productive—for the individual or the team.

I reflected on a similar experience I had years ago while working for an EPC contractor. I was assigned to a project I had no passion for. Though I fulfilled my duties, I was unmotivated, uninspired, and far from innovative. It taught me that performance without purpose is a hollow shell. When passion and role align, that’s when people shine.

As I revisit that memory, I’m confident in my decision. I believe that in his home country, doing what he truly wants, he will be more engaged, more innovative, and much more fulfilled.

That is the kind of professional I want to support.

2515: Standing at the Crossroads of Experience and Renewal

I’m 49 years old—part of what’s often referred to in Japan as the “Lost Generation.” We graduated during a time when job opportunities were scarce, in the late '90s to early 2000s. It wasn’t an easy start, and many of us carry that experience with quiet resilience.

Now, as I prepare to enter my 50s, I can no longer ignore the question: How should I approach the second half of my professional and personal life?

We live in what is now called the "100-Year Life" era. The traditional notion of retiring at 60 is becoming outdated. Instead, we should aim to stay active, curious, and engaged for as long as possible. Just a year ago, I declared to my friends and colleagues that I wanted to work until the end of my life. But recently, I’ve found myself taking a step back from that bold statement—not because I’ve lost the will, but because I sometimes wonder if my knowledge and skills are still relevant in today’s business world.

Perhaps I’m standing at the edge of the business frontlines, now occupied by a new generation. Still, being in this position has given me the stimulation to reawaken. I’ve realized that I’m not done yet. My sword is still sharp—I just need to keep learning and stay in shape for the battles ahead.

Our generation is unique. We witnessed the world before and after the digital transformation. When we started working, Windows 95 had just been released, and email over dial-up connections was becoming the norm. We’ve experienced both the analog and digital eras, and that positions us as potential bridges between the legacy work culture and the present.

To everyone from my generation: I want to cheer you on. We’re not obsolete. We can still be essential contributors to the future of business and the economy. Let’s start by learning something new—just a small step. Let’s climb a different hill than the one we’re used to. Our knowledge isn’t outdated; it’s a foundation that can evolve and blend with the new.

The journey isn’t over. In fact, it might just be entering its most meaningful phase.