Time is an indispensable part of life, and lately, I’ve been reflecting deeply on how quickly it passes. This thought often takes me to the bustling city of Osaka, where I’m currently living, near Shin-Osaka station. It’s a place I’ve come to know through my daily walks and commutes. One thing that stands out is the Thunderbird Express train—a local service in JR West connecting Osaka to Tsuruga (Toyama Prefecture). Though I’ve never personally ridden it, it reminds me of my elder son, now 22 years old.
When he was young, around 2 or 3 years old, his favorite hobby was playing with his Thunderbird train set. I can still hear him mimicking the sound of the train’s announcement: “Express train Thunderbird, ready for start!” He would repeat this over and over, delighting in the sounds of his imagination. At the time, I was in my early 30s, deeply immersed in my work and traveling overseas almost every month for business. I was hardly at home—maybe 10-20% of the time.
Now, living near Shin-Osaka, I frequently see the Thunderbird stationed at the platform during my walks. I had always known about the train’s service area, but seeing it up close, again and again, has brought a certain sense of regret. I can’t help but think: Why didn’t I take him on the Thunderbird when I had the chance?
The distance between Tokyo and Shin-Osaka is only about 2.5 hours by bullet train. Was it time? Money? Or perhaps my own selfish desire for private time, for golfing, drinking, and other distractions? I regret not seizing that opportunity when I had the chance. I had weekends, I had the time, and yet I failed to share something as simple yet meaningful as a train ride with my son.
This experience, I believe, can resonate with young parents today. It’s a reminder of how time is often discounted in our busy lives. When your child is excited about something, that moment is precious and fleeting. I missed out on that time—time that I can never get back.
But rather than dwell on regret, I’ve decided to do something about it. The next time my son visits me in Osaka, I want to offer him the chance to take a ride on the Thunderbird. Even if he doesn’t remember the exact moments from his childhood, I want him to know that I regret not sharing that experience with him earlier—and I want to make up for it.
I plan to bring up this story over dinner one evening. It may be a simple conversation, but I believe it will be a warm and meaningful one. A chance to share not just the experience of the Thunderbird, but the importance of taking time for the people we love, and learning from the moments we’ve missed.
Time passes quickly, but it’s never too late to make the most of it.
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