Generational Change Has Reached Me, Too

Major League Baseball is in the middle of its postseason, and I have been watching the games with my usual mix of excitement and anxiety. At the same time, news of veteran players retiring reminds me that every field eventually undergoes generational change. Yesterday, I experienced a small version of that myself. It was a little sad, but it also made me think about what it means to step aside, leave something behind, and let the next generation take over.

Major League Baseball is in the middle of its postseason, and I have been watching the games nervously day after day.

While some players are still performing at the highest level, many others are once again announcing their retirement this year.

Yesterday, I too was relieved of my role as the head of a certain research group.

It made me feel a little sad, realizing that this is how generational change takes place.

Progress in research has been remarkable.

When I was younger, there were many things I used to think, “If only we could do this,” or “I wish we could study that.”

Now, many of those things have actually become possible.

And somewhere along the way, I realized that I was no longer quite able to keep up with all of them.

That is certainly a little sad, but perhaps it is also the right time to step back.

The title of my presentation at an upcoming conference is:

“Reclassification of 〇〇 Diseases: A Mechanism-Based Framework.”

In simple terms, I am proposing a new classification that moves beyond the conventional way of categorizing these diseases.

In about ten minutes of presentation time, I will try to condense much of the “experience” I have accumulated over the years.

And I plan to end with the following words:

“Our next step is a multicenter molecular study in Japan to validate and refine this framework.”

Being able to present what I have done over the years in a coherent form at an international conference is not such a bad way to bring things together.

From there, the future of this research in Japan will be entrusted to the promising young researchers of the next generation, including those who spoke at yesterday’s meeting.

Rather than clinging to my position indefinitely, perhaps I should think of this as leaving behind something of my own and handing it over to those who come next.

Once I began to think that way, the sadness I had felt started to change into another question:

What should I do next?

There is not much time to indulge in sentimentality.

For now, I simply need to prepare properly for the conference that is just around the corner.

Sometimes stepping aside is not the end of a journey, but the moment when we decide what to leave for those who follow.

・・・

• generational change — 世代交代

• be relieved of one’s role — 役職・任務を解かれる

• keep up with — 進歩などについていく

• step back — 第一線から一歩引く

• move beyond — 従来の枠を越える

• condense — 凝縮する

• coherent form — 筋道の通った、一つにまとまった形

• entrust A to B — AをBに託す

• cling to one’s position — 地位・立場にしがみつく

• indulge in sentimentality — 感傷に浸る

#GenerationalChange
#PassingTheTorch
#MedicalResearch
#AcademicLife
#InternationalConference
#Kamakura
#JapanesePathologist

A Vending Machine for Shonan Kamakura Ofunaken

This morning at Kamakura Station, I noticed a brand-new vending machine that immediately caught my attention. It belonged to Ofunaken, a long-established railway bento company famous for its pressed horse mackerel sushi. For more than a century, this local specialty has been closely associated with Kamakura and the Shonan area. And for someone like me who happens to love it, being able to buy it from a vending machine is surprisingly exciting.

This morning, on my way to work, I noticed someone standing in front of a brand-new vending machine inside Kamakura Station, studying it carefully.

Curious, I looked over and saw that the machine was wrapped in a familiar pattern. At the top were the words “Shonan Kamakura Ofunaken.”

There used to be an Ofunaken stand on the platform, toward the Kita-Kamakura end, but apparently it has now been replaced by this vending machine.

I say “apparently” because the stand was always closed during my morning and evening commuting hours, so lately I had not really known whether it was still operating or not.

A staffed shop requires at least one person to be there.

If it is going to stay open from morning until evening, one person would obviously not be enough, and the staff would also need breaks.

There were times when I went there expecting it to be open, only to find a sign saying, “On break.”

Of course, that is perfectly understandable when people are running the shop.

Still, on the rare occasions when I happened to be traveling during the daytime and had already decided that I would treat myself to my favorite aji no oshizushi, only to find the stand closed, the disappointment was considerable.

Aji no oshizushi is pressed horse mackerel sushi and has long been one of Ofunaken’s signature products. First sold in 1913 using horse mackerel from the waters around Sagami Bay, it has become a long-established local specialty associated with the Kamakura–Shonan area.

A vending machine, on the other hand, can operate around the clock—or, in the case of a railway station, at least for as long as the trains are running.

Inventory can presumably be monitored as well, making it easier to avoid running out of stock and allowing a more stable supply.

None of this is new, of course.

These have been advantages of vending machines ever since they first appeared.

Even so, the idea that I can now reliably get Ofunaken’s pressed horse mackerel sushi whenever I want still feels rather revolutionary to me.

Best of all, I can buy it here in the morning before leaving Kamakura.

That could be particularly useful when I am traveling to a conference.

Suppose, for example, I have a meeting in Osaka starting at 1 p.m.

Instead of hurriedly buying a pork cutlet sandwich at Shin-Yokohama Station, I could buy a box of pressed horse mackerel sushi at Kamakura Station in the morning, take it with me on the Shinkansen, and have it for lunch somewhere after passing Nagoya.

That sounds just about perfect.

It feels as though one more option has been added to my conference-travel routine, and I am strangely pleased about it.

We live in an age in which more and more things are being automated to save labor, and I suppose that is simply the way times are changing.

If so, I hope we will see more vending machines like this—machines that turn out to be unexpectedly useful.

Sometimes automation does not merely replace something—it quietly adds a little convenience, and even a little pleasure, to everyday life.

・・・

pressed sushi / oshizushi
押し寿司。酢飯と具材を型に入れ、上から押して形を整える寿司。

horse mackerel
鯵（アジ）。英語では aji とそのまま表記することもあります。

long-established
老舗の、長い歴史を持つ。

signature product
その店や会社を代表する看板商品。

staffed shop
店員が常駐する有人店舗。

inventory
在庫。在庫管理は inventory management。

stable supply
安定供給。

around the clock
24時間、昼夜を問わず。

#Kamakura #Ofunaken #AjiNoOshizushi #JapaneseVendingMachine #Ekiben #JapanesePathologist

Whose Heart and the Autumn Sky?

This morning’s gray sky was a complete change from yesterday’s fine weather, and the scent of fragrant olive seemed especially vivid in the damp air. Autumn weather changes quickly, and in Japan that changeability has long been compared with the human heart. But was it originally a woman’s heart, or a man’s? Looking into the history of the proverb led me to an unexpected answer — and to the thought that perhaps human fickleness has never belonged to one gender alone.

In complete contrast to yesterday’s fine weather, the sky was dull and overcast this morning.

On a day like this, the scent of fragrant olive somehow stands out more clearly and suddenly catches my attention.

This year, the shrubs we planted as a screen between our house and our neighbor’s have finally begun to flower, sending us a faint but pleasant fragrance.

The autumn sky changes from moment to moment.

In Japan, people have often said, “A woman’s heart is like the autumn sky,” comparing the rapidly changing weather with a woman’s changing feelings.

But in reality, men seem at least as likely to be unfaithful, and when it comes to being devoted to one person, I sometimes think women may have the advantage.

Whether being inclined toward multiple partners is biologically good or bad is, of course, not so simple.

From the standpoint of genetic diversity, having different partners might offer some advantage. From the standpoint of raising children, however, a stable relationship with a limited number of partners might be more beneficial.

Today, of course, a partner is not necessarily someone of the biologically opposite sex. Once we take that into account, expressions such as “a man’s heart” or “a woman’s heart” may gradually lose much of their meaning.

So I looked into the origin of this Japanese proverb.

To my surprise, the older expression was actually “A man’s heart and the autumn sky.”

Similar wording can be found in Japanese kyogen from the Muromachi period, and by the Edo period, the expression was used to describe a man’s unfaithful or changeable affections.

For a long time, Japanese dictionaries also treated the version referring to a man’s heart as the original form.

So that was how it began.

I had always assumed that the saying reflected a male point of view — a man’s frustration with the supposedly unpredictable feelings of women.

Apparently, I had it backward.

There is said to be a similar English expression, “A woman’s mind and a winter wind change oft,” so perhaps the tendency of human feelings to change is nothing for me to worry about. People seem to have noticed it everywhere, in every age.

Still, while people’s hearts are free to change, I wish the weather would settle down a little.

We had such a long spell of rain this year.

Now that the sun has finally appeared, I would like the clear weather to stay with us for a while.

Human hearts may be free to change, but I would prefer the autumn sky to make up its mind.

・・・

overcast
空が雲で覆われた「どんよりした、曇った」。
The sky was dull and overcast.

fragrant olive
金木犀。英語では fragrant olive や sweet osmanthus と呼ばれる。

stand out
「目立つ、際立つ」。香りや色、特徴などが周囲より強く感じられるときにも使える。

devoted to one person
「一人の人に一途である」。devoted には「献身的な、深く愛情を注ぐ」という意味がある。

from the standpoint of ...
「〜という観点から」。少し論理的、学術的な文章でも使いやすい表現。

fickle
「移り気な、気まぐれな」。人の感情や好みが変わりやすいことを表す。

have it backward
「逆に理解している、あべこべに考えている」。
Apparently, I had it backward.
＝「どうやら私は逆に考えていたようだ」。

make up one’s mind
「決心する、態度を決める」。最後の一文では、秋空を人間のように扱った表現。

#AutumnSky #JapaneseProverbs #FragrantOlive #ChangingSeasons #EverydayThoughts #Kamakura #JapanesePathologist

Morning on the Beach, Evening by the Harbor

 A day that began unexpectedly in the middle of the night turned into a full day by the sea. After watching Major League Baseball, I took Anne to Enoshima for a morning walk along the beach, then headed to Yokohama in the evening for a dog sports festival. By the end of the day, I realized once again how much having Anne in my life has encouraged me to go out, explore, and enjoy places I might otherwise never visit.

 I happened to wake up in the middle of the night, and that was the beginning of the end.

I immediately remembered that the Major League Baseball postseason Division Series broadcasts were starting today, so I turned on NHK.

First came the White Sox.

By the time I switched on the TV, Murakami had already hit a home run, but the White Sox went on to beat the Guardians and take their first win of the series.

Next came the Dodgers.

I was relieved when I saw a caption saying that Ohtani had gotten a hit.

Their starting pitcher was doing well, so I figured they would be all right from there. Instead of going back to sleep, I decided to take Anne out for a walk.

Since my foot had started hurting again, I drove to Enoshima and walked with her along the boardwalk and the beach.

 

There were many people by the sea, each enjoying their own kind of exercise or recreation, and Anne joined in by going into the water and having some fun of her own.

After returning home, I took care of a few things around the house, and in the late afternoon we headed to Yokohama.

Our destination was the Dog Sports Festival being held at Rinko Park, a waterfront park overlooking Yokohama Harbor.

There were all kinds of shops selling things for dogs, along with various dog-related events and activities.

So, after a day that began with far too little sleep, this is about as much as I can manage to write tonight.

 

In the morning, we were on the beach; in the evening, by the harbor.

Thanks to Anne, I spent the whole day going from one place to another.

On the way home, it suddenly occurred to me that the reason I get to visit so many places and enjoy so many different experiences is simply that Anne is with us.

Once again, I found myself grateful to her.

Sometimes a dog does more than walk beside us — she quietly expands the world we live in.

・・・

the beginning of the end
「これで終わりだ」「これが運の尽きだった」という意味の表現。ここでは少しユーモラスに使っています。

go on to do
「その後〜する」。
The White Sox went on to beat the Guardians.
＝ホワイトソックスはそのままガーディアンズを破った。

figure
ここでは「〜だろうと考える、判断する」。会話でもよく使われる自然な表現。

take care of a few things
「ちょっとした用事を片付ける」。日本語の「家のことを少し片付ける」に近い柔らかい表現。

overlook
「〜を見渡す、〜に面している」。
Rinko Park overlooks Yokohama Harbor. のように場所の説明によく使います。

occur to someone
「（考えなどが）ふと頭に浮かぶ」。
It suddenly occurred to me that ...
＝「ふと〜だと気づいた」。

expand my world
直訳すれば「私の世界を広げる」。行動範囲だけでなく、経験や人とのつながりが増えるという含みのある表現。

 

#LifeWithDogs #Enoshima #Yokohama #DogLife #WeekendWalk #Kamakura #JapanesePathologist

Why I Still Don’t Quite Feel Like a Local

I have lived in Kamakura for almost thirty years, yet I still hesitate to call myself a true local. Knowing a place, I have come to think, is not simply a matter of how long you have lived there. It is also about knowing how the streets have changed, remembering what used to stand on a certain corner, and carrying the town’s rhythms and memories inside you. In that sense, Kamakura still feels strangely unfamiliar to me.

The record-breaking stretch of rain that has lasted for more than a month finally seems likely to end today.

That said, another typhoon has already formed, so who knows how long this fine weather will last.

The other day, I was talking with an acquaintance when the recent flooding beneath the railway underpass in Geba came up in conversation.

“I was surprised that something like that could happen even in Kamakura,” the person said.

I was not quite sure what was meant by “even in Kamakura.”

From my point of view, the flooding attracted so much media attention precisely because it happened in Kamakura, one of Japan’s best-known tourist destinations.

“That area is low-lying, so it tends to flood when we get heavy rain. Local people know that, so for us it was more like, ‘Well, yes, that can happen there,’” I replied, sounding as though I knew everything about the place.

But then I wondered: how much do I really know about Kamakura?

I have lived here for nearly thirty years, so perhaps I should be able to call myself a local by now.

But compared with my wife, who grew up in Kamakura, I am still an outsider. More than that, I do not really know the atmosphere of everyday Kamakura.

A true local probably knows what the town is like during the daytime on an ordinary weekday.

I hardly do.

The Kamakura I know best is the Kamakura crowded with tourists on weekends, when I go out into town together with them.

Still, when my children were small, I used to ride my bicycle all over the city on my days off.

I also walked around Kamakura a great deal with Naito and Koro, our previous dogs.

With Anne, however, I do not walk nearly as far as I used to.

Perhaps knowing a town means knowing how it has changed.

What used to be on that corner.

What this street looked like years ago.

To recognize change, however, you first need to know the town as it once was.

And perhaps a place only truly becomes part of you when you know the streets without having to think about them—when you feel as though you could almost walk them with your eyes closed.

Naturally, I know the neighborhood around my childhood home in Tokyo well.

In fact, even Shibuya, which was simply a station I passed through during my junior high and high school years, feels more familiar to me.

Shinjuku has changed enormously, too, but I still understand its basic layout, so I rarely feel uneasy there.

Kamakura is different.

Even after all these years, it somehow does not completely feel like my “hometown.”

Sometimes I even wonder what I would do if I got lost.

Toward evening, I heard the sound of festival music coming from the direction of Egara Tenjin Shrine, so I took Anne out for a walk.

 

Perhaps being able to encounter little local events like this simply because I live here is part of what it means to be a local.

Still, I cannot help thinking that my sense of belonging would be very different if I had grown up with these sounds, festivals, streets, and seasons as an ordinary part of childhood.

Perhaps a hometown is not simply where you live, but where the memories of a place have had time to grow with you.

・・・

record-breaking stretch — 記録的に長く続く期間
low-lying — 周囲より土地が低い
outsider — よそ者、その土地の出身ではない人
everyday — 日常の、普段の
come up in conversation — 会話の話題にのぼる
be familiar with — ～に馴染みがある
basic layout — 基本的な街の構造、配置
sense of belonging — 自分がそこに属しているという感覚
grow up with — ～を身近に経験しながら育つ
hometown — 故郷、地元

#Kamakura #LocalLife #SenseOfBelonging #LivingInJapan #EverydayJapan #Kamakura #JapanesePathologist

Why Do We Say “Osumo” Only for Sumo?

The other day, I noticed something interesting in an ordinary conversation. My wife apologized to our neighbor, saying, “I’m sorry, it’s sumo time,” but in Japanese she used the word osumo with the respectful prefix “o.” We do not say “obaseball” or “osoccer.” Why does sumo receive this special treatment? Perhaps the answer lies in the unique history of sumo—not only as a sport, but also as a traditional ceremony connected with Japanese culture and spirituality.

 

The other day, I visited a neighbor in the evening while taking my dog Anne for a walk.

When my wife greeted our neighbor, she said, “I’m sorry, it’s osumo time.”

Our neighbor replied, “No problem. I don’t watch sumo.”

I actually wanted to watch the sumo broadcast, but since the rain had stopped for only a short while, I decided to give up watching the later matches and go outside.

Listening to their conversation, I suddenly realized something.

In Japanese, we say osumo.

We do not add “o” to other sports such as baseball, soccer, or basketball.

In English, sumo is simply called “sumo,” just like other sports. But in Japanese, many people naturally say osumo, with a feeling of respect and familiarity.

Of course, this may be because sumo is not only a sport. It is also connected with traditional Japanese religious ceremonies.

The origins of sumo are believed to include rituals in which people prayed for good harvests and peace in the country, showing their strength before the gods.

In ancient Japan, sumo was also performed as a court ceremony called Sumai no Sechie, where wrestlers from different regions competed in front of the emperor. Over many centuries, it developed into both a competition and a professional entertainment event, but its connection with tradition and ritual has remained.

Even today, many aspects of sumo reflect this history.

Wrestlers do not appear with dyed hair or visible tattoos. The topknot hairstyle, the ring-entering ceremony, and the traditional clothing of the referee all preserve a style that comes from the past.

Perhaps because sumo still carries this sense of ceremony, many Japanese people naturally add the respectful “o” when they say osumo.

Major League Baseball does not carry the same cultural meaning, and neither do words such as “Premier” or “Super” used in other sports.

The official name used by NHK, Japan’s public broadcaster, is Ozumo (Grand Sumo), which also reflects the special status of professional sumo.

I also remember that Yokozuna Onosato, who recently won a championship after returning from difficulties, said in an interview, “I want to become a strong osumosan.”

An osumosan is not simply an athlete. A sumo wrestler is someone who carries a tradition that once represented offering strength to the gods.

Perhaps that is why sumo wrestlers have a responsibility to protect this tradition.

And perhaps that is why, even in the future, Japanese people will continue to say osumo, with that small but meaningful “o.”

Still, there is one thing I cannot help wondering: why is it so difficult to get tickets to see sumo live? 

A single “o” may seem small, but it carries centuries of respect, tradition, and cultural memory.

・・・

respectful prefix
A word added at the beginning of a word to show respect or politeness.
（敬意や丁寧さを表す接頭語）

good harvest
A large amount of crops produced from farming.
（豊作）

ritual
A traditional ceremony performed in a special way.
（儀式、儀礼）

court ceremony
An official event held in a royal or imperial court.
（宮廷行事）

preserve
To protect something and keep it unchanged.
（保存する、守る）

cultural memory
Ideas and traditions that are passed from one generation to another.
（文化的記憶）

#Sumo
#JapaneseCulture
#TraditionalJapan
#JapaneseHistory
#SportsAndCulture
#Kamakura
#JapanesePathologist

Farewell to My Cane, for Now

The typhoon has moved away to the east, and this morning, for the first time in a while, there were breaks in the clouds. When the sky clears, my mood seems to clear with it. October has begun with a touch of autumn chill. My Achilles tendon is finally improving, too, and since yesterday I have stopped using my cane. Perhaps it is time to start moving normally again—carefully, but deliberately.

The typhoon moved away to the east, and this morning, for the first time in a while, there were breaks in the clouds.

When the sky clears, my mood seems to clear with it.

Today is the first day of October.

Perhaps because of the cooler air left behind by the typhoon, it was chilly enough this morning that I put on a jacket before leaving home.

The pain in my right Achilles tendon has eased considerably, so since yesterday I have stopped using my cane.

Walking with a cane certainly makes things easier on my leg. And on the train, it somehow makes me feel justified in sitting in a priority seat, so I tend to sit down whenever I can.

There is nothing wrong with that in itself.

But I was already getting too little exercise, and using the cane made me move even less.

People are meant to stand and move.

Sitting too much is not good for the body.

A lifestyle involving long periods of sitting is said to be associated with increased risks of diabetes, cardiovascular disease, and various other health problems.

And pathology is, after all, a very sedentary profession.

A pathologist can easily spend one or two hours at a time sitting in front of a microscope, staring through the eyepieces.

Still, I have heard that simply standing up and walking around briefly every 30 minutes can help.

So whenever my Apple Watch tells me it is time to stand, I try to obey.

If I have no particular reason to get up, I go to the restroom.

Since injuring my foot, though, my already insufficient level of exercise has fallen even further, and my weight has finally started climbing.

I have now crossed 78 kilograms, what I had regarded as my first warning line, and I feel I am approaching the point where it may become difficult to turn back.

I need to hold the line here somehow.

So I have firmly decided to stop heading for the priority seats with a cane in my hand.

There is still some pain, and I am still limping slightly.

Walking a long distance can make it hurt, but changing trains at stations is no longer a problem.

I can also climb stairs if I take them slowly.

So in everyday life, as long as I do not overdo it, I have decided to use my leg as much as I did before the injury.

Only now do I realize how important such ordinary daily habits really are.

It is still too early for me to rely on a cane.

For now, I would rather keep walking on my own two feet.

・・・

• break in the clouds — 雲の切れ間

• ease considerably — かなり和らぐ

• feel justified in doing — ～してもよいような気になる

• sedentary — 座っている時間の長い、運動量の少ない

• eyepieces — 顕微鏡などの接眼レンズ

• warning line — 警戒ライン、越えたくない境界

• hold the line — 踏ん張る、これ以上悪化させない

• limp — 足を引きずって歩く

• overdo it — 無理をする

• rely on — ～に頼る

#AchillesTendon
#HealthyHabits
#Walking
#PathologistLife
#October
#Kamakura
#JapanesePathologist

AI-Driven Job Loss Is Accelerating

AI is advancing so rapidly that the idea of machines taking human jobs no longer feels like a distant prediction. What surprises me most is that many of the jobs now under pressure are not manual ones, but highly skilled intellectual professions—doctors, programmers, scientists, and perhaps teachers. As a pathologist who uses AI almost every day, I increasingly wonder not whether AI will change my profession, but how much of it will eventually remain in human hands.

Recently, I have not been hearing very much about political developments.

The news seems to be filled day after day with floods and typhoons.

Of course, that is not really the case. There are also reports here and there about the consumption tax, U.S.-China relations, Ukraine, Iran, and other issues.

Japan’s extraordinary session of the Diet is about to convene, so I expect various political debates to begin. Yet along with an increasingly complicated international situation, rapid advances in AI are bringing fundamental changes to the structure of society.

The future looks increasingly chaotic.

U.S. President Donald Trump apparently wants AI to be called SI, or “super intelligence,” from now on, and promoted the term during his recent meeting with Chinese President Xi Jinping.

Perhaps he hopes to go down in history as the man who named it.

But whether we call it AI or SI does not fundamentally change what we use it for, so changing the name hardly seems to be the essential issue.

If OpenAI changed its name to OpenSI, though, things might begin to feel a little different.

Recently, I have begun to understand much more clearly what it really means when people say that AI will take human jobs.

I had not expected it to take over so much of the work done by intellectual professionals.

Even looking briefly around the medical profession, there are already situations in which AI can outperform physicians in diagnosis.

For an internist, if a patient’s condition, chief complaints, and clinical data are entered into an AI system, it can already produce highly accurate differential diagnoses for many diseases and even suggest treatment strategies.

Surgeons, too, should be able to reduce their workload considerably by using AI to analyze radiological images and assist them in deciding how to proceed.

As for pathologists, if we prepare the specimens correctly and accurately identify the histological findings, we can then discuss those findings with AI and work our way toward a diagnosis.

But even pathologists have no idea when “AI unemployment” might come knocking at our door.

In all these cases, however, human involvement is still assumed.

So the future may depend on how much meaningful human involvement remains possible.

And I have another concern.

Will the coming generation of doctors, who grow up practicing medicine with AI from the beginning, still have enough knowledge and experience to check whether AI is right?

Programming once seemed to be one of the professions of the future, and many people became programmers during its golden age.

Now, with the extraordinarily rapid development of AI, programmers themselves seem to be facing difficult times.

I recently read in a newspaper about AI solving a difficult mathematical problem.

Scientists, too, may eventually find themselves under considerable pressure from AI.

Perhaps the idea that truth itself will be revealed by AI will eventually apply to every field.

Education may also increasingly be handled by AI.

Teachers might someday find that their main remaining role is to interact with students as older and more experienced human beings.

Yet when I hear recent reports of disgraceful misconduct by some teachers, I can also understand why parents might sometimes feel safer entrusting certain aspects of education to AI.

Perhaps children would need to interact closely only with carefully chosen adults.

And for children who find group activities particularly difficult, AI might sometimes be a better partner for learning.

Some people will probably resist and refuse to use AI.

But they will find it difficult to compete with people who do use it.

Even if individuals resist, they are unlikely to win against groups in which the use of AI is simply taken for granted.

If so, the number of occupations that disappear or shrink because of AI may be far greater than we currently imagine.

For many people, it may soon be a case of, “I could be next.”

And remarkably, many of those people will be intellectual professionals.

I still do not know whether all of this will ultimately be good or bad for humanity.

I do not even know whether the answer will become clear while I am still alive.

But the world as it exists when I die will be the final point of the future that I personally get to see.

So I want to keep thinking carefully about what that world will look like.

The future may belong not simply to those who use AI, but to those who can still judge whether AI is right.

・・・

AI-driven job loss — AIによる雇用喪失
AI-driven は「AIによって引き起こされる」という意味。

intellectual professional — 知的専門職
医師、研究者、法律家など、専門知識を中心に仕事をする人。

differential diagnosis — 鑑別診断
可能性のある疾患を複数挙げ、絞り込んでいく医学用語。

human involvement — 人間の関与
AIに完全に任せず、人間が判断や確認に参加すること。

come knocking at one’s door — 身近な問題として迫ってくる
直訳は「戸口をノックしに来る」。ここではAI失業が自分にも迫るという比喩。

take something for granted — 当然のことと考える
本文では、AIを使うことが最初から当然になっている状態。

be under pressure — 苦境に立つ、圧力を受ける
職業や業界が変化を迫られる場合にもよく使う。

I could be next. — 次は自分かもしれない
日本語の「明日は我が身」に近い自然な表現。

 

#ArtificialIntelligence #AIJobs #FutureOfWork #MedicalAI #Pathology #Kamakura #JapanesePathologist

My Showa Days Are Back

I have been slowly bringing my late father’s old stereo system back to life. What began as a simple attempt to play some old records turned into an unexpected struggle with a tiny stylus. In the end, it was my wife—more persistent and mechanically minded than I am—who solved the problem. And when the music finally began to play, something else came back with it: a piece of the Showa era we once knew.

Today marks the 34th consecutive day of rain in the Tokyo area—an unusually long stretch of wet weather.

I have been slowly bringing my late father’s stereo system back to life.

Once I connected everything, the cassette deck worked right away, but getting the record player going was much more difficult because I first had to find a replacement stylus.

I had been thinking of taking the cartridge head to Tower Records in Shibuya and asking someone there to take a look at it. But the days went by without my managing to stop there on my way home, and eventually my wife lost patience with me and ordered a stylus online.

So far, so good.

But when I finally tried to fit the new stylus into the cartridge head, it simply would not go in.

The stylus seemed to be exactly the same size as the opening, and I had no idea what to do.

After consulting AI, I came to suspect that the piece of metal inside the opening might be part of the old stylus left behind. I tried to pull it out, but that did not work either.

I was beginning to think I had reached a dead end.

Then yesterday, my wife sent me a video on LINE saying, “It finally works.”

At first, I had no idea what she meant.

It turned out that she had taken the cartridge head to our local Nojima electronics store. They managed to fit the stylus into it and even confirmed that it produced sound.

Apparently, the opening had narrowed over the years as the material aged, so they widened it enough for the stylus to fit.

My wife belonged to a photography club when she was a student, and perhaps that explains why she has always been rather mechanically minded.

She is also very good at knowing when to ask someone else for help, and these days she has become quite adept at using AI as well.

This time, too, she tackled the problem far more enthusiastically than I did and finally solved it.

I was truly grateful.

 

To show my appreciation, I chose one of her favorites, ABBA, as the first record to play.

As I lowered the stylus onto the record, the warm, gentle sound of vinyl was soothing to my ears.

At last, our Showa days had come back to us.

As ABBA played, I looked through the record jackets I had kept all these years, refusing to sell them even when I was short of spending money.

The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Foreigner, Kiss, YMO—so many classic albums had been sleeping there.

They are all classics from the Showa era, yet none of them seems to have lost its shine.

It would be a shame not to listen to them again, little by little.

Come to think of it, LPs were fairly expensive in those days.

Japanese pressings cost around 2,500 yen, while imported records sold at places like Cisco and Disk Union in Shibuya were around 2,000 yen.

That was quite a lot of money at the time.

I wonder how much records cost these days.

I think I will go and have a look sometime.

There is, however, one problem.

I now have trouble seeing exactly where to lower the stylus onto the record.

The Showa era has come back—but somewhere along the way, it seems my eyesight has left me behind.

The Showa era has come back—but my younger eyes have not.

 

＊The Showa era (1926–1989) was a period of dramatic change in Japan, and for my generation, it is filled with memories of our younger days. 

・・・

bring something back to life — 使われなくなったものを再び使えるようにする。「生き返らせる」という比喩表現。

lose patience with someone — 人がなかなか行動しないので「しびれを切らす」「業を煮やす」。

reach a dead end — 行き詰まる、万事休すの状態になる。

mechanically minded — 機械や道具の扱いが得意な、メカに強い。

be adept at — 〜が上手である、巧みに扱える。

show my appreciation — 感謝の気持ちを示す。

Japanese pressing — 日本国内でプレス・製造されたレコード。「国内盤」。

leave someone behind — 人を置き去りにする。最後の一文では、昭和は戻ってきたのに若い頃の視力だけは戻らなかった、というユーモアを込めた表現。

#VinylRecords #ShowaEra #VintageAudio #ABBA #MusicMemories #Kamakura #JapanesePathologist

Sometimes Our Routines Get Thrown Off

This morning, forgetting my walking stick delayed me by only a minute or so, but that was enough to throw off my usual commuting routine. I missed my regular train and ended up standing for much of the journey. It was inconvenient, but perhaps knowing an alternative routine is not such a bad thing. After all, even the most familiar patterns do not always go according to plan.

This morning, just after leaving home, I realized that I had forgotten my walking stick and hurried back to get it.

I thought it had delayed me by only a minute or so, but then I got caught at the traffic light just before the station and ended up missing my usual train.

I decided to take the fastest route instead. At least I managed to get a seat when I boarded in Kamakura, but although my commute takes two hours each way, I have the connections timed fairly tightly. To avoid being counted as late for work, I had to change trains along the way, and from then on I ended up standing.

Well, it couldn’t be helped.

There are different ways of looking at things, so there is no point in complaining too much about it.

I don’t particularly mind standing, but it makes writing my blog on my phone rather inconvenient.

I can’t really work on the photos, either.

Having my usual routine thrown off was inconvenient, but perhaps it is not such a bad idea to know an alternative way of doing things once in a while, just in case I ever really need it.

The injured foot, however, was definitely unnecessary.

We are now in the final week of September.

The intensely hot summer has somehow slipped away, and the trees on the hills surrounding Kamakura are beginning to change color.

And yet, once again, it is raining today.

How long is this going to continue?

Apparently, we have reached the point where it has rained at least once every day.

With this much rain, it is easy to understand how the ground can become saturated and unable to absorb any more water.

All I can do is hope that the next storm, Typhoon No. 26, does not head straight for Japan.

Come to think of it, we were extremely lucky to have a clear view of the harvest moon the other day.

Perhaps seeing the harvest moon through all these rainy days was a small stroke of luck after all.

・・・

throw off a routine — 「いつものルーティンを狂わせる」。ちょっとしたことで普段の流れがずれること。

get caught at a traffic light — 「信号に引っかかる」。日常会話で自然な表現。

it couldn’t be helped — 「まあ、仕方ない」。自分ではどうにもできないことを受け入れる表現。

just in case — 「念のため」「いざという時のために」。

slip away — 季節や時間などが「いつのまにか過ぎ去る」。

saturated — 「水分で飽和した」。the ground becomes saturated で、大地が水を吸収しきれなくなった状態。

a stroke of luck — 「思いがけない幸運」「ちょっとした幸運」。今回の「きわめてラッキーだった」という感覚に合う表現。

#DailyRoutine #MorningCommute #RainyDays #HarvestMoon #ChangingSeasons #Kamakura #JapanesePathologist

A Walk That Made Me a Little Self-Conscious

It looked as though the sun might finally break through, but the sky soon filled with thick clouds again. After a quiet morning watching baseball and talking with my daughter in New York, my wife, Anne, and I went for a walk. It was only a little over three kilometers, but I took my walking stick just in case. And that made me unexpectedly conscious of how I might look to people in the neighborhood.

It looked as though the sun might finally break through, but in the end, the sky was once again covered with thick clouds.

Over a simple breakfast of pizza toast, yogurt, and coffee, I watched the Dodgers play the White Sox.

Major League Baseball is about to enter the postseason, and with so many players from Japan taking part this year, I am looking forward to it.

While I was watching the game, my daughter in New York called me for the first time in a while.

She had contacted a senior acquaintance of hers in Tanzania because she was thinking of going to visit. As it happened, there was a group of Japanese people there planning to climb Mount Kilimanjaro, so she joined them and successfully reached the summit last week.

As one might expect from a former member of a university mountaineering club, she found the climb tough but memorable.

When she returned to New York, the United Nations General Assembly was in session, and apparently she had quite a time getting caught in the terrible traffic.

Meanwhile, Anne was beginning to look bored, so we decided to go for a walk.

My wife’s volunteer group had put up a poster in the underground passage at the station, so we made that our destination.

It was going to be a long walk—or what counts as a long walk for me at the moment—though only a little over three kilometers there and back. Since I never know what might happen along the way, I took my walking stick just in case and had my wife hold Anne’s leash.

When we arrived, another member of the volunteer group had also come to see the poster, and we took a commemorative photo in front of it.

On the way home, we stopped at a chocolate shop, where I bought a small gift for my secretary, who will be leaving at the end of this month.

Along the way, we ran into some people from the neighborhood and stopped to chat.

Many people around here do not know me, but they know my wife and Anne quite well. So I found myself wondering what they might think when they saw me—the husband, or perhaps I should say Anne’s owner—walking with a stick.

Then again, perhaps no one thought anything of it at all.

Maybe they simply thought it was perfectly normal for someone my age.

Perhaps we are far more conscious of how others see us than others are of us.

・・・

break through — 雲の間などから「（日差しが）差し込む」。the sun breaks through the clouds などと使う。

reach the summit — 「登頂する」。山の頂上に無事到達すること。

mountaineering club — 「山岳部、ワンダーフォーゲル部」。Wandervogel は英語圏では一般的ではないため、ここでは意味が伝わる表現にした。

there and back — 「往復で」。日常会話で使いやすい表現。

just in case — 「念のため」「万一に備えて」。

self-conscious — 人からどう見られているかを「意識してしまう」「人目が気になる」。今回のタイトルの「人の目が少し気になった」に近い表現。

#SundayWalk #WalkingStick #NeighborhoodLife #EverydayThoughts #MountKilimanjaro #Kamakura #JapanesePathologist