How Do Other Forms of Life See Humans?

 As wars continue in the Middle East and Ukraine, many people wonder why human conflict persists despite its enormous cost. Looking at these struggles from a broader perspective raises a deeper question: how would other forms of life judge humanity?

 

I find myself following the conflicts in the Middle East with a mixture of concern and frustration.

U.S. President Donald Trump keeps saying that the fighting will end soon, yet it continues without resolution. Israel shows little sign of stopping its attacks, while Iran appears willing to sacrifice its own people and draw neighboring countries into the conflict in order to preserve its political system.

Meanwhile, Russia’s invasion of Ukraine drags on, becoming increasingly entrenched.

When I think about the lives that are still being lost, I cannot help wishing that these futile conflicts would end as soon as possible.

What meaning is there in disputes between nations?

People who happened to be born on different pieces of land continue to struggle against one another, each carrying their own history, perspective, and sense of identity.

Languages, philosophies, and religions may differ from region to region, but is it really impossible for us to set those differences aside and stop killing one another as fellow human beings?

What if we looked at all this from a cosmic perspective?

If an alien civilization observed Earth, it would not see national borders drawn across the landscape. It would simply see a planet inhabited by slightly different-looking bipedal creatures, along with four-legged animals, fish, plants, and countless other forms of life.

If a vastly more powerful extraterrestrial species arrived on Earth, what would it think?

Would it not regard humans and all other living things as members of the same broad community of life?

And if it sought to dominate the planet, might humans be the first obstacle it would choose to remove?

Humanity would probably insist on representing Earth and ask to negotiate.

But would such visitors overlook the fact that humans have helped make the planet what it is today?

If we could ask the other living things on Earth to serve as a jury, what verdict would they deliver on humanity?

Without intending to, I seem to have wandered into the territory of a science-fiction novel.

Then again, I suspect many people have entertained similar thoughts at one time or another.

At the very least, I wish humans would stop dragging other forms of life into conflicts that are entirely of our own making.

If the rest of life on Earth were asked to judge us, I wonder what sentence it would pass. 

・・・

 

entrenched
Firmly established and difficult to change or end.
固定化した、長期化した

futile
Having no useful result; pointless.
無益な、むだな

perspective
A particular way of viewing or understanding something.
視点、考え方

set aside
To temporarily ignore or move beyond something.
脇に置く、乗り越える

cosmic
Relating to the universe as a whole.
宇宙の、宇宙規模の

extraterrestrial
Originating from outside Earth.
地球外の、宇宙の

dominate
To control or have power over.
支配する

obstacle
Something that stands in the way of progress or action.
障害、妨げ

jury
A group that evaluates evidence and delivers a judgment.
陪審員団

verdict
A formal judgment or decision.
評決、判断

 

We Don’t Live in This World by Ourselves

 As encounters between humans and wildlife become more common in Japan, questions about boundaries, coexistence, and responsibility are becoming harder to ignore. A wandering firefly and an urban bear may seem unrelated, yet both remind us that humans are not the only inhabitants of this world.

Last night, another wandering firefly—probably one that had crossed over the wooded hills behind Tsurugaoka Hachimangu—was flying in my garden.

I do not think it was the same one I saw the other day. Perhaps there are several of them.

There is something touching about seeing such fragile creatures survive and continue on. At the same time, their resilience is remarkable.

Bears venturing into human communities have become almost commonplace.

I was surprised to hear that bears are now appearing even in Utsunomiya, the prefectural capital.

If bears ever learned how to ride the Shōnan-Shinjuku Line, they could reach Yokohama or Kamakura in no time, not to mention Shinjuku and Shibuya.

Considering how intelligent bears are, the idea is not entirely impossible.

If that happened, it would not be surprising to see a bear running down Dankazura Avenue.

Bears can run faster than Usain Bolt, swim well, climb trees with ease, and above all, possess tremendous strength.

Unfortunately, humans and bears cannot safely share exactly the same living space.

Yet the very concept of a “living space” is something humans have drawn for themselves.

Neither fireflies nor bears spend much time worrying about boundaries.

What has really happened is that humans have transported them from place to place or expanded into areas where they once lived, and in doing so, we have broken the boundaries ourselves.

This world does not belong to humans alone.

It is probably no longer possible to confine bears to the forests that humans have steadily reduced over the years.

In fact, people continue to push deeper into those shrinking forests, making any boundary almost meaningless from a bear’s perspective.

If we hope to coexist with bears in a country with limited land, restraint is required not only from wildlife but from humans as well.

As long as we continue to enter every corner of the mountains—whether for wild vegetable gathering, hiking, or recreation—we cannot completely avoid conflicts with bears.

We do not live in this world by ourselves.

Humans, too, must learn the value of restraint.

It is something we would do well to remember.

 

Perhaps coexistence begins not with drawing clearer boundaries, but with recognizing how often we are the ones crossing them. 

 

・・・

Vocabulary for Learners

wander
To move around without a fixed destination.
さまよう、歩き回る

resilience
The ability to recover, survive, or adapt to difficulties.
回復力、たくましさ

venture into
To enter a place that may be unfamiliar or risky.
進出する、踏み入る

coexist
To live or exist together peacefully.
共存する

boundary
A line or limit that separates one area from another.
境界

confine
To keep within certain limits or boundaries.
閉じ込める、制限する

perspective
A particular way of viewing or understanding something.
視点、考え方

restraint
Self-control; the ability to hold back from doing something.
自制、自重

shared landscape
An environment used or inhabited by different groups or species.
共有された環境

cross a boundary
To go beyond a limit or border.
境界を越える、踏み越える

 

 

Anyone Could Probably Do It, Yet I Can’t Quite Hand It Off

 A once-frozen gajumaru tree has come back to life, while my own list of responsibilities continues to grow. As work piles up, I find myself reflecting on why certain tasks are so difficult to decline, even when I know others could probably do them just as well.

A gajumaru tree that I had once assumed had frozen to death has finally begun to sprout again. Now it has become wonderfully overgrown.

I recently moved it into a larger pot, and I hope it will have a little more room to grow.

Watching it live so vigorously in such a small world of soil makes me feel oddly affectionate toward it.

At the same time, it makes me question my confidence in myself, knowing that its fate depends largely on my care.

My lecture manuscript, due tomorrow, is finally nearing completion.

I check every text slide with AI, which actually takes more time than writing them myself. Still, the process helps me catch mistakes and discover things I did not know, so it has been worthwhile.

That reminds me—I wonder what happened to the manuscript that I drafted and then entrusted to one of my junior colleagues for completion.

Preparations for next year’s conference are already piling up.

I managed to secure a sponsor, which was fortunate. However, it also increased the number of organizer lectures from one to two.

Yesterday I received a request from next year’s pathology meeting to serve as a session chair.

Since I proposed the workshop, it is only natural that I should chair it. But that raises new questions: How much guidance should I give the speakers? How should the presentations be coordinated?

And what else is waiting?

There is another conference next year. I also need to continue working on a minor revision of the diagnostic guidelines discussed at the recent meeting.

A smaller conference is scheduled for September, and an international conference—held here in Japan—is coming in October. I have not even started preparing for those.

My routine workload has increased as well. More physicians have joined the laboratory department, and helping them settle into their roles has become part of my responsibility.

Work is beginning to pile up.

When I list everything like this, it strikes me that most of these tasks could probably be handled by someone else.

Even so, they still need to be done, one by one, so there is no choice but to keep moving forward.

The people who ask me to do these jobs probably expect a certain level of results. But from my perspective, none of them are tasks that only I can accomplish. I am not special. I simply happen to be the person responsible for them right now.

The work came to me, and because I followed my father’s advice never to refuse a reasonable request, it gradually accumulated.

Come to think of it, last year I had to decline a task that I had been asked to do every year. This year, the request never came.

That was certainly a relief.

Yet it felt a little lonely as well.

And it reminded me that this is simply how work functions.

It is not that I dislike delegating responsibilities. At the same time, I feel reluctant to turn down work when someone has chosen to ask me.

There may be other unfinished tasks that I have forgotten about.

If so, I will deal with them when they reveal themselves.

The gajumaru continues to extend its branches little by little.

I will try to do the same and gradually untangle this growing stack of work.

Perhaps both trees and people grow the same way—one branch, one task, one day at a time. 

 

・・・

Vocabulary for Learners

overgrown
Covered with excessive growth; growing wildly or thickly.
生い茂った、伸び放題の

sprout
To begin to grow; to produce new shoots or leaves.
芽を出す、発芽する

entrust
To give someone responsibility for something important.
任せる、託す

coordinate
To organize different people or activities so they work together effectively.
調整する、まとめる

delegate
To assign responsibility or authority to another person.
委任する、任せる

accumulate
To gather or increase gradually over time.
積み重なる、蓄積する

pile up
To increase in number until there is a large amount to deal with.
山積みになる

reluctant
Unwilling or hesitant to do something.
気が進まない、ためらう

responsibility
A duty or obligation to take care of something.
責任

untangle
To sort out something complicated or confused.
もつれを解く、整理する

 

 

 

A Hole That Might Lead Somewhere

 Three days after the rainy season arrived in the Kanto region, the rain continues. Looking up at the sky after the rain stopped, I noticed what seemed to be a hole in the clouds—and for a moment, it invited a flight of imagination.

 

It has been three days since the rainy season began in the Kanto region.

Rain has been falling on and off since morning, leaving the air damp and heavy.

I understand, at least intellectually, that these generous rains are what sustain our lives and landscapes. Still, knowing that does not make the absence of blue skies any less disappointing.

Last night, when I returned home, the rain had stopped.

I stepped onto the balcony and looked up at the sky.

There was a hole in it.

It looked more oval in person.

Even before looking at the photograph I had taken, I knew it was simply a formation in the clouds. Yet I could not help thinking how interesting it would be if that opening led to another world.

Writers such as Haruki Murakami and Shinichi Hoshi often wrote stories involving mysterious passages and unexpected gateways.

But the openings in those stories were usually much smaller—barely large enough for a single person to pass through.

Then again, perhaps there was once a film in which an entire fleet of spacecraft suddenly emerged from a vast opening like this one.

Reality, of course, is less accommodating.

There was no gateway to another realm.

Beyond those low clouds, there seemed to be only thicker rain clouds, and no stars were visible through them.

Still, even if it rained here, how enjoyable it would be if one could step through a hole in the sky and arrive somewhere dry, bright, and pleasantly clear.

Sometimes a gap in the clouds is enough to open a doorway in the imagination. 

・・・

Vocabulary for Learners

• damp and heavy — humid and uncomfortable because of moisture in the air
  　じめじめした、湿気の多い
• sustain — to support or maintain something over time
  　支える、維持する
• disappointing — causing a feeling of sadness because expectations were not met
  　期待外れの、がっかりさせる
• formation — the shape or arrangement of something
  　形成、形状
• gateway — an entrance or passage to another place
  　入り口、通路、門
• realm — a world, domain, or sphere of existence
  　世界、領域
• fleet — a group of ships or spacecraft operating together
  　艦隊
• accommodate — to provide what is wanted or needed
  　応じる、かなえる
• visible — able to be seen
  　見える、視認できる
• imagination — the ability to form ideas, images, or possibilities in the mind
  　想像力、空想力
• in person — seen or experienced directly, not through a photograph or screen
  　実際に、その場で、直に見て
  　The opening looked more oval in person.
  　（その穴は実際に見るともっと楕円形に見えた。） 

 

 

A Wandering Firefly Came to Visit

 A firefly unexpectedly flew into our home on a rainy night in Kamakura. Its visit reminded me of the ancient Hōjō-e ceremony at Tsurugaoka Hachimangū, a tradition rooted in compassion, remembrance, and respect for life.

 

Last night, I opened the window to check on the rain and found a firefly flying nearby.

It was probably just a coincidence, but something similar happened several years ago.

That time was also shortly after the Hōjō-e ceremony at Tsurugaoka Hachimangū, so I wondered whether a firefly released during the festival had somehow lost its way and ended up at our house.

It landed on my wife's arm and stayed there for a while, as if stopping to visit.

Hōjō-e originally began as a Buddhist ceremony based on the principle of fusesshō—the prohibition against taking life. Animals were released as an expression of gratitude for life and compassion toward living beings. Over time, the practice became associated with Hachiman worship and evolved into a ritual for mourning those who had died in war and reflecting on the violence of human conflict.

At Tsurugaoka Hachimangū, the ceremony was established in 1187 by Minamoto no Yoritomo. It is said that he instituted it as an act of remembrance and repentance following the Genpei War. The tradition later became the origin of the shrine’s grand annual festival and has continued for more than eight centuries.

Today, the ancient custom of releasing birds is no longer practiced, but the underlying spirit—gratitude for the preciousness of life—remains alive through events such as the Firefly Release Festival and the Bell Cricket Release Festival.

In that sense, Hōjō-e is more than a traditional ceremony. It is a ritual that invites us to reflect on lives lost in war, the lives of other creatures, and our own existence.

Even so, there are no streams near our home where fireflies naturally live.

The firefly that visited us yesterday will probably never find a mate and may spend the remainder of its brief life alone.

It was clearly a strong traveler. Even if it managed to reach the stream where other fireflies live, about 700 meters away, many of its companions were likely swept away by last weekend’s typhoon.

Fireflies are fragile creatures.

Every year around the time of Hōjō-e, I find myself wondering where those fireflies come from and who catches them.

I do not know whether they are collected by professionals or by people who happen to live in areas where fireflies are abundant, but I doubt it is purely volunteer work.

I understand the idea of memorializing life through such a ceremony. Still, as I watched that firefly fly off once more in the direction of the shrine, I felt a certain complexity of emotion.

Then again, perhaps it was my younger brother, or my father, or someone else coming to visit for a moment.

So I quietly watched it go.

Sometimes a single wandering firefly can carry more memories than its tiny light seems capable of holding. 

・・・ 

Vocabulary for Learners

wander
To move from place to place without a fixed destination.
さまよう、歩き回る

compassion
A feeling of sympathy and concern for the suffering of others.
思いやり、慈悲

remembrance
The act of remembering and honoring someone or something from the past.
追悼、記憶、追憶

repentance
A feeling of regret for past actions and a desire to make amends.
悔悟、懺悔

preciousness
The quality of being valuable or worthy of care.
尊さ、かけがえのなさ

fragile
Easily damaged, broken, or destroyed.
はかない、壊れやすい

memorialize
To preserve the memory of someone or something.
追悼する、記念する

complexity of emotion
A mixture of different feelings that are difficult to describe simply.
複雑な感情

existence
The state of being alive or being present.
存在、生

quietly watch it go
To see someone or something leave without trying to stop it.
静かに見送る

 

Working Dogs in Their Own Way

 A long walk through the wooded hills of Kamakura led me to an amusing realization: perhaps dogs are working animals after all. Not because they pull sleds or herd sheep, but because they keep their owners moving.

 

Today, we decided to take Ann on our Kita-Kamakura walking route.

Normally, we return to old Kamakura through Kamegayatsu Pass, but my wife wanted to see how the hydrangeas were doing at Meigetsu-in Temple, so we chose the longer course.

I was surprised to find a long line stretching in front of the temple.

The flowers are certainly beautiful, but I could not help wondering whether I would be willing to wait that long.

Leaving the crowd behind, we entered the hiking trail that runs from Kita-Kamakura toward Kencho-ji Temple.

The path is narrow, with bamboo grass pressing in from both sides.

There are enough ups and downs to make it a respectable workout. By the end, my watch estimated that I had burned 431 kilocalories—not bad at all.

One reason people keep dogs is that they need to be walked.

But walking a dog is also a job that encourages the owner to exercise.

Seen that way, dogs are a kind of working animal themselves—animals whose task is to make humans stay active.

Perhaps that is simply another way of saying the same thing.

In the afternoon, I spent some time working in the garden.

I had hoped to take a photograph of the results, but rain began to fall just as I finished.

Today, the rainy season arrived in Kamakura.

Sometimes the animals we think we care for are quietly taking care of us as well. 

・・・

Vocabulary for Learners

working animal
An animal that performs a task or job for humans.
使役動物、労働動物

respectable workout
Exercise that provides a meaningful amount of physical activity.
十分な運動

burn calories
To use energy through physical activity.
カロリーを消費する

stretching line
A long queue of people waiting.
長い行列

stay active
To continue moving and exercising regularly.
活動的でいる

rainy season
The period of prolonged seasonal rainfall common in East Asia.
梅雨

take care of someone
To help, protect, or support someone.
世話をする、支える

press in from both sides
To crowd or close in from the left and right.
両側から迫る、覆いかぶさるように伸び

 

Am I Asking AI for Advice Too Often?

 Lately, I’ve found myself turning to AI for all kinds of questions. With work, responsibilities, and future plans all competing for attention, it sometimes feels as though my mind is running in too many directions at once.

 

My head feels full these days.

I have the nagging feeling that there is something important I have forgotten to do, but I cannot quite tell what it is.

Things seem to be working out somehow, yet I still wonder whether everything is really under control.

Recently, I have found myself asking AI about all sorts of things.

Perhaps I am relying on it a little too much. Then again, at my age, maybe it is perfectly reasonable to make use of whatever tools are available.

Of course, the fact that I am asking AI whether I depend on AI too much may be a sign that the situation has become rather serious.

Still, thinking too deeply about it is tiring.

For a day off, a short post like this will do.

Sometimes, simply admitting that your mind is full is enough for one day. 

・・・

 

Vocabulary for Learners

nagging feeling
A persistent thought or concern that is difficult to ignore.
気になって仕方がない思い、不安感

under control
Being managed successfully without major problems.
うまく管理されている、制御できている

rely on
To depend on someone or something for help or support.
頼る、依存する

reasonable
Fair, sensible, or practical.
合理的な、もっともな

make use of
To take advantage of something available.
活用する、利用する

admit
To acknowledge or accept something as true.
認める、受け入れる

overloaded
Having too many tasks, responsibilities, or thoughts to handle comfortably.
負担が大きすぎる、抱え込みすぎている

part of modern life
Something that has become a normal aspect of contemporary living.
現代生活の一部

somehow
In some way, even if the exact method is unclear.
どうにかして、なんとか

turn to
To seek help, advice, or support from someone or something.
頼る、助けを求める

Artificial Colors and Natural Colors

 As concerns grow over disruptions in global supply chains and petrochemical products, it is worth asking how much of the color around us is truly necessary. A simple morning of sorting plastic waste led me to reflect on the difference between artificial colors and the colors that nature provides.

Today was plastic recycling day.

Collecting trash from around the house and taking it out is one of the small household chores I help with.

I have become reasonably good at sorting bottles, cans, paper, and other recyclable materials. However, I still do not fully understand how to dispose of hazardous waste or certain plastic products.

As I looked at the plastic bag holding the collected waste, I found myself wondering how long such bags would continue to be readily available.

While stuffing plastic packaging into it, I was struck by how colorful those packages were.

Do we really need all this?

Of course, there is no doubt that color has enriched human life throughout history.

Looking at the cave paintings of Lascaux or the murals of the Takamatsuzuka Tomb, one can see that people have sought color since ancient times.

Human life must always have been filled with color, and people must have worked hard to obtain beautiful pigments and dyes.

Today, we can create almost limitless shades and tones, and products are designed with an endless variety of colors and patterns.

Not only plastic packaging, but entire cities are overflowing with color.

Yet the materials that support many of these artificial colors may become harder to obtain. If tensions involving the United States, Israel, and Iran were to disrupt shipping through the Strait of Hormuz, supplies of naphtha and related petrochemical products could be affected.

But how much of this is truly necessary?

When the sun rises, the world is filled with color. When it sets, another day comes to a beautiful close.

Each season brings its own colors as well, surrounding us throughout the year.

Of course, some color is essential to daily life.

Yet it sometimes feels as though modern society has become overwhelmed by color.

Even if artificial colors became more difficult to obtain, perhaps we could continue our lives by appreciating the natural colors already surrounding us.

Then again, even those “natural colors” are increasingly shaped and enhanced by human hands. In a world where nature itself is often managed, designed, or recreated, the boundary between natural colors and artificial ones seems to be growing ever more uncertain.

Perhaps the question is no longer whether a color is natural or artificial, but whether we still notice the colors that matter. 

・・・

Vocabulary for Learners

household chore　Work that is regularly done to maintain a home, such as cleaning or taking out the trash.　家事、家庭内の雑務

recyclable materials　Items that can be processed and used again instead of being discarded.　再利用可能な資源

pigment　A substance used to give color to paint, ink, or other materials.　顔料

dye 　A substance used to color fabric, paper, or other materials. 染料

petrochemical　A chemical product made from petroleum or natural gas.　石油化学製品

naphtha　A petroleum-based raw material used in the production of plastics, chemicals, and synthetic materials.　ナフサ

overflow with　To contain more than enough of something; to be filled abundantly.
〜であふれている

appreciate　To recognize and value something positively.　価値を認める、大切にする

boundary　A line or limit that separates two things.　境界

uncertain　Not clearly defined, known, or determined.　曖昧な、不確かな

 

 

Students Return After the Typhoon

 After Typhoon No. 6 passed through Japan, daily life quickly returned to normal. As students filled train platforms once again, I found myself reflecting not only on commuting, but also on Japan’s declining birthrate and the need for stronger support for families raising children.

 

Typhoon No. 6 swept along the Pacific coast of Japan and moved on.

Although the rain was heavy, the Yokosuka Line kept running, apparently without any significant delays.

So it can be done after all.

Standing in the rain and strong wind, gripping my umbrella while waiting in line for the bus to the hospital, I found myself thinking that perhaps I could have taken my usual train after all.

For me, however, the early start turned out to be a blessing.

I managed to finish more work than usual before the day truly began.

My mind still works far better in the morning than at any other time of day.

While my individual processing speed may have declined somewhat with age, I seem to have become better at organizing work and setting priorities. In the end, the two probably balance each other out.

The trip home yesterday was pleasant.

With schools closed, there were no students blocking the aisles with oversized sports bags or gathering around their phones playing games with friends.

Many office workers also appeared to be staying home, and the train seemed only about seventy percent full.

At times like that, I find myself a little envious of people who can switch to remote work whenever circumstances require it.

I felt the same way during the COVID pandemic. Situations like these remind me that being a doctor is, in many ways, still a hands-on profession.

Today, however, everything has returned to normal.

The familiar rush-hour crowds of students and commuters have come back.

The platforms are overflowing with students who were probably confined indoors all day yesterday because of the storm.

They can be a little inconvenient at times, but their presence brings energy and life.

Recently, it was announced that Japan recorded only 670,000 births last year, another historic low.

The figure reached that level about fifteen years earlier than government projections had predicted.

One cannot help wondering who made those calculations and what assumptions they were based on.

No matter what we do now, the days when large families were common are unlikely to return.

That is precisely why our institutions and social systems should be redesigned to reflect a society with fewer children.

Yet many of our systems still seem to assume that children are as numerous as they once were.

It is time to stop placing the burden of child-rearing primarily on parents and grandparents.

As a society, we need to provide far greater support for families with children and seriously reconsider the imbalance within our social security system, where so much of the burden is concentrated on the child-rearing generation.

A crowded platform may slow my commute, but seeing so many young faces is a reminder of something Japan cannot afford to take for granted. 

 

・・・

Vocabulary for Learners

sweep through　To move quickly and powerfully across an area.
（～を駆け抜ける、急速に通過する）

a blessing　Something that brings an unexpected benefit.
（思いがけない幸運、恩恵）

processing speed　The speed at which a person can think and handle information.
（情報処理能力、思考速度）

set priorities　To decide what is most important and should be done first.

（優先順位をつける）

hands-on profession　A job that requires physical presence and direct involvement.
（現場での直接的な対応が必要な職業）

overflow with　To be filled beyond normal capacity.
（あふれるほど満ちる）

declining birthrate　A decrease in the number of babies being born.
（少子化、出生率の低下）

child-rearing generation　People who are currently raising children.
（子育て世代）

social security system　A government-supported system providing pensions, healthcare, and welfare benefits.
（社会保障制度）

take for granted　To fail to appreciate something because it seems normal or always available.
（当たり前と思う、ありがたみを忘れる）

Idols, Geniuses, and the People Who Support Them

As a typhoon approached Japan, a passing thought about the idol group Arashi led me to reflect on idols, prodigies, and the often-overlooked role of those who support them.

 

When I looked out the window this morning, there was no wind. For a moment, I wondered if the typhoon had somehow missed us. But when I opened the window slightly, I could hear the rain pouring down.

The wind simply had not arrived yet.

Typhoon No. 6 had slowed its eastward movement, and since its center was still around Wakayama, I assumed the Yokosuka Line would continue running. I left home an hour earlier than usual just in case.

JR often suspends train services quickly in the name of safety, but today they seemed determined to keep things moving.

The Shonan-Shinjuku Line, however, had already been canceled the day before. That decision may have had as much to do with avoiding timetable chaos as with safety itself.

Schools appeared to be closed, and the station was unusually quiet without students. Outside, though, a camera crew and reporter from what looked like a local television station were already covering the storm.

Speaking of typhoons, the word naturally brings to mind Arashi—the famous Japanese idol group whose name literally means “storm.”

I recently learned that Arashi has officially disbanded.

I cannot immediately recall all five members, though I know who they are once I look them up online. They are now in their forties, and it is understandable that maintaining an image built around youthful idol culture eventually becomes difficult.

Perhaps the foundation of the idol business is the ability to capture public attention through youth and charm. The expertise behind that system must be remarkable.

Male idols attract female fans, female idols attract male fans, and both must continually enhance their value—not only through music, but also through appearance, singing ability, acting skills, and even conversational talent.

It is a world quite different from the traditional training paths followed by classical musicians or professional athletes. Because of that, I used to view it with a certain degree of skepticism.

Yet attracting and retaining tens or even hundreds of thousands of supporters is no small achievement. The industry may appear glamorous, but behind the scenes there must be intense effort and fierce competition.

On the other hand, there are people who emerge from more traditional forms of training and display extraordinary talent.

If idols become objects of admiration, then geniuses become another kind of object of admiration.

Recently, I watched a documentary about Himari, a young violinist who has already gained international attention.

Some musical prodigies lose interest in performing as they grow older. I can only hope that she continues to develop not only as a musician, but also as a healthy and well-balanced person.

In baseball, Shohei Ohtani has combined natural gifts with relentless effort to realize his extraordinary potential.

Professional sports are also a business, and marketing certainly matters. Still, like many great athletes, he probably loves the sport itself more than anything else.

Whether we are talking about idols or geniuses, neither can exist entirely on their own.

They become what they are because people support them, watch over them, evaluate them, spend money on them, and talk about them.

Our attention is naturally drawn to those standing in the spotlight, yet countless people around them help sustain that world. They, too, play an important role.

I do not have anyone I would call an “oshi”—a favorite celebrity, athlete, or performer whom I actively support.

But when I see people who find joy and meaning in cheering for someone else, I sometimes think that may be a rich and rewarding way to live as well.

 

Not everyone stands on the stage. Sometimes, simply being part of the audience is its own meaningful contribution. 

・・・

Vocabulary for Learners

idol　A popular entertainer who attracts devoted fans, especially through music, television, or performance.　　: アイドル、有名な人気芸能人

skepticism　 Doubt or a questioning attitude toward something.　：懐疑的な見方、疑念

glamorous　Attractive, exciting, and associated with fame or luxury.: 華やかな、魅力的な

prodigy　 A young person with exceptional talent or ability.　: 神童、天才少年・少女

relentless Continuing with great determination and without stopping.: たゆまぬ、執拗な

potential Natural ability that can be developed into future success.: 潜在能力、可能性

spotlight　Public attention or fame.　: 注目の的、脚光

meaningful　Having importance, value, or purpose.　: 意義のある、意味深い

supporter　A person who encourages, helps, or follows someone or something.　: 支援者、応援する人

admiration Respect and approval for someone's qualities or achievements.　: 称賛、憧れ

Commuting Distance, Time, and Being a Pathologist

 As a pathologist living in Kamakura and commuting to Tokyo, I often think about the balance between where we live and where we work. With a typhoon approaching and my daughter now working in New York City, I was reminded that long commutes are not uniquely Japanese—they are part of life in many parts of the world.

 

Typhoon No. 6 is moving eastward along Japan’s Pacific coast, and it appears that Kamakura will be caught in heavy rain and strong winds beginning tonight.

I am already wondering what to do about tomorrow’s commute.

 Weather forecasters keep saying, “The storm is expected to coincide with the morning commute. Please make the necessary preparations.” In a sense, that sounds a bit irresponsible. Natural disasters are beyond human control, and there is only so much preparation one can make.

I briefly considered staying near the hospital tonight. However, since I only need to be present for an afternoon meeting tomorrow, I decided that if the trains are not running, I will simply wait until they start moving again rather than forcing the issue.

At times like this, I find myself thinking that perhaps I should have lived closer to work. But after first buying a condominium in Kamakura and later moving into a detached house, relocating is not something I can easily do.

My father bought a home less than thirty minutes by car from the hospital where he worked. His reasoning was simple: if he was called in during the middle of the night, he could arrive quickly.

He remained at the same hospital for nearly fifty years until retirement. I imagine that commuting was rarely a major concern for him.

My situation has been quite different.

There are no highly specialized pediatric pathology centers in the Kamakura area, so pursuing my career meant working outside the region. Over the years, various circumstances led me not only to positions in Tokyo but, for a time, even to Saitama.

Today, although my workplace is technically in Tokyo, it is on the far western side of the city. My one-way commute takes well over ninety minutes and often approaches two hours.

Yet I am hardly alone. The Yokosuka Line is crowded every day, suggesting that many people choose to live in Kamakura while working in Tokyo.

When people think about quality of life, many are willing to accept a longer commute in exchange for a more pleasant living environment.

For a long time, I thought this was a rather unusual choice. Then my daughter moved to New York City.

She was assigned an apartment in Manhattan, but she tells me that many people working in New York commute from New Jersey every day, crossing the Hudson River to reach their offices.

When I visited New York, I could understand why.

A quiet night free from the constant sound of sirens can be worth a surprisingly long commute. Whether in Japan or the United States, people often make similar choices when deciding where they want to build their lives.

A long commute can certainly be exhausting.

Fortunately, pathology is a specialty in which true emergencies are rare. There are responsibilities that require immediate attention, such as intraoperative consultations, but those are generally scheduled and anticipated.

Most of the time, I can simply go about my work as usual.

The commute may be long, but moments like this remind me that becoming a pathologist was probably the right choice for me.

 

The distance between home and work may be measured in miles or kilometers, but the reasons we choose where to live are often remarkably similar on both sides of the Pacific. 

・・・

Vocabulary for Learners

commute　To travel regularly between home and work.　通勤する

relocation　The act of moving to a new place to live or work.　　転居、移転

detached house　A standalone house that is not connected to neighboring houses.　 一戸建て住宅

specialized　Focused on a particular field or area of expertise. 専門的な

quality of life　The overall level of comfort, health, and happiness in daily life.　生活の質

assigned　Officially given or allocated for a particular purpose.　割り当てられた

cross the Hudson River　 To travel across the river that separates New Jersey from Manhattan.　ハドソン川を渡る

siren　A loud warning sound used by emergency vehicles such as police cars and ambulances.　サイレン

exhausting　Very tiring; causing physical or mental fatigue.　疲れる、消耗する

intraoperative consultation　A rapid pathological diagnosis performed during surgery.　術中迅速診断

anticipated　 Expected or predicted in advance.　予期された

remarkably　To a surprising or notable degree.　驚くほど、著しく

on both sides of the Pacific　In both Asia and North America across the Pacific Ocean.　太平洋の両側で

pursue a career　To continue developing one's professional life.　キャリアを追求する

living environment　The surroundings and conditions in which a person lives.　住環境