As I kept reading the article,
I began to see what Noriko truly loved.
She had loved plants and flowers since she was a child.
On her way to kindergarten in Kamakura,
she once found herself gazing at tiny blue flowers—
Veronica persica—
and before she knew it, nearly three hours had passed.
Later, in Tokyo,
she filled her apartment balcony with over a hundred potted plants.
And at the age of 54,
she moved to the foot of Mt. Fuji.
As I read her story,
I found myself thinking about my own past.
The difficult part of working
wasn’t that I disliked the time I spent with my patients.
Actually,
I liked it.
The quiet rehabilitation sessions,
the conversations,
the chance to hear about their lives.
I truly did.
But at the same time,
I felt too much responsibility for everything.
When a patient didn’t get better,
I believed it was because I wasn’t good enough.
So I paid for workshops out of my own pocket,
and spent my days off studying.
Then one day,
a thought came to me.
What was I really trying to escape from?
Was it workplace relationships?
Rules within the organization?
Responsibility?
It wasn’t just those things.
I wanted to be free from everything.
I wanted to live my own time.
I wanted to face myself.
Realizing that
became a turning point for me.
And then,
I remembered who I was as a child.
I loved Chibi Maruko-chan,
and even though I didn’t like reading,
I was completely absorbed in Momoko Sakura’s essays.
Calligraphy,
where I learned to stay with a piece until it felt right to me
—while also learning how to let go and accept it as it is.
Basketball,
where I discovered the joy of improving
and woke up early to practice.
Running in the park
for school marathons.
Practicing on the monkey bars
until my hands were covered in blisters.
Jump rope,
reaching one hundred double-unders in a row.
Back then,
I was always deeply absorbed in something.
People called me hardworking.
But when I look back now,
I don’t think that was it.
I was simply
immersed in what felt fun.
I don’t have the strength
to endure things I dislike
just by forcing myself.
And when I realized that,
I felt strangely free.
Toward the end of the article,
there was a phrase that stayed with me:
“Everything you’ve done will eventually come together.”
At first,
I thought that meant
everything would connect into a single path.
But the writer suggested something different.
Maybe it’s not a straight line.
Maybe it’s more like a garden.
Each experience
taking root in its own way,
forming an open space without boundaries.
When I read that,
something in my chest softened.
A garden feels freer than a straight path.
It can expand in any direction.
And more than anything,
it feels joyful.
Everything I’ve experienced
becomes a seed.
It grows roots,
spreads,
and little by little,
my own garden begins to take shape.
That is exactly
the kind of life I have been imagining.
In the article,
her husband said with a smile,
“Noriko is in the garden from morning until night.”
And she replied,
“Because when I’m in the garden,
there’s always something to do.”
At 84,
she says,
“Now is the best time.
Because I can spend my time
doing what I love.”
That line stopped me.
To spend your time
on what you love.
It might be
the simplest,
and most important thing
in living a joyful life.
I am living my life
for the first time.
So of course,
there are things I don’t understand,
and many uncertainties.
But within that,
I’ve found moments of joy,
and moments of being completely absorbed.
When I was a child,
those feelings were much stronger
than fear or doubt.
As we grow older,
uncertainty grows,
and we begin to care about how others see us.
But maybe it’s like a game.
The further you go,
the harder it becomes.
And that’s exactly
what makes it interesting.
It means
you’ve come this far.
I want to go further.
I want to see what lies ahead.
Because
I am the one
holding the wheel of my life.
The detours,
the confusion,
and the view that opens up beyond them—
all of it
is part of the garden
that is my life.