Author: admin

The power of seeing the good in others

Recently, i met with my former middle school teacher.

He was one of the most influential teachers in my life. He was not a famous educator, but he was the first person who recognized my potential and gave me confidence.

After a long career in public education, he became a school principal and is now retired.

He shared stories about working with students and teachers from many different backgrounds. Unlike selective schools, public schools bring together people with different abilities, personalities, motivations, and circumstances.

One of his practices particularly impressed me.

He deliberately walked around his school, observing people and looking for something good in each person.

He did not wait for someone to demonstrate exceptional talent. He actively searched for strengths that might otherwise remain unnoticed.

He believed that finding the good in people was something a leader needed to practice.

This made me reconsider what leadership really means.

In demanding professional environments, we are trained to identify problems, weaknesses, and mistakes. As a surgeon, I have spent decades learning to anticipate complications and recognize what needs improvement.

That ability is essential.

But when we approach people with the same problem-focused mindset, we may overlook their strengths and potential.

My teacher practiced something different.

He began by seeing possibilities rather than limitations.

He also described how he initiated kindness and care toward students and colleagues. He did not wait for others to become cooperative or respectful before treating them with dignity.

He began from his side.

Over time, he observed changes in how people responded to him and to one another.

Of course, kindness does not always produce the response we hope for. Some conflicts require difficult decisions, clear boundaries, and accountability.

But we can choose how we begin.

Leadership is not only about changing other people’s behavior. It is about demonstrating the behavior we hope to see.

Another part of his story was equally meaningful.

He organized training opportunities for younger teachers, helping them develop confidence, skills, and relationships.

Through these efforts, he influenced the culture of his school.

Rather than relying only on his authority as principal, he invested in people who would carry that culture forward.

This reminded me that leadership does not necessarily require a powerful position, public recognition, or dramatic achievements.

Sometimes the most lasting influence comes from quiet, repeated actions.

Recognizing someone’s strength.

Offering encouragement.

Listening carefully.

Creating opportunities for younger colleagues.

Helping someone discover what they are capable of becoming.

These actions may seem small, but their effects can continue for decades.

I know this because I experienced it myself.

My teacher recognized something good in me when I was a young student. His encouragement helped me develop confidence that influenced the direction of my life.

He probably never imagined where that confidence would eventually take me.

Yet more than forty years later, I still remember his influence.

And now he has taught me another lesson.

For much of my professional life, I associated leadership with responsibility, decision-making, and the ability to accomplish difficult things.

Those remain important.

But I am beginning to appreciate another form of leadership—one that does not depend primarily on authority.

Quiet leadership begins with attention.

It requires the humility to recognize that other people have strengths we may not yet understand.

It requires the initiative to offer kindness without demanding something in return.

And it requires the patience to invest in others without expecting immediate results or recognition.

This does not mean remaining silent when something important needs to be said. Quiet leadership can still require courage, difficult conversations, and decisive action.

Its quietness comes not from passivity, but from the absence of a need to make ourselves the center of everything.

As I grow older, I am becoming less interested in titles and recognition, and more interested in how I can use my experience to help others grow.

Perhaps that is one of the most meaningful forms of contribution in the second half of life.

We may not be remembered for every achievement or position we held.

But someone may remember that we believed in them when they did not yet believe in themselves.

My teacher helped me grow by seeing something good in me.

Now I want to practice doing the same for others.

Perhaps the greatest achievement of leadership is not what we accomplish ourselves, but what becomes possible in the lives of people we encourage.

Discovering different ways to live a rich and meaningful life

I met two people who lived very different lives, and their current lifestyles could hardly be more different.

One lives in Tokyo, surrounded by people, opportunities, and constant activity.

He continues working as a physician while maintaining relationships with people from many different fields. He writes books, appears in the media, and enjoys exchanging ideas with others.

His world seems to expand through people, conversations, and new connections.

The other lives in a quiet rural area, surrounded by beautiful nature.

There are few people nearby, and he works at a small local clinic. Outside his clinical work, he enjoys exploring history, classical music, and other subjects that capture his curiosity.

He does not need a busy social schedule or a large professional network to find meaning.

His world expands through learning, reflection, and the pursuit of understanding.

What impressed me most was not how different their lives were.

It was how much they had in common.

Both remain intellectually curious, active, and genuinely interested in life.

Both seem to follow their interests naturally, without needing to impress others or pursue conventional measures of success.

Meeting them made me realize something important.

The size of our landscape is not determined by how far we travel, but by how deeply and broadly we remain engaged with life.

This realization has become especially meaningful as I think about aging and retirement.

We often imagine that an exciting life requires constant activity, travel, new experiences, or social engagement.

These can certainly enrich our lives.

But they are not the only pathways to growth.

Some people expand their worlds through relationships and collaboration.

Others expand through reading, music, art, nature, or quiet reflection.

And many of us may need both.

There are worlds I had barely explored during my busy professional years.

The more I learn, the more I realize how much remains undiscovered.

As we grow older, we can continue creating meaningful goals and exploring new possibilities, but we no longer need to pursue everything.

We can choose what genuinely interests us and develop our own ways of growing.

Some periods of life may involve outward exploration—traveling, meeting people, and discovering unfamiliar environments.

Other periods may involve inward exploration—reading, writing, listening, and reflecting.

Neither is necessarily more valuable.

What matters is remaining open to discovery.

My two mentors reminded me that there is no single correct way to live the second half of life.

One finds richness through connections with people across society.

The other finds richness through intellectual exploration in a quiet rural environment.

Both have created lives that continue to grow.

And perhaps that is the real meaning of a large landscape.

It is not about how much space we occupy in the world.

It is about how much room we continue creating within ourselves for curiosity, understanding, beauty, and growth.

Our physical world may become smaller as we age.

But our inner landscape can continue expanding throughout life.

Discovering a new source of meaning as we grow older

Recently, I met one of my former mentors, who had retired after a long and challenging professional career.

He had experienced difficult institutional conflicts, yet he seemed to have maintained his intellectual curiosity and commitment to understanding the world.

What impressed me most was how he described his life after stepping away from professional responsibilities.

He had developed a deep interest in history, classical music, and other subjects. He enjoyed reading, exploring questions, and gradually developing his understanding.

He was not studying to earn another degree, publish a paper, or gain recognition.

He simply wanted to know more.

And he described this pursuit of knowledge as one of his greatest sources of enjoyment and stress relief.

Our conversation made me realize something important.

Learning does not have to serve an external purpose to be meaningful.

For much of my life, learning was closely connected to achievement.

As a surgeon and researcher, I studied to improve my skills, solve problems, develop new techniques, and contribute to scientific progress.

Curiosity was essential, but it usually led toward a practical goal.

There was always something to accomplish.

Yet there is another form of learning that I am only beginning to appreciate.

I call it self-directed intellectual growth.

It begins with a simple question: What would I like to understand more deeply?

The answer does not have to relate to my profession.

It might be a historical event, a piece of classical music, a work of art, or a question about human nature.

I can follow my curiosity, read, listen, reflect, and gradually discover something new.

There is no examination, deadline, competition, or expectation of achievement.

The reward is understanding itself.

These interests open doors to worlds that have always existed around me but that I had rarely taken time to explore.

And something interesting happens when I become absorbed in learning.

My attention moves away from daily concerns and toward something larger than myself.

The problems may not disappear, but they no longer occupy my entire mental landscape.

Sometimes the best way to make a problem smaller is not to solve it, but to discover something larger around it.

This connects with the idea of selective expansion.

As we grow older, we gradually learn what matters to us. We no longer need to pursue every opportunity or seek recognition for everything we do.

But that does not mean we should stop expanding.

We can continue choosing new subjects, creating personal learning goals, and exploring unfamiliar intellectual worlds.

Unlike professional achievement, self-directed learning allows us to determine our own pace.

We can study deeply when something captures our imagination, change direction when our interests evolve, or simply enjoy the process without needing a final result.

We can create our own challenges, guided by curiosity rather than obligation.

And much of this growth can happen in solitude, with nothing more than a book, a piece of music, or a quiet place to think.

I am beginning to understand that feeling alive does not always require doing something extraordinary.

Sometimes it comes from discovering a new idea, understanding a familiar subject more deeply, or experiencing beauty that I had previously overlooked.

Perhaps one of the greatest freedoms of growing older is the opportunity to learn without needing to prove anything.

When we are young, we often learn in order to become someone.

As we grow older, we can learn simply because the world is worth understanding.

And the more we discover, the more we realize how much remains unexplored.

Our professional careers may eventually end. Our physical abilities may gradually change.

But curiosity can continue opening new doors.

A lifetime may not be long enough to understand everything that interests us. And perhaps that is one of the most exciting reasons to keep learning.

How gratitude for the past opens our hearts to unexpected possibilities

For much of my life, my hope has been grounded in a simple belief:

God will make a way where there seems to be no way.

Whenever I faced difficulties, uncertainty, or obstacles that seemed impossible to overcome, I trusted that God could open a path I could not yet see.

This faith sustained me through many important transitions in my life.

I hoped to find new opportunities, develop my career, and build a meaningful life.

But looking back now, I realize that what happened over years was far beyond anything I had originally imagined.

I met extraordinary people, developed relationships, encountered unexpected opportunities, and discovered interests that I never knew I would have.

There were also disappointments, failures, and painful experiences. Not every path was easy, and not every door opened.

Yet looking back at the larger landscape of my life, I recognize countless blessings that I could never have planned.

Recently, I walked through the international departure area at the airport after a morning run.

I remembered the nervousness I felt when leaving from the same airport two decades earlier.

At that time, I was looking forward into an uncertain future.

Now, standing in a similar place, I was looking backward with gratitude.

And I realized something important.

The life I have experienced has been much larger than the future I was once capable of imagining.

This realization has given me another kind of hope.

I call it the second hope.

My first hope was believing that God would make a way through the difficulties I could see.

My second hope is believing that meaningful possibilities may exist beyond anything I can currently imagine.

The first hope helped me move forward when the path was uncertain.

The second hope encourages me to remain open even when I do not know what destination to pursue.

These are not separate beliefs. The second has grown from the first through years of lived experience.

I have seen how unexpected opportunities and relationships can change the direction of a life.

And because I have experienced this before, I can approach the unknown future with curiosity rather than only anxiety.

This does not mean I expect every difficulty to disappear or every opportunity to succeed.

Faith does not guarantee the outcomes I desire.

But I no longer need to believe that my future is limited to the possibilities I can identify today.

Perhaps God is not only preparing solutions to the problems I am currently facing.

Perhaps He is also opening possibilities that I have not yet thought to seek.

This changes how I want to live.

I still want to make plans, work diligently, and pursue meaningful goals. But I also want to leave room for unexpected encounters, unfamiliar experiences, and new directions.

I want to remain attentive and open.

As I grow older, I am learning that hope does not always need a specific destination.

Sometimes hope is simply knowing that the landscape of life may still be larger than I can see.

The first hope helped me believe that a closed door could open.

The second hope reminds me that there may be doors I have not yet discovered.

And perhaps one of the greatest gifts of growing older is that I now have a lifetime of memories reminding me why I can believe this.

Gratitude for the past has become hope for the future.

How growing older allows us to discover new meaning in familiar places

This morning, I went for a beautiful run along the waterfront near Airport.

The sky was clear, the air was refreshing, and the peaceful path along the bay made running a wonderful experience. I felt grateful to God for my health and the opportunity to enjoy such a simple pleasure.

After finishing my run, I returned to my hotel, which is connected directly to the international terminal.

Still sweating from my run, I walked through the international departure area.

Suddenly, a memory came back.

About twenty years ago, I had walked through this airport , preparing to leave for the United States to begin a new chapter of my life.

At that time, I was nervous and uncertain about the future. I had hopes and ambitions, but I had no idea what awaited me.

Would I succeed? Would I find my place in a new country? What would happen to my family and my career?

I could not have imagined how much my life would change over the following two decades.

And now, twenty years later, I was walking through an international departure terminal again.

But this time, I was simply returning to my hotel after a morning run.

There was no important meeting to attend, no career opportunity to pursue, and nothing I needed to accomplish at that moment.

Yet I suddenly felt deeply moved.

I began thinking about the extraordinary journey of the past twenty years—the people I had met, the opportunities I had received, the challenges I had faced, and the unexpected paths that had opened before me.

Some experiences brought great joy. Others were difficult and painful. Many things happened in ways I could never have predicted.

Looking back, I could see how all these experiences had gradually shaped my life.

And I felt overwhelming gratitude to God.

Recently, I have been reflecting on what it means to grow older.

We often associate aging with losing something—physical strength, opportunities, or the excitement of experiencing things for the first time.

But perhaps growing older also gives us something valuable.

We gain the ability to see the meaning of experiences that we could not fully understand when they happened.

When we are young, we are often looking forward.

We focus on the next challenge, the next achievement, and the next opportunity. We are busy building our lives, rarely stopping long enough to appreciate how far we have already traveled.

But as the years accumulate, ordinary places and moments begin to carry deeper meaning.

An airport is no longer just an airport.

A familiar street may remind us of someone who once walked beside us.

A conversation with an old friend may reconnect us with a version of ourselves we had almost forgotten.

The places may be familiar, but we see them through a much larger landscape of experience.

And sometimes, without expecting it, we are deeply moved.

Perhaps this is another kind of growth.

Not the growth of achieving more, but the growth of becoming more sensitive to the meaning already present in our lives.

I am beginning to realize that feeling alive does not always require a new challenge or extraordinary experience.

Sometimes it comes from recognizing how extraordinary an ordinary moment has become.

This morning, nothing particularly remarkable happened.

I simply ran along the bay and walked back through an airport terminal.

But for a brief moment, the past and present came together, and I could see my life from a much wider perspective.

The future remains uncertain, just as it was twenty years ago.

Yet today, I carry something I did not have then: the memory of countless unexpected blessings.

Perhaps one of the greatest gifts of growing older is not simply having more memories, but becoming able to recognize their meaning in the present.

And sometimes, all it takes is an ordinary morning run to remind us how much we have been given.

Why understanding ourselves and exploring the world must grow together

Recently, I have been thinking about how our lives continue to grow as we get older.

For much of my life, growth meant moving outward.

I pursued new opportunities, developed professional skills, met new people, and explored unfamiliar environments. When I encountered something interesting, I wanted to try it. When I discovered a possibility, I wanted to act.

This outward exploration helped me build a life far beyond what I could have imagined when I was younger.

But over time, I began to recognize another kind of exploration.

Exploring the world is important, but so is exploring ourselves.

I started paying more attention to my thoughts, emotions, values, and motivations.

What genuinely matters to me? What gives me lasting satisfaction? Which goals do I pursue because they are meaningful, and which do I pursue simply because I have always done so?

Through reflection, writing, and solitude, I began to understand myself more deeply.

I learned that achievement was not the only source of meaning. Family, faith, physical health, creativity, relationships, and quiet moments alone were also important parts of my life.

I began to recognize what was enough.

This inner exploration changed how I viewed my life.

But recently, I realized something else.

Inner exploration alone cannot reveal every possibility of who we might become.

There are parts of ourselves we cannot discover simply by thinking.

Sometimes we need to enter a new environment, meet unfamiliar people, or try something we have never considered before.

I could not have discovered my passion for triathlon merely by reflecting on my interests. I had to begin swimming, cycling, and running. Through those experiences, I discovered abilities and sources of joy that I never knew existed.

The same is true of relationships.

Meeting an old friend after many years may awaken memories and perspectives that had been forgotten. Visiting a familiar place with new eyes may reveal how much we have changed.

I recently met people from different chapters of my life, explored familiar places, and spent time alone reflecting on the journey of the past twenty years.

These outward experiences created new inner discoveries.

And those discoveries made me more curious about the world beyond my familiar routines.

I began to recognize a continuing cycle:

Inner exploration → Outer exploration → New experiences → Deeper self-understanding → New possibilities.

Neither form of exploration is sufficient by itself.

Without inner exploration, we may pursue endless opportunities without knowing why they matter.

Without outer exploration, we may understand our existing values but never discover new interests, relationships, or possibilities.

The two need each other.

This also connects with the idea of selective expansion.

As we grow older, we do not need to pursue every opportunity. We can choose meaningful goals based on our growing self-knowledge.

But selection requires openness.

If we only choose from what we already know, our future may become limited by our past experiences.

We need to leave room for the unexpected.

Openness does not mean accepting every opportunity or constantly searching for something new.

It means remaining curious enough to notice possibilities, humble enough to recognize that we do not know everything about ourselves, and free enough to explore without demanding a particular outcome.

Some experiences may become important new pillars of life. Others may simply offer a memorable moment or a different perspective.

Both can be valuable.

Perhaps this is especially important as we approach retirement.

We often try to plan our future using the interests and abilities we already have.

But why assume that everything meaningful in our future has already been discovered?

There may be new passions, friendships, creative interests, and opportunities for contribution that we cannot yet imagine.

Inner exploration helps us understand who we are today.

Outer exploration helps us discover who we might still become.

And openness allows both to continue.

Perhaps the goal of growing older is not simply to preserve the life we have built, but to keep enlarging its landscape.

Because no matter how much we have experienced, there may still be meaningful parts of ourselves—and of the world—that we have not yet discovered.

Curiosity, Agency, Action, and Growth

What makes us feel truly alive?

Recently, I have been thinking about the difference between being happy and feeling alive.

We can have a comfortable, peaceful life, surrounded by family and friends, with enough time and resources to enjoy ourselves. We may feel satisfied and grateful, yet still sense that something is missing.

Perhaps happiness and feeling alive are not exactly the same.

Happiness often comes from appreciating what we already have. Feeling alive may come from discovering what is still possible.

I have begun to recognize a cycle that seems to be present in many meaningful experiences:

Curiosity → Agency → Action → Feedback → Growth → Feeling Alive → New Curiosity

It begins with curiosity.

Something catches our attention. We encounter an unfamiliar idea, notice something we want to understand, or wonder whether we might be capable of something new.

Curiosity opens a door to possibility.

But curiosity alone does not necessarily lead to growth.

We also need agency—the ability to make meaningful choices and influence what happens through our own actions.

Agency does not mean controlling everything. It means recognizing that we can choose a direction, make decisions, and take responsibility for our next steps.

Then comes action.

We create a goal, develop a plan, build daily routines, and begin working toward something meaningful.

Action produces feedback.

Sometimes things work as expected. Sometimes they do not. We discover our limitations, adjust our approach, and try again.

Through this process, we grow.

And growth often creates a special feeling of being alive—the excitement of discovering something we could not do, understand, or appreciate before.

That experience generates new curiosity, and the cycle begins again.

I see this clearly in physical training.

Learning a new swimming technique can be surprisingly exciting. A small change in movement may produce an unexpected improvement. The discovery encourages further experimentation.

Relationships can also create this cycle.

Trying a new activity with someone we love may reveal abilities, interests, or feelings we had never noticed before. Both people may grow through the shared experience.

What connects these activities is not achievement itself.

It is the experience of participating in our own growth.

Perhaps this becomes especially important as we grow older.

When we are young, life naturally provides many opportunities for discovery. We enter new schools, meet new people, develop careers, and encounter unfamiliar responsibilities.

As we age, our lives often become more stable and predictable.

Stability brings comfort and security, but it can also reduce opportunities for curiosity and experimentation.

We may gradually stop asking what else is possible.

Yet growing older does not mean we must stop expanding.

We can deliberately create opportunities for new experiences, meaningful challenges, and personal development.

This connects with the idea of selective expansion.

Rather than pursuing every opportunity, we learn to recognize what genuinely matters to us.

We choose goals based on our values, create systems that make them possible, and work diligently toward them.

We also learn when enough is enough and remain free to change direction.

The purpose is not endless achievement or constant excitement.

It is to maintain a life in which curiosity can still lead to action, learning, and growth.

And perhaps the feeling of being alive does not always require extraordinary experiences.

Sometimes it comes from learning a small skill, understanding something familiar more deeply, or discovering a new dimension of a relationship.

Happiness allows us to appreciate the life we have.

Growth allows us to remain excited about the life still ahead.

We need both.

Perhaps one of the most important practices of aging well is to keep creating opportunities for this cycle to continue.

Because as long as we remain curious, make meaningful choices, take action, and continue growing, life can remain full of possibilities—regardless of our age.