Beginning in the transitional period of autumn in 2025, I slowly settled into the university staff house in Suma, hoping to explore the essence of the Japanese spirit. One afternoon, I picked up a book at a bookstore in downtown Sannomiya—Wabi Sabi by Nobuo Suzuki—and began reading it at a seaside café aptly named “Gratitude.” Although one can read a book anywhere, reading Japanese philosophy within its own context helped me grasp the deeper meaning of this simple way of life—

one that embraces imperfection as a natural part of existence. This idea gradually seeped into my worldview and shaped the way I observed and understood Japanese society and culture throughout the month.
Thanks to Kazumi-sensei and Natsuki-san, who kindly arranged everything for me, I found peace on the fourth floor of the library at Kobe Women’s University. Each morning and evening, I practiced a kind of walking meditation as I passed through the gate, crossed the library entrance, and made my way to my office. Wabi Sabi often returned to my mind during these moments, reminding me to appreciate things and people just as they are. The guards, library staff, professors, and students were all doing their best within the complex chain of life. I realized how much kindness is woven into daily interactions through simple gestures and short greetings: “Ohayō,” “Kon'nichiwa,” “Arigatou gozaimasu,” and “Sayōnara.”

On buses and trains, I observed many elderly people standing and moving with remarkable strength. I often wondered how they stayed so resilient at their age, rarely asking for assistance from younger passengers. Again, Wabi Sabi came to mind—Japanese people embody endurance and robustness in adapting to life’s challenges. Visiting the Great Hanshin-Awaji Earthquake Museum deepened this understanding. The 1995 earthquake demonstrated immense destructive power, yet the greater force was the people who rebuilt the city and made it stronger. They live with the knowledge that earthquakes may strike again at any time, but they do not surrender to impermanence, uncertainty, or incompleteness. They simply continue living, no matter how many times they must start again.
The Japanese spirit continued to teach me until the very last week of my stay. I had an unforgettable opportunity to visit a non-profit organization in Tarumi called “Present Garden To.” It is difficult to imagine how challenging it must have been to support people with special needs until I witnessed how gardening, cooking, and music helped them learn to love themselves. The staff members began with their own experiences of depression and alienation before sharing their coping mechanisms with others. They traveled the journey together, learning and relearning to grow. Their empathetic connections made change possible. As someone researching this field, I could not hold back tears of admiration. I even asked to join them in gardening, wanting to feel this hopeful co-evolution. Their hearts spoke through their work, offering the clearest picture of how Wabi Sabi is rooted in Japanese society. It is simple: people grow like seeds. No one is perfect. The most important thing is to accept this and keep moving forward.

This Japanese worldview aligns closely with my work on empathetic policy design. It emphasizes using the heart as much as the head when designing policies for disadvantaged groups. We can never guarantee long-term wellbeing, but we must continue trying and improving in the pursuit of social justice. Policy design, like healing, is a mindful journey rather than a rigid procedure. At the end of my special lecture—based on my recent book with Palgrave Macmillan—a student asked what she should do if she wanted to volunteer in less developed countries. What a wonderful question. I thought to myself: What kind of city nurtures a person who asks something so compassionate? My final learning moment came from an interview with key staff from the Yabu City government regarding their social prescribing scheme for promoting mental wellbeing. This final lesson reaffirmed that Japanese society is grounded in caring for one another and recognizing our mutual need to fill each other’s gaps. As one staff member said: “We can all be medicine for others.” This is not only a beautiful sentiment—it holds deep philosophical meaning.

From all these lessons, I realized that although we are all broken in some way, Hyogo can be a safe space for healing. Its kind people, strong social bonds, rich culture, peaceful environment, and history of recovery all teach visitors the core principle of Wabi Sabi—that we are always in the making. Everything is imperfect, incomplete, and transient: ourselves, others, and the world around us. I learned that appreciating what we have is more important than clinging to the idea that happiness and safety require certainty.

On my final day, I visited Mount Rokko, where art dissolves into nature. I let myself glide along the ropeway to the Kobe Nunobiki Herb Gardens. For my last dinner, I had four sets of sashimi. It was a simple meal, but it expressed my gratitude for being here and my appreciation for every precious moment until the last light of the day.