A retired professor reflects on a year of discovery, from cherry blossoms to autumn leaves, and shares his vision for lifelong adventure The New Year arrived quietly in Okinawa. While crowds gathered at nearby Futenma Shrine for their first prayers of 2026, I watched from a distance, content in my solitude. I'm not particularly religious, but somewhere in that moment, a childhood memory flickered—my family bundled up in winter coats, walking together to our neighborhood shrin

I’ll gradually be sharing English blog posts—co-created with generative AI, and rooted in my own creative journey. After being translated by generative AI, the Japanese version of the blog will be reimagined—trimmed, tuned, and polished to sing in Japanese—and quietly released on my old homepage, like a message in a bottle. This blog is fact-based, but certain elements are dramatized for storytelling purposes. This site uses the free version of Wix. If the storage limit is re

Some journeys begin long before we set out. This one started with disappointment—a disappointment so profound it planted a seed that would eventually pull me back to a small Arctic city at the edge of the world. Tromsø. Even the name sounds like wind howling across frozen fjords. The Sun Behind Clouds July 2003. My first pilgrimage. I came chasing the midnight sun I'd seen in documentaries—that mystical phenomenon where night transforms into endless twilight, where darkness s

The Day I Was Reborn Two years into retirement, I sit on my Okinawan balcony gazing at the azure sea, and memories from over three decades ago come flooding back with startling clarity. I was 29 years old that winter when I left Japan for the first time. My destination: the Gold Coast, Australia. That one-month stay would reshape the entire trajectory of my life in ways I could never have imagined. When "Abroad" Was Just a Dream I didn't grow up with means. Throughout my univ

Not snow, but cherry blossom petals. The Cherry Blossoms I Left Behind Twenty-eight years in Okinawa. The emerald-green sea that never ceased to amaze me, sunsets melting into the horizon, hibiscus flowers that caught my eye at every turn, and time that moved at its own unhurried pace. Island life had seeped into my bones, my rhythm, my very being. Yet as my years as a university professor drew to a close and retirement approached, I realized something: there was one thing I

Twenty-eight years in Okinawa have given me many gifts—the eternal summer, the cerulean seas, the unhurried island rhythms. But there are two seasons that still pull at something deep within me, calling me back to the world I once knew: the cherry blossoms of spring, and the maple leaves of autumn. This year, in my second autumn as a retired professor, I answered that call once more. The Mirror World of Tō-ji I arrived in Kyoto on a Thursday evening, checked into a modest hot

18 Hidden Gems in Japan to Visit Before You Die: The bus from Nagano Station climbs steadily for an hour, winding through city streets before ascending a serpentine loop bridge. As we rise, the landscape transforms—summer greens giving way to autumn's palette of rust and gold. Once, I drove this treacherous mountain road myself, white-knuckled through hairpin turns. Now, I sit back and let the bus do the work.

Prologue: The Journey Begins At half past noon on a June day, I stood in Haneda Airport's departure lounge, performing my usual pre-flight ritual. The upgrade to Munich had come through—a small mercy when facing a journey that would stretch beyond twenty-four hours, connections included. The 12:30 departure would put me in Munich in the early evening, then on to Lisbon on a 7:30 pm flight. Sinking into a flat-bed seat, I felt the weight of the long journey ahead. My destinati

As I pack up my office on my last day before retirement, my hand brushes against an old notebook buried beneath years of accumulated papers. I open it to find scribbled English vocabulary words paired with Japanese translations, and there, carefully transcribed at the top of a page, a title that changed my life: "Implications of the Okinawa Multimedia Island Concept for local innovation system: is Triple Helix a good partner to dance?" The words transport me back fifteen year

The Weight of Endings One year until retirement. I stood at my office window, staring at the ancient banyan tree that had watched over Ryukyu University's campus for as long as I'd been there—twenty-five years. Its branches spread wide and strong, green leaves dancing in the Okinawan breeze. Next year, this view would no longer be mine. "Is this really how it ends?" The question haunted me. After decades pursuing cutting-edge technology, was I really going to walk away withou

I still remember the moment the word “social entrepreneurship” first echoed in my mind—not as a concept, but as a calling. It was the late 1990s, a time when Japan was just beginning to whisper the language of social enterprise. The idea that business could be a force for good—not just profit—was radical, almost romantic. But for me, it wasn’t theory that lit the fire. It was music.

There’s a peculiar kind of loneliness that comes with being ahead of your time. Not the trendy kind where you’re the first person in your neighborhood with a smartphone and everyone thinks you’re either visionary or pretentious (spoiler: they usually think both). No, I’m talking about the kind where you’re standing in a classroom in Okinawa in 2010, talking about social entrepreneurship and startup culture, and your students are looking at you like you just suggested they ope

There's a peculiar irony in academia that nobody warns you about: sometimes, being recognized as exceptional at teaching is the kiss of death for your course enrollment. I learned this lesson the hard way—twice.

Say it out loud: “La La La Learn.” Now say it twice: “La La La Learn, La La La Learn.” Hear that rhythm? It echoes the iconic four-note motif of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony—“Da-da-da-daa!”—often interpreted as fate knocking at the door.

Some people earn nicknames. Others crash into them headfirst. I did both—at cruising altitude. They call me Flying Professor.

If you had asked me 30 years ago where my career would lead, I might have said “Corporate Strategy” or “Organizational Behavior.” I wouldn’t have guessed “happiness.”