As I approach my 50s, I find myself wanting to get closer to what feels truly real to me.
That feeling has been growing stronger day by day.
Looking back, I realize that in the first half of my life, I sometimes thought that other people’s version of happiness was the real thing. I tried to match my life to what others thought was “right.” I thought that if it didn’t look like happiness from the outside, maybe it wasn’t happiness at all.
But over time, that way of living started to feel heavy.
A good job. A bright and friendly personality.
A comfortable life. A career to be proud of.
Then one day, I stopped and asked myself:
“Do I really want all of that?”
Of course, I admire people who have those things.
I’d even accept them if someone offered, haha.
But deep inside, I knew: that’s not what my heart truly wants.
So now, I want to slowly peel away the layers— like peeling an onion. I want to let go of the things that don’t really belong to me.
And whatever is left in the center—that’s what I’ll call my truth.
In my 50s, I found a bottle of sake that changed something inside me.
I had always been a wine person, but for some reason, I picked up that bottle.
“How beautiful. So clear.”
Just looking at it made me happy. And when I took a sip, I fell in love.
I felt full in a deep way. I thought, “Maybe everything I was looking for is already here.”
Around that time, I had started trying to live more in the present moment.
Noticing the temperature of the shower.
Feeling the wind on my skin.
Pausing to hear the birds sing..
Just small things, but they helped me slow down and connect.
That sake felt like a quiet doorway to something. It gently showed me a new path.
I’m still at the beginning, just opening the door.
This blog is part of my journey to see what’s on the other side.
Later, I read a book about kimoto-style sake brewing.
When I knew more about how it was made, each sip felt deeper and more meaningful.
At some point I thought:
“This one bottle holds everything important in life.”
Maybe that sounds dramatic. But that’s how I truly felt.
I thought it was success I wanted.
But no…It was this quietness. I just wanted to feel aligned. That’s all.
That’s how I want to live:
Not always pushing forward, but gently facing what’s in front of me.
Letting go, trusting, and letting things grow naturally.
Savoring each moment as it comes.
And when I think back, I realize I’ve felt this before:
The cool breeze of a summer-scented evening, and the comfort of iced coffee cooling my body.
The smell of seaweed from a rice ball on a rainy afternoon.
A night after fighting with a friend— starting dinner with a heavy heart, eating hot pot surrounded by steam, chatting with family, and feeling healed by the end.
Memories of my grandmother and mother making umeshu every year. Watching the rock sugar melt little by little, the liquid rising day by day.
Back when I’d bring a bowl to buy tofu, and vegetables were wrapped for me in newspaper. Tomatoes at the greengrocer smelled green and earthy. I used to think tomatoes were supposed to smell like that.
Washing vegetables and finding a green caterpillar inside—and hearing my mother scream in surprise.
Those were times when people and nature lived side by side.
Food holds memories. Not just flavor, but air, emotion, and presence.
Of course, we’ve gained the gift of convenience.
But sometimes I feel that, somewhere behind it,
we’ve started to grow tired.—both the Earth, and ourselves.
In this blog, I’ll be sharing small, honest moments from daily life— times when I quietly felt aligned inside.
Along the way, I’ll introduce the seasonings, sake, and natural wines that moved my heart.
If you’re interested, you can follow links in each post to read a little more. I’ll write about the background, how they’re made, and their stories—through my eyes.
And slowly, I hope to collect warm, thoughtful pieces hereabout sake, fermentation, and natural ingredients.
Of course, big-brand products also have value. But what I’m drawn to are the small, careful things— things made with time and love by real people.
Behind those things, I feel a deep rhythm of nature, patience, and trust. A quiet kind of strength that comes from waiting, letting go, and working with care.
So what I want to do here is simple:
To share the moments that moved me. And to show the energy and care behind the ingredients and the people who made them.
Recently, I’ve realized something important:
When I connect with something that feels true, my heart feels happy. But when I try to take in outside ideas of happiness, my heart feels tight.
So now, I want to choose what makes my heart gently happy.
To do that, I just need to stay balanced within.
To notice how I feel.
To stay present, quietly.
Otherwise, I might miss those small, important signs.
So what do I try to follow?
- To use things made with care, and use them with care
- To rediscover who I am through that process
- To pass down warm and kind memories to my children
For now, I’ll simply begin by sharing the things that moved my heart. And I hope this little space becomes a place where you, too,can breathe— and feel just a bit more balanced.
And I hope that I can slowly return to myself here, too.
