The Importance of Rest — Sixteen Hours of Freedom Each Day
Several years have now passed since I stepped away from work. At the beginning, my emotions wavered between anxiety and relief. This was not a break I had actively chosen for myself.
Looking back, however, I now believe that it was precisely because I left work that I gained the mental space needed for cognitive restructuring. Had I continued living as I was then, it would have been difficult—perhaps impossible—to change the way I lived.
For nearly twenty years, I worked days that stretched to sixteen hours, often devoting at least one day of the weekend to work as well. There were practical reasons for this, such as responsibility and workload, but at its core, it was a choice I made. I chose to work relentlessly.
I did so because I believed that by working as hard as possible, I could protect my family and overcome my sense of inferiority. For me, work was both a practical way of coping with family problems and a source of emotional support—a place of refuge, and a means of self-realisation.
Even now, the importance of work in my life has not changed. What has changed, however, is the way I relate to my family and to myself at a deeper level.
By stepping away from work, I suddenly found myself with as many as sixteen free hours each day. That abundance of time translated directly into emotional and physical breathing space, and it became time I could devote to deeper reflection.
Only when I let go of all that I had been clinging to did I truly understand, for the first time, the value of rest.
Stress Recognised Only After Release — Headaches and Sleepless Nights
Since my student days, I had suffered from chronic headaches. I lived with the constant anxiety of not knowing when the next one would strike, to the point that I could not leave home without carrying medication. I underwent regular medical examinations, but no clear abnormalities were ever found.
Sleep was another struggle. I wanted to sleep, yet I could not. Even when I eventually drifted off, I would wake every one or two hours. More often than not, I woke in the morning with a headache already pounding.
As I gradually settled into a life of rest, however, the headaches became less frequent, and I began to sleep for longer stretches. When I started moving my body again—through jogging or walking—my appetite returned as well.
This is not a medical diagnosis, but my own reflection: I believe that stress was one of the underlying causes of both my headaches and my insomnia. It was only after being released from that stress that I truly became aware of how deeply it had affected me.
Perhaps we often recognise what has been binding us only once we are finally free from it.
Remembering Those Who Believed in Me — There Was No Need to Lose Confidence
With time on my side and my physical condition improving, I finally found myself in a position to look back over my life, one step at a time.
I do not deny, however, that this process can be a double-edged sword. Revisiting painful memories is part of it, and there were many moments when my heart felt heavy and my thoughts simply came to a halt.
At the same time, it also gave me the chance to rediscover moments of happiness I had long forgotten.
Looking back calmly, I realised that my encounters with people had not been marked by misfortune alone. There were, without doubt, people who recognised me for who I was.
For a long time, I had failed to see this. Perhaps it was because I had spent so many years living as though I were constantly fighting something unseen.
Although my most recent job did not end in the way I had hoped, I gradually came to understand that this alone was not a reason to lose confidence in myself.
When I decided to accept both my past and my present as they were, the memories of those who had once given me courage returned to me.
I Never Forgot Being Praised — A Former Manager Who Gave Me Confidence
During my period of rest, I often found myself thinking about Akihide (pseudonym), a former manager of mine. At a previous company, we had worked together to expand the business. He was someone who helped me establish a core sense of who I was as a professional.
After serving as president of a mid-sized Japanese chemical manufacturer, he went on to become the head of a small Japanese subsidiary of a European chemical company. I joined that organisation as the person responsible for business development and marketing.
He consistently spoke highly of my work. Through encouraging words like the ones below, he gave me confidence and pushed me forward. Because of that, every moment at work—regardless of how large or small the task—became an opportunity to learn and grow.
“With you joining us, the missing piece of our Japan operation has finally fallen into place. Everyone’s delighted.”
“You’re doing very well, but you’re still holding back. I want you to be much bolder—really go for it.”
“It’s perfectly fine for you to have the ambition to lead the Japan business yourself.”
Words spoken by someone with both experience and a proven track record had a near-magical effect on me. Had I never met Akihide, the way I carried myself professionally might have been entirely different.
Words That Propped Up My Heart — A Memory of a Member of Parliament
When I travelled to a European country on business with Akihide, I had the unexpected opportunity to spend a few days alongside a Japanese Member of Parliament, whom I will call Mr C. Needless to say, my role was simply to carry bags and attend to practical matters for both Akihide and Mr C.
I already knew from his background that Mr C had endured a harsh childhood. Through sheer perseverance and relentless effort, he had made his way into politics.
Whether we were in transit or sharing a meal, he was constantly studying. He attended every appointment without an interpreter, handling everything himself. His energy, combined with his open, approachable manner, gave no hint of the hardship he had grown up with. Instead, he radiated an unmistakably positive presence.
Mr C seemed to take a liking to me as well, and at one point he said:
“Naoki Hoshino — that’s a good name.”
“You’d actually make a very good parliamentary secretary.”
On the final day, I had the chance to spend around thirty minutes alone with him in the airport’s departure area. We were both flying onward to different destinations.
As we waited for our flights, he spoke freely about his work, his family, and his hopes for the future. I felt almost embarrassed by how deliberately he tried to meet me at eye level, but I did my best to speak honestly about myself as well.
When it was time to part, he shook my hand and said:
“You seem steady and reliable — I think you’ll be just fine. But if anything ever comes up, don’t hesitate to visit my office. I’ll do what I can to help.”
Given his position as a Member of Parliament, he must have said similar words to countless people over the years. I do not regard that as insincere.
Still, I felt that he truly meant what he said. Having watched him work at close range for several days — his focus, the strength of his handshake, and the seriousness in his expression — I could not believe those words were spoken lightly or merely as a formality.
A warmth rose deep in my chest. All I could say was, “Thank you,” before bowing deeply and taking my leave. Even now, I remember clearly the moment when something like courage quietly took root inside me.
During my period of rest, I found myself returning to Mr C’s words again and again. They became a kind of inner prop — something that allowed me to say to myself, I’ll be all right. I was sustained by the earnest words of someone who lived earnestly.
I doubt Mr C remembers me at all. And that is perfectly fine.
