Life Has Its Own Seasons: What the Kitchen Taught Me About 'Waiting'

With a soft, bubbling sound, the pot of layered vegetables sends up steam.

I suppress the urge to lift the lid just a little and watch the steam rise.

Layered simmered dishes, steamed beans, miso, amazake.

None of these can be rushed by human hands.
You leave it to the fire, to time, and to the microbes.
Every time I stand in the kitchen, I am taught the meaning of 'waiting'.

When I was young, I didn't understand that.

I was always in a hurry.
I must learn more.
I must try harder.

I felt that because I was nothing, I had to add something to become a person of value.

I believed that if I worked hard, flowers would bloom that much sooner.

And so, I feel I demanded the same not only of myself but of my children as well.

Perhaps I was rushing not only my own pace, but the pace of my children as well.

Back then, I did not yet know that life has its own seasons.

Before a tree spreads its branches and leaves wide, it sinks its roots deep into the unseen soil.

Even if nothing seems to have changed from above ground, it is quietly storing the strength to live within the earth.

It is because of that time that it becomes a tree that can withstand a storm.


People are surely the same.

Days when things didn't go as planned.
Days spent lost.
Days when I stood still.
Days when I took a detour.

Back then, I thought those were wasted times.

But now, it is different.
Those times were not wasted blanks in my life.
They were precious times when I was growing my own roots in places unseen.

Looking back, my failures, my confusion, and my tears have all become the nourishment that supports who I am today.

Therefore, those detours were not detours at all.
They were necessary times to deeply till the soil of my life.

It was the kitchen that taught me this.

Fermentation cannot be rushed by people.
Even if invisible to the eye, the microbes are quietly continuing their work.
The time when nothing seems to change is the most important time of all.

Nature is never in a hurry.

Spring in spring.
Summer in summer.
Autumn in autumn.
In winter, it grows its roots deep.

When each season comes around, the flowers begin to bloom quietly.

Without comparing themselves to anyone else, they know their own time.

Life, surely, is the same.

And there is one more thing I have realized.

When I was young, I lived looking only at the things I 'didn't have'.

I need more knowledge.
I need more experience.
I need more qualifications.
I must grow more.

I kept thinking that way.

But now, having lived through life, I have finally realized.

It wasn't that I had nothing.

I had already received and nurtured so many things.

The many things my parents and those around me did for me.
The time spent with my family.
The days I laughed with my children.
The time spent traveling to various places.
The tears I shed.
The time spent taking the long way around.
The days spent doing seasonal handiwork in the kitchen.
The time spent cooking with someone in mind.
Each one of those things had, before I knew it, piled up inside me and become my own unique treasure.

When I was chasing 'what I didn't have,' my heart was always being chased by something.

But since I became able to look at 'what I do have,' the scenery has changed.

Being able to wake up in the morning.

Being able to live in health.
Having my family.
Being able to see my family's smiles.
Having friends.
Being able to live peacefully in my own home.
Being allowed to do work that is useful to others.
Being able to feel the morning light and the wind brushing against my cheeks as pleasant.
Feeling that nature—the flowers on the roadside, the morning dew on the leaves, the color of the sky, the shape of the clouds, the sunset—is beautiful.
Being healed by the chirping of birds.
Being able to rest my mind and body on rainy days.
Being able to have seasonal vegetables.
Being able to stand in the kitchen and cook.
Being able to gather around the table together.
And at night, being able to finish the day safely.
I have come to realize how rich and grateful a gift the daily life I once took for granted truly is.


I have become able to notice that I am surrounded by many treasures that are like miracles, and I have naturally come to feel gratitude.
Wealth is not about acquiring something new.
It is about noticing what you already have and nurturing it with care.
I can now think that that is what true wealth is.

When I was raising my children, I did not understand that.

There are other things I have come to understand little by little as I have lived my life.

That people grow and walk at different speeds.

It was my children and myself who taught me that.

While worrying, getting lost, standing still, and taking detours, one walks their own unique life.

My children, now adults, are blooming their own flowers at their own timing.

And I, too, have become who I am today precisely because there was time I thought was a detour.

If not for that event,
If not for that path,
No one would have arrived where they are today.


The time I thought was 'falling behind' back then was a necessary time for everyone.



And now, my grandchildren have been born, and I am relearning what it means to 'wait' once again.

What they couldn't do yesterday, they can do today.

The things they can do with their small hands increase, one by one.

Words they couldn't say before, one day, they suddenly speak.

Things they were afraid of until yesterday, today they take a small step and challenge.

Watching that, I think once again that people do not grow in a hurry.

Now, I would never think to rush them.
As long as they grow up big, slowly and at their own pace, while laughing, playing, crying, and falling, that is enough.

It is okay not to be the same as someone else.

It is okay not to compare yourself to others.
That child has their own pace.

That child has their own season.
And there is a flower that only that person can bloom.
The winter season is a time to store things within oneself.
And so, I wait with anticipation for the day that flower blooms.

In life, there are times when 'the time is ripe'.


When I was young, I thought that if I kept making efforts, the path would open immediately.

But now that I have walked through life, I understand.

There are times when no matter how much you push a door, it will not open.

Conversely, even the time spent resting or standing still can become important preparation for moving to the next stage.

The time I took off from work to raise my children was like that.

Because I lived in a flow of time different from before, there was scenery I could see and things I could realize.
By leaving my usual place and looking at things from a different perspective, I sometimes encountered a new self and new viewpoints.

Nothing was ever a waste.

Things whose meaning I didn't understand at the time, when I looked back later, had all become nourishment to grow myself.

Life is a mysterious thing.

Looking back, it is mysterious how I met the necessary people and encountered the necessary learning at the necessary times.

When the experiences and connections I had built up until then connected into one, there are times when it quietly sinks in that 'this was the path to get here'.

As if being guided, the path opens up as one door after another opens naturally.

The time being ripe is not something that just comes if you wait.

The time spent learning and walking in my own way.
The days spent moving forward while being lost.
The accumulation of encounters and experiences.
And one's own preparation.

When all of that is ready, I think things harmonize, and the door to the next stage opens naturally.

Fermentation is the same.

It does not grow with microbes alone.
There is temperature, humidity, season, and time.

When all conditions are met, changes proceed quietly out of sight, growing into a deep umami.

Life is very similar to that.

Watching the steam rising from the pot, I think again today.

Waiting is not doing nothing.
It is believing in the power to grow.
It is believing in the unseen time.
It is believing in the potential within that person.
And it is believing in one's own life.

The kitchen taught me not just about cooking, but about how to live.

Life has its own seasons.
It has its own pace.
And there is a time for each flower to bloom.

Today, too, I am waiting in the kitchen, believing in that time.

For that person's own flower to bloom.
And with gratitude for a life that has allowed me to wait until today.

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