Why I Am Drawn to 'Detours'

—The Margin for Encountering an Unexpected Self—

Moving through life with a goal in mind.
Envisioning the future, making plans, and keeping promises to yourself.
These things are, of course, important.

However, when I look back on my own life, it was not just the events that went according to plan that truly helped me grow.

Rather...
Things I started casually.
Unexpected trials.
Insights found while taking a detour.
The sense of discomfort that sounded like nothing but noise.
I feel that I have encountered new possibilities for myself far more often in the midst of such events.

Of course, there were times when I felt discouraged by unforeseen circumstances brought on by my own challenges.
Even so, looking back, it seems that 'continuing to encounter life' suits me better than 'navigating life successfully'.

That is probably why I love 'detours' so much.

The 'detour' I speak of here does not mean stopping your journey toward your destination. It is a 'margin' for encountering your own life.

This column is also a record of my exploration into why I am so drawn to 'detours,' while reflecting on my own journey.

Unexpected sensibility over a blueprint for completion

Recently, I had the opportunity to think about the word 'bricolage' and the word 'engineering,' which is often discussed as its antonym.

It is not a question of which is superior.
I myself use these two differently depending on the situation.

'Bricolage' originally comes from French and means 'making things by combining what is at hand.'
It is a way of thinking that does not decide on a finished design first, but rather shapes things while making the most of encounters and situations as they arise.

On the other hand, 'engineering' is a way of thinking that sets a destination, envisions a finished form, and designs the path to get there.

I believe both of these are important strengths for human beings.
In fact, I use these two perspectives in the work I do at my company, which involves designing organizational culture.

Re-examining the direction the organization is aiming for, putting philosophies and values into words, and envisioning the future.
An engineering perspective is indispensable there.

However, I also know that the moments when people's hearts are truly moved cannot be designed.
The moment a philosophy resonates.
The moment you encounter words that feel like your own.
The moment new values sprout during a conversation with colleagues.
These things never happen on schedule; they are born from unexpected conversations and insights that occur in the course of daily life.

That is why I approach frameworks with a bold, engineering-like approach, and I approach the cultivation of sensibility with a meticulous, bricolage-like approach.

And what I have been feeling lately is that while both are necessary, perhaps the order in which they are applied is what matters.

When design becomes too dominant, people become obsessed with reaching their destination.
As a result, they may overlook new possibilities passing right in front of them or the subtle movements of their own hearts.
On the other hand, relying solely on bricolage can sometimes make it impossible to give shape to the possibilities you have discovered.

First comes the encounter with one's sensibility, and then the ingenuity to give it form and realize it is born.
First, there is the active nature of 'making do' in a bricolage sense, and the accumulation of that leads to the 'it will work out' of engineering.

I feel that such a flow is a very natural thing.
Perhaps because it becomes unnatural to get the order wrong or to lean too heavily in one direction, people seem to end up exhausted.

A dojo for being released into the wild fields of freedom

The 'Dojo for Exploring One's Own Space' that I run was born from such a way of thinking.

I do not want to lead anyone to an ideal image.
I do not want to save anyone either.
I simply want to create space for each person to reunite with their own sensibility.

I do not want to lead lost sheep into an enclosure; I hope that each person can walk in the wild fields of freedom.
The scenery that belongs only to that person.
The questions that belong only to that person.
The pace that belongs only to that person.
I want to believe in those things.

Come to think of it, reading the reflection articles of the participants in this dojo gave me an opportunity to think about the 'correlation between agency and autonomy'.

Generally, 'autonomy' is spoken of as disciplining oneself and controlling one's emotions and actions.
Of course, that is also an important strength.

However, I think there is something even more important before that.
What moves your heart?
What makes you excited?
What makes you feel a sense of discomfort?
It is the encounter with such sensibilities.

Agency is not born from control, but from an encounter with sensibility.
And perhaps autonomy is a strength that becomes necessary later to give shape to that agency.

I arrived at such a hypothesis.
Perhaps agency is a bricolage-like element, and autonomy is an engineering-like element.

Things I want to cherish

For a long time, I have valued the feeling of 'wanting to trust my future self' rather than 'worrying about my future self'.

When you worry about the future, you want to find the correct answer.
You want to find a way not to fail.
You want to choose a certain path.

However, when you trust yourself, the scenery changes a little.
You are no longer afraid of detours.
You are no longer afraid of wavering.
You become able to welcome unexpected events.

I feel that meaning in the term 'slow life' as well.

In this case, 'slow' does not mean living slowly.
People living in rural areas are by no means idle, and a life facing nature can sometimes be quite busy.

Perhaps the reason I still feel a sense of richness is that detours, which cannot be measured by efficiency alone, remain in our lives.
Instead of taking a shortcut, I savor the journey itself.
As a result, things naturally slow down.

That is the kind of feeling it is.

And sometimes, I find myself thinking about the Jomon period.
Of course, I cannot know what the actual lives of the Jomon people were like.

Even so, I sense a somewhat bricolage-like worldview in the way of life of hunter-gatherer societies, who likely lived in harmony with nature and made the most of the blessings available in each moment.

Perhaps I feel a sense of nostalgia for the Jomon-like sensibility, which likely valued dialogue with nature, more than the worldview that has developed since the Yayoi period, which emphasizes planning and efficiency.

Looking back, there is a common thread in the things I am drawn to.

Play.
White space.
Detours.
Agency.
Bricolage.
Relationships where you can see the faces of the local community.
A cycle of gratitude.

These are also sensibilities that resonate with Zen and Buddhism.
It may not be about teaching the correct answer, but about trusting in the journey where each person encounters their own realizations and enlightenment.

That is why, in the places I help manage, these kinds of words naturally come up.

Sprouting rather than education.
Cultivation rather than management.
Inquiry rather than the right answer.
Encounters rather than arrival.
Intuition rather than planning.
Wonderful detours rather than the optimal shortcut.
Unexpected sensibilities rather than a blueprint for completion.
And, agency rather than autonomy.

Even detours that seem like going out of your way become an important part of life when you look back.

It is interesting precisely because it is incomplete.
There is the unknown precisely because it is incomplete.
That is why I want to keep walking today, taking a few detours along the way.
Trusting the scenery, the people, and myself that I encounter on the journey.

As I often say, I do not want to deny anyone else's answers.
I simply want to cherish and nurture my own questions.

Where will those questions lead me?
I want to live while enjoying those detours.

Even if the unexpected happens, I try to trust my own sensibilities and wisdom at that moment.
Even if things do not go as planned, I try to look for the scenery that is born precisely because of that situation.

I feel that such strength has been cultivated little by little precisely because I live a life with many such detours.

Trusting yourself does not mean believing that things will go as you wish.
It means believing that even if things do not go as you wish, you will be able to face them at that time.
That is why I want to keep walking today, trusting myself a little.

What I saw after the detour

And this time, while writing this column, I had another realization.

The process of writing this up to this point was itself a form of bricolage.
There was no conclusion from the very beginning.

It started with a certain sense of discomfort, and from there, I explored my own thoughts by layering unexpected associations—moving through agency, autonomy, detours, slow living, Jomon-like sensibilities, and the worldviews of Zen and Buddhism.

It truly feels like the process of combining the materials that appeared before me at each moment and increasing the resolution was bricolage itself.

At the same time, the act of looking back on my own journey and way of thinking, and organizing them into words, might also be somewhat engineering-like.

Why do I think this way?
Why am I drawn to detours?
Connecting the dots that were scattered within me and looking at them again as a single story.

It feels less like an effort to manage myself, and more like an endeavor to build a structure for trusting myself.

Thinking about it that way, perhaps bricolage and engineering are not opposing forces, but rather two wheels that help me live in my own way.

There is an encounter with sensibility, followed by reflection.
There is a detour, followed by finding meaning.
That is why I will likely continue this cycle of enjoying detours and occasionally stopping to look back.

In doing so, I feel that my trust in myself gradually grows.

In the end, what I am drawn to is not the 'detour' itself, but the 'encounter with a version of myself I hadn't expected' that lies hidden within those detours.

As long as I can believe in those encounters, I feel that life will continue to be interesting.

Backstage, Inc.
Culture Formation Designer
Yoshinori Kawai

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