When Taro Okamoto’s Words Stop the Breath — Trusting Discomfort

Recently, I came across a video that touched on the thinking of Taro Okamoto.

From the very first sentence, I was locked in.
I couldn’t look away.

It felt like my breath stopped for a second.
Before thought, my body reacted.
“This.”

Before words like understanding or agreement could even appear,
there was a strong, physical sense of alignment.

As the video went on, I understood why.
So much of what I had been sensing and putting into words overlapped.

For example:

Trust your sense of discomfort and your “I want to.”

Feeling discomfort toward common sense is not abnormal.
It’s closer to normal.

Happiness is not the goal of life.

Living fully is life itself.

Choosing that path leads to solitude.
But solitude is not failure. It is a rite of passage.

And beyond it, there are real companions.

Lined up like this, some might think,
“Isn’t this basically the same thing?”

Honestly, I thought so too.

Being trapped by common sense

Taro Okamoto believed that people fail to become their true selves
not because of a lack of talent or effort,
but because they adapt too well to common sense.

Thinking like everyone else.
Feeling safe like everyone else.
Trying to be happy in the same way as everyone else.

That unconscious synchronization
is the chain that binds people most tightly.

This overlaps with a phrase I often use:
“remembering yourself.”

There is no need to become someone new.
No need to add anything.

When the noise of common sense is removed,
the self that was already there stands up.

What Okamoto called “the true self”
and what I call “the remembered self”
use different words, but stand at the same point.

Happiness is not a destination

Happiness is not a goal.
It is a state.

Okamoto disliked the word “happiness.”
Because it easily becomes a comfortable excuse
to avoid challenge and settle into the present.

In my own language, this is close to what I call
“happiness as chewing gum.”

Happiness is not something you swallow or digest.

You taste it for a while.
As you keep chewing, the flavor fades.
You take it out.
Then you chew again.

Sometimes it’s the same flavor.
Sometimes slightly different.

There is no need to finish it.
No need to conclude anything.

Just the state of still chewing.

Happiness is not an arrival point.
It is a state that appears and disappears
in the middle of living.

“Absolute sense” and “absolute essence sense”

Okamoto was severe when speaking about confidence
and comparison with others.

Confidence, he said, is an illusion.
As long as one lives in comparison,
freedom is impossible.

What he called an “absolute sense”
feels like the resolve to step away from others’ standards
and stand while fully taking oneself on.

The term I use is different:
“absolute essence sense.”

This is not a mindset.
It is closer to a sensory organ.

When I start to drift away from essence,
a sharp sense of discomfort runs through me.
Sometimes strong enough to feel like fear.

“This is wrong.”
I know it immediately.

Like someone with perfect pitch who cannot tolerate a wrong note,
it is a sensitivity that cannot miss essence.

Because of this, I cannot take detours.

In any article, in any session,
I go straight to the core.

Okamoto spoke in terms of posture.
I work with structure and sensation.

This is where we are similar,
and where we are decisively different.

The one who denied confidence, and the one who redefined it

Okamoto said: do not have confidence.
Because confidence born from comparison is fragile.

I do not deny confidence.
But I redefine it.

Confidence is not something you build through effort.
It is a passive skill that naturally emerges
when inner layers activate in order.

Safety of existence
芽 of affirmation
Self-acceptance
Sense of self-efficacy

When this order collapses, people break.

This also explains why recent slogans like
“love yourself” or “take care of yourself”
often feel hollow.

Okamoto lit a fire.
I draw a seismic-resistant structure of confidence
that does not collapse when shaken.

It’s not about which is correct.
The roles are simply different.

The stance of not needing to be understood

Okamoto was deeply wary
of the desire to be understood.

The moment you try to be understood,
expression weakens.

The moment you shape it to reach everyone,
the sharpness of life is shaved away.

So he did not fear being misunderstood,
standing out, or being isolated.

He even considered the state of not being understood
to be healthy.

This overlaps with what I mean when I say,
“It’s okay not to be understood.”

I don’t write because I want to be understood.
I write because once I’ve touched the essence,
I cannot not write.

That stance itself
is already a way of living.

Exploding life, and continuously updating life

Okamoto’s goal was joy.
An explosive life force that rises
when facing death and danger head-on.

I don’t have a goal.

Next.
Next.
Next.
There is no end.

Not because I’m lost,
but because “now” is always the starting point.

A life that explodes and burns out,
and a life that quietly keeps updating.

Born from the same stratum,
they simply evolved differently.

Still, I nodded deeply

Because there were so many points of overlap,
the differences became clear.

Okamoto was someone who shouted, “Live.”

I am someone who translates
“structures that allow living to continue.”

This is not a story of influence,
nor an article critiquing someone.

It is a record of confirming
that we were standing at the same depth.

When common sense is removed,
the self does not become something.

It is simply remembered.

That may be all there is to it.

One last thing

Earlier, I wrote,
“Beyond that, there are real companions.”

To be honest, I laughed a little, thinking,
right now my only companion is Chappy.

But if Taro Okamoto were alive today,
I think I would have liked to sit down at least once,
eating yakitori, arguing back and forth.

No need to fully understand each other.
No need for conclusions.

Just saying,
“I get that,”
“No, that’s where you’re wrong,”
laughing as the night grows late.

I would have liked to share that kind of time.

Companions don’t need to be many.
They don’t need to always be close.

If, even for a moment,
you looked in the same direction,
from the same depth—

that might already be enough
to call someone a companion.

This note is written for those whose senses move
before answers arrive.

If something stayed with you after reading,
that may be a sign that something inside you responded.

— withchat