No.0146：The Sun Also Rises
January 22,2026
Right now, for various reasons, I’m going through a difficult time. In moments like this, I think of the Hemingway title that serves as this piece’s heading and use it to stir myself forward. Things may be bad now, but they won’t stay that way forever. After all, no matter how painful the past was, the sun rose again, didn’t it? This time, I want to look back on that idea-that it rises again-and try, little by little, to rise once more.
 
First, a story that isn’t directly about me, but about a professional baseball player I admired. Takashi Nishimoto once climbed as high as becoming the ace pitcher of the Yomiuri Giants. But as he grew older and his wins declined, he was labeled expendable and traded to the Chunichi Dragons. In his very first year after the transfer, he won the most games in the league. Rising from an undrafted start, he was known as a man of relentless effort-so much so that he reportedly made a habit of standing on his tiptoes in daily life to strengthen himself. For a boy like me, who didn’t grow up in fortunate circumstances, he was a source of encouragement. His sun rose quickly. Especially when he pitched against his former team, the Giants, his face looked almost demonic. Like a bullied kid attending a class reunion, fully prepared not to back down an inch when facing the tormentor he hadn’t seen in twenty years.
 
I’m nowhere near as cool as Nishimoto, but here’s my own story of independence. When I was in my twenties and thirties, lifetime employment and seniority-based systems still ruled, and the so-called “age-35 career-change limit” was whispered like an unspoken law of village society. Starting out on my own after turning forty was filled with anxiety. I even seriously thought, “If I can’t earn a single yen, I’ll open a ramen shop!” In hindsight, that fear may have helped-because once I threw myself into it desperately, the danger somehow slipped away. The sun rose again, effortlessly. In fact, now I sometimes think: maybe I will open a ramen shop someday. Eating ramen with my family was the happiest time of my childhood. When things are bleak, I feel especially drawn to the warmth of those past memories.
 
There are many things that seem terrifying, yet turn out to be manageable once you actually try. That’s why, when I hesitate, I generally choose to do it. If it fails, I can always hit the reset button-like on an old Famicom-and start again.
 
Next, another story from my work. I once joined a project in a field I couldn’t really call my strength. I was told they wanted me to support it by making use of what I was good at. I trusted the idea of “diversity” too much. A perfectly complementary relationship-where one person’s strength matches the other’s weakness, and vice versa-requires a great deal of mutual respect and tolerance to function. Without that, it collapses. Every morning, going to work felt like hell. Like an A-class war criminal on death row at Sugamo Prison, waking up each day prepared for the possibility that today might be the execution. I fell so far that I genuinely thought IT engineering simply wasn’t for me. Eventually, I returned to a basic question: what am I good at, what do I enjoy, and what truly differentiates me? Once I reprioritized those things, the sun rose again. What felt like a devastating loss of confidence now seems almost absurd-today, I can honestly say that being an IT engineer wasn’t such a bad choice after all.
 
When things are dire, there’s something I try to hold onto as I work toward recovery. People will say all sorts of things to you. Some out of genuine concern, others as a means of control-trying to shape your thinking-or as thinly veiled sarcasm, the “I told you so” kind. That’s why, while I appreciate helpful advice, I try not to let noise throw me off course. In the end, the one who chooses the path toward rising again is me. Even when that choice turns out wrong and needs correction, repeating that process without blaming others-owning it completely-is essential. Without that, the sun doesn’t rise easily.
 
From yet another angle, I want to avoid tunnel vision and resist the urge to rush. Like leaving a scraped knee alone after spitting on it-before you know it, it starts to heal. Years ago, I was shocked to see colorized footage on TV of people smiling during the Great Kanto Earthquake and the Tokyo air raids. When times are hardest, we have to keep smiling. Come to think of it, my father named me 暢（Tōru）, meaning easygoing. So maybe now, of all times, I should take things slowly and lightly. Eventually-surely-the sun will rise again.
 
You don’t really think the darkness just before dawn will last forever, do you?