At some point in our lives, we’ve all heard that everyone has their own journey. Some paths accelerate early. Some take time to gather depth. Some change direction midway. None of them are wrong—unless we insist on comparing.
Most “middle benchers” like me have endured that familiar feedback—the promise and the results don’t quite match. We knew why. There were simply too many other things we wanted to do, and studying wasn’t always at the top of the list. But in hindsight, that was also a time when we were quietly spreading our wings.
Later, once on my own, the pressure began to mount. The questions followed—am I doing okay, am I in the right profession, am I on the right path?
I was reminded of this not in a moment of failure, but in a moment of quiet comparison.
There was a phase when I found myself measuring progress more often than I would admit. Not formally, not consciously—but in small, passing ways. A colleague moving ahead faster. Someone switching paths and finding success. Another achieving something I had once set aside.
Nothing dramatic. Just enough to raise a question—am I falling behind?
It took me a while to realize that the unease wasn’t about progress—it was about comparison. I wasn’t questioning my path; I was measuring it against someone else’s timeline.
That’s when I realised the true essence of 'Oubaitori'.
Four trees—cherry, plum, peach, pear. Each blooms in its own time. None rushes. None competes. None questions its season. And yet, each fulfils its purpose completely-in its own time.
It sounds simple, but we rarely live by it. We assume growth must follow a shared calendar.
But it doesn’t.
Oubaitori, to me, is a reminder to return to my own pace—to focus on what I am building, rather than how it measures up.
Because growth is not a race. It is a rhythm.
And in the end, the only question that really matters is—am I moving forward?
