Oubaitori (桜梅桃李) — Each Tree Blooms in Its Own Time

 

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?

Gaman (我慢) — The Art of Holding Steady When Things Go Wrong

Gemini Generated Image

“Life has a way of testing us just when we think we’ve found steady ground.”

I was reminded of this on a short personal trip from Kolkata to Bangalore a few years back.

The work was done, the day had gone to plan, and I had timed my departure carefully—navigating the usual Bangalore traffic with just enough buffer to reach the airport without stress. It felt like one of those rare days where things were under control.

I tried to web check-in at the airport. It didn’t go through. I assumed it was just a routine glitch.

I moved to the counter. The staff tried to pull up the booking but failed.

Then the realization landed—quietly, but completely.

Same flight. Same date. Next month.

For a few minutes, the mind did what it always does—retrace steps, look for an error, hope for a workaround. But there wasn’t one. The only option was to step aside, wait, and book a new ticket for a late-night flight, eventually reaching home early the next morning.

It wasn’t a crisis, but it was enough to shake the illusion of control.

Perhaps that is how it often unfolds—nothing dramatic, just a quiet disruption that asks for more composure than reaction.

Challenges come uninvited — a setback, a disappointment, a moment that shakes our confidence. In such times, perseverance doesn’t always mean pushing harder; sometimes it means pausing, breathing, and choosing calm over chaos.

This is where the Japanese concept of Gaman (我慢) can guide us.

Gaman speaks of enduring the difficult with patience and dignity, holding oneself steady not through denial, but through quiet restraint.

When life gets hard, pause — but don’t quit. Give yourself space to feel, to think, to realign. The world often glorifies constant motion, but quiet resilience can be just as powerful.

You may not control every circumstance, but you can influence how you respond — with patience, humility, and grace. Keep moving forward, even if progress is slow or uncertain. Strength isn’t about pretending not to struggle; it is about continuing despite it, and knowing when to allow others to walk beside you.

Perhaps this is not a one-off reflection. I first had this thought at a traffic stop years ago and even wrote a post about it, titled “My 2 Minutes.”

Gaman does not ask us to be unshaken.
It asks us to remain steady, even when we are shaken.