The other morning, I found myself looking forward to something very small.
I had finished breakfast, the washing machine was making its usual alarming noises in the laundry, and I was about to sit down to write with a fresh cup of tea.
There was nothing particularly impressive about the moment. I was not beginning a life-changing project. Nobody was waiting to applaud my commitment. I was simply looking forward to an hour of doing something I enjoy.
It made me think about the Japanese idea of ikigai.
The word is often translated into English as “a reason for getting up in the morning.” That translation is appealing, particularly to those of us interested in purpose and personal development. But it can also make ikigai sound much grander than it needs to be.
We begin to imagine that our reason for getting up must involve changing the world, launching a business, writing a book or discovering the one magnificent calling that has apparently been hiding from us for decades.
No wonder so many people feel they have mislaid their purpose.
But the Japanese understanding of ikigai is quieter and more personal. It refers to what gives life value, meaning or joy. That might be meaningful work, but it could just as easily be tending a garden, caring for someone, learning, creating, walking with a friend or anticipating the first coffee of the day.
Perhaps we have made purpose too intimidating.
We have turned purpose into another achievement
In the Western self-development world, ikigai is often represented by a colourful diagram.
You may have seen it: several overlapping circles asking what you love, what you are good at, what the world needs and what you can be paid for.
It is an attractive framework for thinking about work and contribution. But it is not the traditional Japanese definition of ikigai.
That distinction matters because the diagram can leave us believing that purpose only counts when it sits at the perfect intersection of talent, service, passion and income.
This creates a rather demanding standard for getting out of bed.
It also risks excluding the very things that make ordinary life feel worth living.
A retired teacher may feel ikigai when helping a grandchild learn to read. Someone else may find it in caring for an elderly neighbour, playing bowls, preparing food for family or photographing birds at the local wetlands.
None of these activities needs to become a business.
Nobody needs to build a personal brand around them.
They matter because they create a feeling of being involved in life rather than merely passing through it.
I have spent many years interested in self-development, and I still believe that reflecting on our values, strengths and contribution is enormously worthwhile. But I have also become more suspicious of the idea that every person must identify one grand purpose.
Sometimes the search itself becomes exhausting.
We stare into the distance waiting for a revelation while overlooking the small things already calling us into the day.
Ikigai is often hiding in ordinary life
Imagine asking someone, “What is your life purpose?”
Even the question sounds as though there should be dramatic music playing in the background.
Now ask, “What makes an ordinary Tuesday feel worthwhile?”
The second question often produces a more honest answer.
It might be the morning walk with the dog. Time spent painting. Picking up a grandchild after school. Volunteering at the op shop. Cooking dinner for someone you love. Going to the library and coming home with more books than you could possibly read.
These activities may appear small, but they contain several ingredients that seem to matter deeply to human beings.
They give the day some shape. They offer connection, anticipation, usefulness, enjoyment or growth. Often, they also give us a role.
We become the person who turns up.
The person who helps.
The person who is learning something.
The person someone else expects to see.
This can be particularly important in retirement, when the roles and routines that once provided a sense of identity may have disappeared.
Work gave many of us a reason to leave the house, people who relied on us and problems that required our attention. We might not miss the meetings, the commuting or the emails marked urgent that were clearly nothing of the sort.
But we may miss being needed.
Ikigai does not require us to replace work with another demanding career. It invites a gentler question: where, in my current life, do I experience value and aliveness?
The research is encouraging, but it needs to be understood carefully
The idea that having ikigai might be connected with health is not based only on a charming cultural philosophy.
Japanese researchers have followed large groups of people over time to examine whether having a sense that life is worth living is associated with later health outcomes.
In one widely cited prospective study, more than 43,000 Japanese adults were followed for seven years. Those who reported no sense of ikigai had a higher risk of dying during the follow-up period, even after researchers adjusted for a range of health and lifestyle factors. The association was particularly evident in deaths from cardiovascular disease and external causes.
Another long-term Japanese study found an association between ikigai and longevity, particularly among men, although the relationship varied according to the way ikigai was measured and the characteristics of participants.
More recently, researchers followed Japanese adults over the age of 65 who were initially free from major physical or cognitive limitations. Over three years, those who said they had ikigai had a 31 per cent lower risk of developing functional disability and a 36 per cent lower risk of developing dementia than those who said they did not. They also reported greater life satisfaction, more participation in hobby groups and fewer feelings of hopelessness.
These findings are certainly thought-provoking.
But they do not mean that ikigai is a medical treatment or that finding a hobby guarantees a longer life.
Observational research can show associations, not simple cause and effect. People who feel healthier, have stronger relationships or possess greater financial and social resources may also be more likely to report having ikigai in the first place.
Still, the pattern is difficult to dismiss entirely.
A sense that life is worth living appears connected with other behaviours and experiences that support wellbeing: social participation, movement, hope, engagement and continuing involvement with the world.
Perhaps ikigai does not operate as one magical health ingredient.
Perhaps it is the thread connecting many smaller ones.
Having something to look forward to changes the texture of a day
I once heard someone say that one of the quiet difficulties of retirement was waking up without anything that needed to happen.
At first, this sounded like freedom.
After a while, it began to feel like drift.
The person was not clinically depressed, nor did they need a grand mission. They simply needed something ahead of them that created a little anticipation.
That distinction interests me.
We often talk about purpose as contribution: what can I give to the world?
It is an important question, but ikigai may also include enjoyment: what draws me towards life?
The answer might involve other people, but it does not have to be self-sacrificing. Pleasure, curiosity and personal absorption matter too.
Some days, your reason for getting up might be that someone depends on you.
On other days, it may be that you want to finish a novel, see whether the tomatoes have ripened or continue learning a piece of music without frightening the neighbours quite as much as you did yesterday.
These are not trivial reasons.
They create forward movement.
And forward movement can be surprisingly powerful at a stage of life when the old milestones—promotion, mortgage, career development or raising children—may no longer organise the future.
Purpose may be something we practise
We often treat purpose as something we must discover.
But perhaps it is also something we practise.
You begin attending a community group. At first, you do not know anyone and wonder why you came. A few weeks later, someone remembers your name. After several months, you are the person who makes the tea or welcomes newcomers.
Meaning has grown through repetition.
You decide to walk every morning. Initially, it is simply exercise. Then you begin recognising the same people, noticing the seasons and feeling connected to the place where you live.
You start writing down your family stories. What begins as a private project gradually becomes a gift to the next generation.
None of these activities may have felt like “purpose” on the first day.
Their significance emerged because you kept showing up.
This is one reason I believe curiosity is so valuable as we grow older. Purpose can feel weighty, but curiosity is light enough to carry.
What would I enjoy trying?
What would I like to understand?
Where might I be useful?
Who would I like to spend more time with?
What small part of my week do I already look forward to?
We do not need perfect answers. We need somewhere to begin.
Your ikigai does not have to impress anyone
There is a temptation, particularly in retirement, to believe that the next chapter must justify itself.
After decades of work and responsibility, we feel we should use our time wisely. We should volunteer, travel, stay fit, remain socially connected, learn new skills and possibly master conversational Italian before lunch.
Even retirement can become another performance review.
Ikigai offers a different way of looking at the question.
What makes your life feel worth living does not have to look important from the outside.
It only has to feel meaningful to you.
It may change over time. The thing that drew you into life at 40 may not be the same thing that matters at 70. Health, relationships and circumstances alter. New interests appear. Old ambitions soften.
There may also be several sources of ikigai rather than one.
A relationship.
A creative pursuit.
A responsibility.
A place you love.
Something you are still learning.
A small ritual that tells your body and mind that the day has begun.
Perhaps that is why the idea feels so hopeful.
You do not have to solve the meaning of your entire life before breakfast.
You only have to notice what makes you want to take part in today.
The next time you hear the phrase “a reason for getting up in the morning,” you might resist the urge to search for one enormous answer.
Instead, think about tomorrow.
What small thing are you looking forward to?
There, quietly waiting in the ordinary details of your life, you may already find the beginning of your ikigai.
