Finding Work-Life Harmony: Reflections on My Last Day in Japan

At Kenrokuen in Kanazawa

I'm sitting in my quiet room at The Royal Park Hotel in Shiodome. I savor these last few hours with a soy latte before we head to the airport. Outside, the city hums with life—gentle yet persistent, like a river flowing around stones. I’m trying to hold onto this moment, to absorb every detail before reality rushes back in.

This trip has been a mix of work and rest. The first four days were all about work—meetings, learning sessions, and workshops—followed by four days meant as a birthday gift to myself. But life, as it often does, didn’t quite go according to plan. I ended up working over the weekend during the trip and through what were supposed to be my last two days of leave. I expected to feel disappointment, because work had "stolen" from my personal time. But what I realized in this trip wasn’t just about taking a break; it was about finding a deeper sense of harmony between work and life.

Harmony, Not Balance

I’ve been caught in the trap of “work-life balance” at various phases of my work, imagining some perfect, precise equation where work and personal life sit neatly on opposite ends of a scale. But this Japan trip has shown me that harmony is not about perfect balance—it’s about flow.

There’s a concept here called wa, a sense of harmony that permeates everything from the architecture of temples to the way tea is poured into a cup. It’s not about keeping work and life separate but about allowing them to coexist, to dance together without stepping on each other's toes.

Even as I worked through my supposed days off, I found that being in this environment helped me feel less resentment. Instead of viewing work as an intrusion, I tried to treat it as just another note in the melody of my days. And when work was done, I allowed myself to fully embrace the moments of rest, no guilt attached.

The Gift of Being Taken Care Of

One of the unexpected luxuries of this trip was staying in a hotel where everything was taken care of. My companions (who also happen to be my bosses who have also become friends) looked out for me, gave me a lot of consideration especially since I haven't fully formed my Japan senses yet. Japan itself is set up to make everything convenient and comfortable for everyone. It felt strange at first as I was not used to it at home. I didn’t have to plan meals, cook, or handle household chores. This temporary home was a quiet, orderly space where I could focus only on what needed my attention each day—no more, no less.

And the difference this made was profound. I found that, even with work slipping into my supposed rest days, I wasn’t drained. There was just enough on my plate, leaving space for moments of joy and reflection. It made me realize how much of my daily energy back home is consumed not just by work but by the sheer weight of managing everything else.

For many of the people I know, this kind of support is a constant in their lives. They go home to spaces where meals are ready or at least shared in responsibility, where chores are managed with help, where their personal life is a haven rather than another layer of labor. But for me, living with a narcissist parent, home is not that kind of refuge. Instead of being taken care of, I often find myself as the caretaker—emotionally, mentally, and physically. The energy I could pour into harmony often goes into just getting through the day.

This trip offered a glimpse into what life might feel like if my everyday environment supported me rather than depleted me. It wasn't just the absence of chores but the presence of ease. It gave me room to breathe, to think, to simply exist without the constant hum of what needs to be done next.

The Art of Presence

One of the most beautiful things I’ve observed here is how present everyone seems to be. There’s a mindful intention to every action. This presence made me reflect on how often I split myself between tasks—physically in one place but mentally elsewhere, never fully inhabiting my own moments. But in Japan, I found myself slowing down, anchoring myself in the now. I practiced being fully at work when needed, and fully at rest when I could.

Small Joys in the Everyday

I’ve also learned to find joy in the small things. A perfect sip of umeshu. Feeling the texture of papers in Itoya. Waiting for the light to turn green so we can cross the street. Crunching snow with my shoes. Inhaling the cold air and watching my breath turn to fog. These little things helped me create moments of calm amidst the rush, something I want to bring home with me.

Reflecting on Work and Self

Sitting here, I realize that true work-life harmony also requires a deep understanding of oneself. It’s about continuous reflection—asking yourself not just how to fit work into life, but why you do the work you do.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this: if at the end of the day, work feels like an enemy, something you must constantly battle or negotiate with, then perhaps it’s not the right work for you. Of course, this is a privileged perspective. Many people don’t have the luxury of choosing work that aligns with their passions—they work to survive, and that is more than valid. But if you do have the fortune to choose, finding harmony might mean finding work that, even on hard days, still feels like it belongs in the story of your life.

For me, this trip has been a reminder that I don’t mind my work. In fact, I find purpose and a certain kind of enjoyment in it. The stress of working through a holiday still came with a sense of fulfillment—something I’m taking as a sign that I’m on the right path.

Preparing to Head Home

As I finish packing my bags, I feel a mix of readiness and reluctance. Ready to go back, to bring this sense of harmony into my daily life. Reluctant to leave this place that has given me so much clarity.

But maybe that’s the beauty of it. Harmony is not a fixed state but a practice. Something you carry with you, nurture, and hold onto even when life pulls you back into the chaos.

I’m heading to the airport with a lighter heart, knowing that work and life don’t need to compete. They can coexist, not in perfect balance but in gentle harmony. And that, perhaps, is the greatest gift this trip could have given me—the realization that I deserve to be taken care of, and that creating a supportive environment back home is not just a luxury but a necessity for my well-being.