Glimpses of Ikigai

Hidden treasures of insight in a childhood memory.

Pictured is my elementary school, built in the late 1800s

Jumping the Stairs

Reaching the fourth step would require speed which meant running, and running was forbidden.

Re-entry into the gothic building that was my elementary school was to be quiet and orderly.

No one in my class had yet achieved the jump to the fourth step. My last attempt had grazed it but not held.

Kids walking single file, holding the railing, gave me the opening to jump in the middle of the staircase.

Leaning back slowly and then lunged forward, running toward my target.

“Made it!” I whispered, barely able to contain the joy of accomplishing what no one else had done before.

“David,” came a voice from down the stairs. It was my teacher Mrs. Huff.

Busted

Going back down those four steps was slower and less enthusiastic than had been the historic trip up. I knew I was in trouble.

Mrs. Huff put her arm around my shoulder, something she always did when she wanted to talk directly to someone.

“I have some news for you. You won the governor’s essay award. I’m going to announce it to the class and wanted to tell you first.”

She shook my hand and said, “Congratulations. Go on upstairs. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Oh, and this time, walk.” We both smiled.

The Struggle

Months before, we’d been assigned to write about our home state of Indiana. Every elementary kid in the state was required to write an essay.

We had an old set of encyclopedias at home. I dug them out and began writing.

It seemed an enormous task at the time. Relief was all I felt when I turned in the three-page essay.

The relief was short-lived when Mrs. Huff returned it to me the next day, saying it wasn’t what the assignment asked for and to do it again.

I would turn in an essay twice more, which was returned to me both times.

“It’s not supposed to be facts from the encyclopedia David; it’s supposed to be your story of Indiana.”

What story? How was I supposed to tell my story? I didn’t have a story.

My Story

Little did I know, but I had a story to tell—quite a good story, as it turned out. At the prompting of my grandmother, I told the story of our family trip to Michigan to visit relatives.

It required us to drive nearly the length of Indiana from bottom to top and back again on mostly country roads.

It was quite the adventure before interstate highways and cell phones. If you passed a gas station, you bought gas because if you ran out, there might not be another person around for dozens of miles. If you got a flat, there was no one to call.

I shared all of it and then some: five total pages, two more than the minimum.

“Much better,” said Mrs. Huff of this version, and it wasn’t mentioned again until that day on the stairs.

I had no idea it was even a contest. It was probably in the instructions. As you may have guessed, I didn’t read them carefully in the first place, or I wouldn’t have had to repeat the assignment four times.

The Governor’s Award

Our governor at the time was a military hero who had written his story of escape from a Japanese POW camp in World War II.

Each grade had a winner who received an autographed copy of his book. I still have mine and the black and white photo of the ceremony cut from the newspaper.

Mrs. Huff shared the news, and the class erupted with applause, especially at my reading table.

My friend Peter slapped me on the back and said, “You won, and you’re in the second reading group!”

We both were in the second reading group. Third grade was when they began to divide us academically, and we weren’t as ‘good’ as the first group.

I became a hero to the others in the second reading group. After all, no one in the first reading group had won anything.

Looking back, we all saw ourselves differently from then on.

I began writing more stories in earnest, even when they weren’t assigned.

Memories

As I’ve shared, I spend this time of year reflecting. During meditation time a few days ago, I recalled this story.

Something new came to me. I’ve never understood this event the way I understand it now.

This was an early glimpse of my Ikigai.

I realize now as early as nine years old; I loved telling stories and inspiring people to believe in themselves. Even as I retell it, I can feel the joy I felt back then.

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What memory holds an early glimpse of Ikigai for you?

What is an early achievement story in your life?

Achievement, in this case, is a moment of success, victory, pride, growth, or satisfaction.

Revisit it.

Sit with this memory for a while.

What did you do, feel or see?

Why is it an achievement story?

Are there any glimpses of Ikigai in it for you?