On August 6, eighty years to the day since Hiroshima, I found myself espousing the values of being radically human in the age of AI to a room full of international educators gathered in Kyoto. The conversation inside was about the future, but outside that hall, the date itself carried the weight of history that no keynote could carry. For Japan, August is a month that remembers — not just the horror of the bomb, but the moment when a nation stood at the edge of its own destruction and had to decide what would come next.
And 80 years ago today, Emperor Hirohito’s voice was broadcast to the nation for the first time. His “Jewel Voice Broadcast” conceded what was once unthinkable: the war was lost, and continuing to fight would mean the end not only of Japan, but possibly of humanity itself.
That day, Japan chose life over annihilation.
In the decades since, it has chosen something even rarer: self-mastery — a discipline you can feel the moment you arrive. It’s in how people move, how they behave, how they treat others.
I lost count of the times I heard “Arigatō gozaimasu” during my visit. At train stations. In cafés. In elevators. At the corner convenience store.
Japan runs on a Gratitude Economy.
These thank-yous are not perfunctory; they are deliberate. Everyone thanks everyone, ALL. THE. TIME. It feels as if even the mighty Shinkansen is bowing to you.
In Japan, gratitude isn’t a throwaway word — it’s cultural infrastructure. It oils the gears of daily life.
When you are constantly thanked, you’re constantly reminded you matter. That your role — no matter how small — has value. And when that message is reinforced millions of times a day across a country, the impact compounds: less friction, more trust, less stress.
The Cultural Operating System
During my keynote, I spoke about cultural concepts:
- Wabi Sabi — finding beauty in imperfection.
- Ma — the space or pause between things that gives life meaning.
- Iki — refined simplicity.
- Shikata ga nai — acceptance of what cannot be helped.
These aren’t philosophical curiosities. They’re the code Japan runs on. They influence architecture, business meetings, urban planning, customer service — and even how conflict is handled.
This operating system doesn’t produce urgency; it produces presence. It doesn’t reward noise; it rewards harmony.
In the 10 days I spent in Japan, I saw wabi sabi in the uneven glaze of a handmade ramen bowl — every imperfection a fingerprint of its maker, ma in the quiet wait as a shopkeeper folded and wrapped my purchase with care before handing it to me, iki in the perfect alignment of chopsticks on a lacquered tray — parallel, precise, as if to say that order is also a form of respect.
Such an operating system makes longevity and peace almost inevitable. Japan’s life expectancy is among the highest in the world. Violent crime rates among the lowest. These aren’t policy “wins” — they’re the natural byproducts of a culture that prioritizes self-mastery over dominance.
Meanwhile, many societies chase peace, happiness, or longevity as end goals. They launch campaigns, declare “years of” this or that, and track metrics obsessively. But Japan’s example suggests these states aren’t goals to pursue — they are side effects of living with discipline, respect, and gratitude.
What This Taught Me
While there, I was forced to reflect on my own pursuit of self-mastery.
I haven’t had the luxury of a life free from chaos. Personal loss, professional uncertainty, and moments when it would have been easier to give up have been frequent visitors.
But each challenge has forced me to ask: will I try to control the world, or will I learn to govern myself?
When my professional plans didn’t unfold as I had hoped, I learned to adapt without losing purpose.
When personal relationships broke in ways I could not repair, I learned to carry both grief and gratitude in the same breath.
When the world seemed to demand noise, I chose focus.
Self-mastery, I’m learning, is not about control. It’s about calibration. It’s building the ability to meet what comes — with clarity, presence, and the willingness to choose your response.
I’ve learned to wake up with sadness and still give thanks for the day ahead. To accept the things I cannot repair and still believe in the worth of building. To meet life’s noise with clarity and its uncertainty with courage.
Self-Mastery in the Age of AI and Chaos
We are living in a time when certainty is a luxury and disruption is the baseline.
AI accelerates change faster than we can absorb it. Global politics seem locked in a permanent “war” — on truth, on justice, on the vulnerable.
And yet, Japan’s journey shows that resilience doesn’t come from overpowering chaos — it comes from learning to move through it, gracefully, without losing yourself.
In this era, self-mastery means:
- Clarity — filtering the noise to see what truly matters.
- Gratitude — making acknowledgment a reflex, not a performance.
- Courage — acting even when the outcome is uncertain.
- Restraint — choosing peace when the easier option is escalation.
These are not quaint ideals. They are survival skills.
What the International Education Sector Must Remember
We work in a field that, at its best, expands minds and crosses borders. But right now, it faces a climate of tightening restrictions, political hostility, and the commodification of students.
Japan’s example teaches us the true measure of our work is not just how many students we move, but how many we strengthen. We need to:
- Lead with empathy and gratitude in every interaction.
- Build programs that embed resilience, not just knowledge.
- Model the very self-mastery we hope to cultivate.
International education must be more than logistics — it must be a practice in preparing people to meet the unknown with dignity.
Your Blueprint for Self-Mastery
If there’s anything we can take from Japan’s example, it’s that self-mastery is built daily, in small, deliberate ways. Here are five ways you can start to hone these skills:
Find beauty in the imperfect (wabi sabi)
When something you create — a project, a meal, a plan — isn’t flawless, notice the character in its rough edges instead of rushing to erase them. In our work with students, that means valuing the authenticity of a less-than-perfect output, because the real story matters more than perfect polish.
Let the human fingerprints remain.
Honor the pause (ma)
In conversations, resist the urge to fill every silence. Give space for reflection so the next words carry more meaning. With students, this might mean holding space after asking a question so they can think — often, their second answer is the truer one.
Practice elegance in restraint (iki)
When you share an idea, strip it to what’s essential and true. In presentations or fairs, that means fewer slides, fewer bullet points, but each one carrying clear intention. Fewer words, fewer distractions, more purpose.
Make gratitude a reflex
Thank people for the specific ways they’ve impacted you — from the friend who checked in or the stranger who held the door or a school counselor, admissions colleague, or support staff member for something specific they’ve done — especially if it’s the kind of work that usually goes unnoticed.
Choose peace when power is an option
In moments of conflict, focus on preserving the relationship rather than proving a point. This can mean prioritizing long-term trust over short-term victory in negotiations or collaborations. Let dignity be the win.
This won’t happen instantly. Japan has been iterating on this for decades. And so can we.
If we can embed these small acts of self-mastery in our own work, what might it look like for an entire sector — or even an entire society — to live this way?
Consider this:
What if greatness was measured not by how many people you could influence, but by how many moments of dignity you could create in a single day?
What if peace wasn’t a treaty, but a discipline?
What if gratitude was our most untapped form of power?
AI will get faster, the world will get louder. So, in an age of speed and noise, the question isn’t whether we can master the machines – it’s whether we can master ourselves.
Japan’s story tells us this – self-mastery is not a reaction to chaos. It is the precondition for surviving it.
The rest is yours to practice.
Watashi no kangae o kyōyū sasete itadaki, arigatō gozaimasu.
Ex Cogitatione, Progressus.
Girish
