As I reach the age of 39, I find myself reflecting on the path I’ve taken, and I realize that what I once considered my strengths may have, in some ways, been a burden. Growing up, my primary goal was to enter the University of Tokyo, the most prestigious institution in Japan. To achieve this, I dedicated myself to the study of the humanities, pouring my energy into preparing for the highly competitive entrance exams. But looking back, I think I might have underestimated my own nature; I’m naturally more suited to the life of a practical, business-minded person. What if, instead of aiming for the pinnacle of academia, I had chosen a simpler path—a private university, perhaps, with a focus on commerce? Maybe I could have joined an English club, started my sales career early, and had a more carefree youth.
In my late thirties, I made a major career shift, entering the world of commission-based sales. For the first time, I had the freedom to shape my financial success, and in doing so, I built a 7-figure portfolio. This journey opened my eyes to my true passion: the pursuit of financial freedom. Academia and intellectual pursuits, while valuable, took a backseat to this new priority. As I reflect now, I realize that this priority—achieving economic independence—has always been a part of me, even if it was buried under years of conditioning to value traditional academic success.
During my teenage years, the Japanese education system emphasized rigorous, unrelenting focus on entrance exams. My mantra became, “Get into the University of Tokyo, no matter what.” In retrospect, I think I forced myself into a mold that didn’t fully fit. I did get into the University of Tokyo, but only into the easiest humanities course—Liberal Arts Division III. My time there was enjoyable, especially when I immersed myself in language studies, particularly Chinese. I made friends from China and South Korea, found joy in cultural exchanges, and relished those interactions. Yet, in my early career, there was a nagging feeling of inadequacy; many of my University of Tokyo peers went on to become bureaucrats, finance professionals, or consultants. I, on the other hand, joined a manufacturing company. There was an undeniable gap between my path and those of my peers, and that contrast gnawed at me.
Today, those past insecurities feel trivial. If I achieve true financial freedom, these differences lose their significance. Yet, as I watch my university classmates reach remarkable heights—some, like my former classmate Kaoru Fukuda, have even entered the Japanese House of Representatives—I can’t help but reevaluate my own journey. The path I’ve taken has been unconventional, and at times I’ve struggled with doubt and regret. But I also recognize the valuable lessons I’ve learned along the way.
Financial freedom has given me a new lens through which to view success, one that isn’t tethered to social status or traditional prestige. My journey has shown me that everyone has their own unique priorities, strengths, and paths. For me, economic independence wasn’t just a goal; it was a realization of my true self, buried under layers of social expectations. Perhaps the essence of personal success isn’t in competing with others but in knowing oneself and having the courage to follow an authentic path—even if it means questioning what you once believed to be your strengths.
Atsushi's Life in Korea 