The Reason You Get Up: Ikigai in the First Ten Minutes of the Day


The phrase that comes up most often in English writing about ikigai is that it is “the reason you get up in the morning.” It is a decent translation of one sense of the word, and it is also, for most people, a source of quiet embarrassment, because they get up in the morning for an alarm.

That is not a failure of ikigai. It is a failure of scale. The Japanese sense of the phrase is smaller and more literal than the English one, and it can be practised.

What the phrase actually points at

When Japanese researchers ask older people about ikigai, they are not asking about purpose. The standard question in the surveys is closer to: is there something in your days that makes them worth living? And the answers are small. A grandchild’s visit on Sundays. The vegetable patch. The morning walk with the same neighbours. A radio programme at ten.

The Okinawan studies that made the word famous in the West found the same thing. The centenarians who reported ikigai were not describing missions. They were describing the first thing they looked forward to when they opened their eyes, and it was usually something that would happen before noon.

That is the sense worth practising. Not a reason for a life. A reason for a morning.

The practice

Every night for a week, before sleep, name one thing you are looking forward to in the first ten minutes after waking.

Not the day. The first ten minutes. And it has to be something that will actually happen in those minutes: the coffee, the light through a particular window, the cat, the walk to the bakery, the quiet before anyone else is up, the first page of a book left open on the table.

If there is nothing, the practice is to put something there. Leave the book open. Set the coffee up the night before. Move the chair to the window. The reason to get up is not found. It is placed.

What people notice

The first thing is how often the answer is the same. Most people have one or two things, and they rotate. That is not a lack of imagination. It is what the Okinawan centenarians were describing: the reason to get up is usually the same reason, every day, and its sameness is part of why it works.

The second is that the ten minutes get protected. Once there is something in them, the phone stays down for that long, because the thing was chosen and the phone was not. This is the practical outcome, and it is not small.

The third is that the word stops being embarrassing. Ikigai as a mission is a thing most people do not have and feel they should. Ikigai as the first ten minutes is a thing most people already have and had not named.

What this is not

It is not a morning routine. Routines are about doing. This is about one thing worth waking for, and it can be entirely passive.

It is not a gratitude practice. Gratitude looks back at what was given. This looks forward, about eight hours, to one specific small thing.

And it is not the Venn diagram. If the four circles keep arriving, the ikigai guide explains why the Japanese word and the English diagram are not the same thing. This is the Japanese one, at the scale it was meant for.

Where this fits

The ikigai guide covers the word, the research, and the misreadings. One Line a Night is the evening version of this practice, looking back at what made the day worth living. This is the morning version, looking forward to what makes the next one worth starting. Together they are the two ends of ikigai-kan, the feeling, as Kamiya Mieko described it.


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This article is part of a series exploring Japanese philosophy and intentional living:


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