In the last several years, I have forged ahead without any regard, just to touch what I cannot reach. . . . Without understanding the sources from which this menacing thought surged forth, I continued working. When I at last noticed, my heart had already become hard from the gradual loss of its youthful vitality.
I haven’t sunk all the way to the state Takaki found himself in when he said these words, but if I don’t force my feet off the rut I’ve dug out for myself in the last year or so, I may soon find it impossible to regain control of my life.
And on a certain morning, when I at last came to an earnest realisation that I had lost everything that was beautiful, I knew I was at my limits, and quit the company.
I saw the writing on the wall not long ago. It’s just a matter of time now.
Life imitates art.