Japanese words for states of mind

A gentle sadness at how short-lived everything beautiful is. Not tragedy, but a quiet tenderness toward the world precisely because it passes.

The word dates back to the Heian period; Motoori Norinaga turned it into a literary theory in the 18th century while studying The Tale of Genji. The textbook example: cherry blossoms that last a week.

The warm feeling when something takes you back: a song, a smell, a taste from childhood. Not grief for what is lost, but gladness that it happened.

Japanese people say “natsukashii!” reflexively, as an exclamation.

An aching pain in the chest: sadness, longing and tenderness all at once. Unrequited love, a goodbye at a train station, a song that’s too beautiful.

Fragile, fleeting, doomed to vanish: a dream, fireworks, hope, life itself.

The kanji 儚 is made up of “person” (亻) and “dream” (夢). Reading it as “a person’s dream is brief” is folk etymology, but it’s wonderfully easy to remember.

Lonely, meager, forlorn: dinner in an empty apartment, a rainy evening in a strange city. It shares a root with the “wabi” of wabi-sabi, only without the aesthetic consolation.

A vague loneliness with no particular cause. The prefix “mono-” blurs the feeling: not “I’m lonely” but “it feels somehow lonely.”

The same, but with sadness: “somehow sad,” an unexplained melancholy, say on an autumn evening.

Emptiness and futility: you got what you wanted, and there’s nothing inside. Or effort that turned out to be in vain.

Heartache with nowhere to go: you can’t fix it, can’t cry it away, can’t let it out.

Feeling defenseless when you’re left alone, as if your “heart has grown thin.” The first night in an unfamiliar country, an empty office late in the evening.

Aftertaste: the sound of a bell still hanging in the air, or the feeling after a good film when you don’t want to switch the lights on. “Yoin ni hitaru”: to steep in the aftertaste.

An attachment that won’t let go: to an ex, to an old city, to a decision that has already been made.

Regret over what you didn’t do: “part of my heart stayed behind.” Bonus: the same name is given to a yakitori made from the base of a chicken heart.

Sorry to part: the last evening of a vacation, the end of a good get-together when nobody wants to get up from the table.

A pleasant dependence on someone else’s kindness: letting yourself be a little fussy and pampered, knowing you’ll be accepted.

The psychiatrist Takeo Doi built a whole book on this word, The Structure of Amae (1971; in English, The Anatomy of Dependence, 1973). In Japan the word is double-edged: in close relationships it’s a sign of trust, but “amaeru na!” (“don’t be so spoiled”) is a common reproach.

A sharp tenderness toward someone dear, with a hint of “I want to protect you.” A sleeping child, an old dog, a loved one who’s adorably cross.

Touching to the point of heartache: when someone small or weak tries with all their might. A child hiding their tears so as not to upset their mom.

Fortitude from someone you wouldn’t expect it of: “good for them, they’re holding up.” Praise with a note of tender admiration.

Literally “sweet and sour.” It’s said of first love and school memories: a little awkward, a little painful and utterly endearing.

The flutter when your heart speeds up with joy or anticipation. Marie Kondo’s question about your belongings is exactly “tokimeku?”, which in English became “spark joy.”

A momentary squeeze in the chest from a strong feeling: cuteness, a love scene, a farewell. “Mune” means chest.

Enchantment: you’re so absorbed in watching or listening that you drift out of reality.

A rush of tender affection and a wish to protect something cute and sincere, often an anime character. The verb 萌える originally means “to sprout, to bud.”

The favorite you support and cheer on: an idol, an actor, a character, a player. From the verb 推す: to promote, to recommend.

“One-sided feeling”: unrequited love; “two-sided feeling”: mutual love. In Japanese it’s a neat symmetrical pair of words; English has no such pair.

When someone can’t stop telling you how wonderful their partner is. The listener’s classic reply is “gochisōsama” (“thanks, I’m full”).

The “frog effect”: attraction suddenly turns into disgust as soon as the feeling turns out to be mutual. The term was coined by psychologist Shinsuke Fujisawa in 2004. The name nods to the Brothers Grimm tale The Frog Prince, in reverse: here the prince turns into a frog.

In 2023 the word became a hit with Gen Z (it made the top 10 of Japan’s Word of the Year) and broadened: now it means being turned off by any little thing about someone you used to like.

Embarrassment at something pleasant: being praised in front of everyone, or having to say something warm out loud to someone close.

Awkwardness between people: a silence hangs in the air, you run into an ex in the elevator, you’ve argued and now have to sit next to each other.

A vague sense of guilt, “something behind your back”: you didn’t lie, but you didn’t tell the whole story either.

You can’t bear to stay put for another second: you want the ground to swallow you up, or to run.

Secondhand embarrassment: cringing for someone else, even when they themselves are fine. Not a scientific diagnosis but a popular word; it went mainstream after a TV show in 2016.

Frustration at defeat, especially when you nearly made it or have only yourself to blame. Not “sad” but “so galling you grind your teeth,” and often the fuel to try again.

Irritation when something just won’t come together: a word on the tip of your tongue, slow internet, someone who doesn’t get what you mean.

“Something’s missing”: everything seems fine, yet it falls short. A dish without a pinch of salt, a vacation one day shorter than you needed.

The letdown when you braced for something big and it turned out to be nothing. 拍子 means beat or rhythm: literally, “thrown off the beat.”

“A bad aftertaste”: an unpleasant feeling left after a conversation, a decision or a film, even if technically everything ended fine.

Unsolicited kindness that only brings trouble: a gift you have nowhere to put, help that leaves you redoing everything.

“A commotion in the chest”: vague anxiety with no cause, as if something is about to happen.

“A message from the insect”: a premonition, usually a bad one. According to an old belief, “mushi” live inside a person and influence their mood. The same idea gives 虫の居所が悪い (“the mushi is out of place”): to be in a bad mood.

A warrior’s trembling before battle: you shake not from fear but from excitement. Before a performance, a race start, important negotiations.

More feeling than can be measured: a graduation, the finish of a marathon, a friend’s wedding. Lost for words, in a good way.

A deep, thoughtful emotion when you look back: “wow, so much has happened.”

A languid, sluggish state: your body feels heavy and moving is too much effort. A hot midday, the morning after a party.

Melancholy laziness: you don’t want to do anything, and you feel a little sad.

Nothing to keep your hands busy, and it feels awkward: waiting for someone without your phone, standing at a party without a glass.

Boredom and restlessness: nothing to do, and no idea what to do with yourself.

“Lukewarm water”: a comfort zone where it’s cozy but you don’t grow. “Nurumayu ni tsukaru”: to soak in lukewarm water.

Burnout syndrome, literally “burned all the way down.”

“The load comes off your shoulders”: the relief of finally wrapping up a big task.

How it feels to be in a place or with certain people. “Igokochi ga ii”: cozy, as if this is exactly where you should be.

A place where you belong and can be yourself. Not an address but a feeling: “I have no ibasho” means “there’s no place for me anywhere.”

Pensiveness: drifting off into your thoughts while gazing out the window.

Joyful anticipation, like the feeling before a trip.

Your heart is pounding: from excitement, fear or being in love.

You can’t sit still and keep fidgeting while you wait.

A vague, unpleasant feeling you can’t quite put into words, a “fog on the soul.”

Wanting to do something so badly it itches. Muzumuzu can also be a literal itch.

To feel something deeply, right down to your core, quietly and in earnest.

A warm, cozy feeling, like after hot food or a kind story.

A sigh of relief.

Irritation, nerves stretched to the limit.

Lazing around doing nothing. Also thunder, purring and a rumbling stomach.

Spaced out: staring into nowhere, thinking of nothing.

Western lists render it as “gazing into the distance, thinking of nothing.” In living Japanese it is colloquial for “standing there like a post, gawking,” often as a reproach: “don’t just stand there boketto, help!” The neutral options are ぼーっと and ぼんやり.

A mind so clear that thought doesn’t get in the way of action. The archer releases the string without “deciding” to. Athletes call it “the zone,” psychologists call it flow.

The beginner’s original attitude: freshness and curiosity. It became famous in the West through the book Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind (1970) by Zen teacher Shunryu Suzuki: “In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert’s there are few.”

In Japan there is Zeami’s precept “shoshin wasuru bekarazu”: “never forget your beginner’s spirit.” He meant every stage of life, old age included.

“Remaining mind”: a focus that doesn’t let go once the action is over. In kendō a strike without zanshin doesn’t count, and in kyūdō it is the last of the eight stages of a shot. In everyday life: not slacking off the moment a project is handed in.

The ordinary, calm state of mind that doesn’t change under pressure. It comes from the Zen formula “ordinary mind is the Way.”

The immovable mind: keeping your cool in battle and in a crisis. The idea is linked to the monk Takuan’s letter to the sword master Yagyū Munenori on “immovable wisdom.”

Knowing you have enough. It goes back to the Tao Te Ching: “he who knows he has enough is rich.” The stone tsukubai basin at Kyoto’s Ryōan-ji temple is carved with 吾唯足知: “I only know that I have enough.”

A reserve: of time, energy, money, nerves. “Yoyū ga aru” means there is room to maneuver, and that brings calm. A person with yoyū never fusses.

A natural stance (a jūdō term) and a natural way of carrying yourself: being yourself, without strain or posing.

The Buddhist impermanence of everything. The famous opening of The Tale of the Heike: in the tolling of the bell you hear the impermanence of all things.

Enlightenment, a sudden awakening in Zen. In everyday speech: “to really understand something.”

The transient world. At first the Buddhist 憂き世, “world of sorrow,” it was reimagined in the Edo period as 浮世, the “floating world” of fleeting pleasures. Hence ukiyo-e.

Enduring and holding back: pain, desire, irritation, hardship. In Japan it is both a virtue (fortitude without complaint) and an everyday “just bear with it.” After the 2011 earthquake the Western press used the word to describe the resilience of the Japanese. The flip side: gaman easily turns into “put up with it and keep your head down.”

To try hard, to give it everything you’ve got. “Ganbatte!” (“hang in there, go for it!”) is heard before exams, matches and tough projects.

“It can’t be helped”: the moment you stop beating against a locked door. It can be sound acceptance or passive resignation, and in Japan itself the phrase is criticized for the latter.

Resignation, giving up the fight. The word has a bright side too: letting go of what is beyond your control.

“Fall down seven times, get up eight.” Its symbol is the Daruma doll, a roly-poly that always rights itself.

With all your might. Originally 一所懸命: a medieval warrior ready to die for his one and only (一所) plot of land. Later the word was reinterpreted as “your whole life (一生) at stake.”

An honest review of your own mistakes. Not self-flagellation but a required ritual: after projects, Japanese companies hold a “hansei-kai.”

Okinawan for “it’ll all work out somehow.” The full saying is “makutu sōkē nankurunaisa,” meaning “if you act with integrity, things will work out.” It isn’t carelessness but the calm of someone who does what they should.

Empathy turned into action: noticing an empty cup and refilling it without asking. One of the key qualities taught to children.

Hospitality that anticipates wishes and expects nothing in return. In 2013 TV presenter Christel Takigawa spelled it out syllable by syllable, “o-mo-te-na-shi,” in Tokyo’s Olympic bid, and it became one of the words of the year.

“Reading the air”: sensing the mood and what goes unsaid without being told. Someone who can’t is “KY” (kūki ga yomenai); in 2007 the abbreviation was nominated for word of the year.

Honne is what you really think; tatemae is what you show for the sake of harmony. Not hypocrisy but a social skill, and also the source of the eternal “but what did he really mean?”

Guessing someone’s unspoken wish (usually a boss’s) and fulfilling it without being asked. In 2017 it became word of the year amid a political scandal, and it has carried a whiff of servility ever since.

Understanding without words, “from heart to heart.” Originally a Zen term for the direct transmission of teaching from master to disciple.

Perfect synchrony between two people who don’t need to coordinate. “A” and “un” are the first and last sounds in Sanskrit (mouth open and mouth closed); the paired Niō guardians and komainu lion-dogs at temples are portrayed the same way.

A fated connection between people: a meeting that “was meant to be.” At temples and shrines people pray for “en-musubi”: good connections and love.

“A rotten bond”: a relationship that should have ended long ago but just won’t. The old friend you’re always fighting with, yet neither of you can get away.

Strong bonds between people. In the year of the 2011 earthquake it was chosen as the kanji of the year.

Giri is duty and obligation to those you owe; ninjō is human feeling and compassion. The conflict between them is a classic plot of kabuki and bunraku. It also gave us “giri-choko”: chocolate given to coworkers on Valentine’s Day out of politeness.

Repaying a kindness. “On” is a debt of gratitude you carry until you repay it. There is a folk tale, Tsuru no ongaeshi (The Grateful Crane), about a crane that repays its rescuer.

“We’re in the same boat”: today I helped you, tomorrow you’ll help me, no thanks needed.

“Thanks to you (and everyone)”: the polite reply to “how are you?”, even if nobody in particular helped. “Kage” means shade, protection.

“You must be tired” as thanks and goodbye: for work done, when leaving the office, at the end of a call. One phrase in place of “thanks,” “bye” and “good job.”

Meddlesome care: poking into other people’s business with the best of intentions.

The trouble you cause others. “Don’t cause meiwaku” is one of the core rules of Japanese society: hence the silence on the subway and the awkwardness of asking for help.

Restraint: declining, not taking the last piece, not asking for more than you need. “Enryo shinaide” means “don’t hold back.”

How you look in society’s eyes: “what will people say.”

The listener’s short responses: “hai,” “sō desu ne,” “ē.” In a Japanese conversation a silent partner seems not to be listening. Originally: two blacksmiths taking turns striking the same piece of metal with their hammers.

Informally getting everyone on board with a decision before the official meeting, so that nobody there is surprised. Originally: digging around a tree’s roots before transplanting it.

“Naked fellowship”: bonding in an onsen or public bath, where you shed your status along with your clothes. By extension: relationships without masks.

“One lifetime, one meeting”: this moment will never happen again, even with the same people. The idea goes back to Sen no Rikyū (as recorded by his disciple Yamanoue Sōji, 1588), and Ii Naosuke fixed the four-character form in the 19th century.

Shyness around new people: tense when you first meet, opening up only later. Japanese people often introduce themselves this way.

“A Benkei at home”: fierce and bold at home, meek in public. Benkei was a legendary warrior monk.

Someone who does everything out of sheer contrariness. Originally a demon from folklore; it is depicted trampled under the feet of temple guardians.

Hating to lose: the person who gets fired up even over a board game.

“A beauty from all eight directions”: someone who wants everyone to like them, and for that very reason isn’t trusted.

“To wear a cat”: acting sweet and meek while hiding your true character.

The bookends of every meal. “Itadaku” originally meant to raise something above your head (the way a gift from a superior was received), and “chisō” (馳走) meant running around to gather a feast for a guest. Gratitude both for the food and for other people’s work.

Regret over anything going to waste: food, things, time, talent. Nobel laureate Wangari Maathai heard the word in Japan in 2005 and turned it into the worldwide MOTTAINAI environmental campaign.

Eating until you are 80% full. The advice appears in Kaibara Ekken’s treatise Yōjōkun (1713; there, admittedly, it is “eight or nine parts in ten”), and Okinawa’s centenarians made it famous worldwide.

A “separate stomach” for dessert: you are stuffed, yet there is still room for cake.

“A lonely mouth”: you nibble not out of hunger but out of boredom or habit.

“Cat tongue”: being unable to eat or drink anything hot.

The point in the season when a food tastes best: chestnuts and saury in autumn, bamboo shoots in spring. It also means “at the height of popularity.”

“The taste of mom”: the home cooking of your childhood that no restaurant can match.

A glass of something, or a can of beer, with dinner at home: the ritual that closes the day.

Ruining yourself on food. As the saying goes: “Kyoto goes broke on clothes, Osaka on food.”

“Dango over blossoms”: the practical matters more than the beautiful. Said of people at hanami who spend more time eating than looking at the cherry blossoms.

Basking in the sunshine, like a cat on a windowsill.

Stepping outside on a summer evening to enjoy the cool air.

The chill that sets in after a hot bath once you have cooled off.

Going back to sleep after the alarm. The sweetest sleep of the whole day.

Falling asleep in the middle of something: phone in hand, during a call, mid-game.

Nodding off sitting up while still “present”: on the subway, in a meeting. Researcher Brigitte Steger wrote that in Japan this is socially acceptable and can even look like a sign that someone has given their all at work.

Buying books and not reading them, letting the piles grow. A Meiji-era pun: “tsunde oku” (to stack up for later) + “dokusho” (reading).

“A three-day monk”: someone who gives up on everything after three days, be it the gym, a diet or a diary.

“May sickness”: apathy among new students and employees after the Golden Week holidays in May, once the euphoria of a fresh start has worn off. Not a medical diagnosis.

Summer exhaustion from the heat: no energy, no appetite.

“Grown-up buying”: snapping up in one go what you couldn’t afford as a child, such as an entire manga series.

Doing everything on your own, and being at ease with it: restaurants, movies, travel. A whole lifestyle grew out of “table for one?”

What makes life worth living: not a grand calling, but whatever makes an ordinary Tuesday meaningful. A garden, grandchildren, your work.

注embellished The famous four-circle diagram (“what you love, what you’re good at, what you can be paid for, what the world needs”) isn’t Japanese: in 2014 blogger Marc Winn dropped the word ikigai into someone else’s “purpose” diagram. In Japan, ikigai doesn’t have to earn money.

The sense that something is worth the effort: hard, but meaningful.

The real relish, the true delight of something. 醍醐 is a dairy product similar to ghee; in the Nirvana Sutra it is the highest of the five flavors and a symbol of nirvana.

Uncompromising devotion to your own standard: the cook who spends years perfecting a single broth. Curiously, the word was originally negative (“to fuss over trifles”) and has become praise only in recent decades.

A master artisan for whom the work is a lifelong path.

Continuous improvement in small steps. Part of the Toyota Production System; it became famous in the West after Masaaki Imai’s book Kaizen (1986).

Three stages of mastery: “shu” (keep to the teacher’s form), “ha” (break it), “ri” (leave it behind and create your own). The idea comes from the martial arts and the tea ceremony.

Cherry, Japanese apricot (ume), peach and plum (sumomo): each tree blossoms in its own time and its own way, with no need to measure itself against the others. From Ongi Kuden, a record of the Buddhist teacher Nichiren’s lectures.

“It fell into the guts”: you understand not with your head but deep inside, and everything clicks into place. More often used in the negative: “fu ni ochinai,” meaning “something doesn’t add up.”

The beauty of the imperfect, the unfinished and the aging: a cracked tea bowl, moss on a stone, a table polished by years of use. The aesthetic of the tea ceremony and a worldview, not a design trend with rough-textured ceramics.

Literally “astringent,” like an unripe persimmon. Understated beauty that doesn’t shout: a well-worn linen shirt, an unglazed cup. As praise, “shibui!” means “stylish, in a grown-up way.”

Easy elegance with a hint of daring: style without trying. It was born in the urban culture of Edo; the philosopher Shūzō Kuki devoted a book to it, The Structure of Iki (1930).

The opposite of iki: boorishness, bad taste, tactlessness. “Yabo na shitsumon” is a tactless question whose answer is already obvious.

A deep, mysterious beauty you can feel but never explain: the moon behind clouds, mist over the mountains. A key concept in the poetics of Fujiwara no Shunzei and in Zeami’s Noh theater.

The exquisite courtly elegance of the Heian period: refinement, nobility, a feeling for beauty.

A refined taste for the beauty of nature and art: admiring the moon, writing poems, drinking tea to the sound of rain.

The particular charm of an atmosphere: an old Kyoto lane in the evening, the tinkle of a fūrin wind chime in summer.

The character and mood of a place or thing, whatever makes it interesting. “Omomuki no aru” means “full of character.”

Reserved and refined in a way that makes you want to know the person better: modesty with a sense of depth behind it.

Repairing broken ceramics with lacquer and gold: the crack is not hidden but highlighted. The break is not the end of the object’s story, but a new chapter in it.

The technique took shape around the Muromachi period. ⚠️ The popular legend of the shogun Ashikaga Yoshimasa, whose bowl came back from China held together with staples, was only written down in 1727, and historians doubt it.

The pause and the space between things as part of the meaning: the silence between notes, a pause in speech, the empty wall around a hanging scroll. “Ma ga warui” means bad timing, and “manuke” (fool) literally means “lacking ma.”

The beauty of empty space: the unpainted part of an ink painting (the classic example is Hasegawa Tōhaku’s Pine Trees), the air around written characters, the emptiness of Muji design. An established phrase in art criticism, though dictionaries list only “yohaku” (margin, blank space).

Freedom from worldly bustle, stepping beyond the ordinary. One of the seven characteristics of Zen art named by the philosopher Shin'ichi Hisamatsu (1958). ⚠️ Western websites call it a “principle of garden design,” but Hisamatsu was talking about Zen art as a whole.

“Borrowed scenery”: a garden is laid out so that the mountains or forest beyond its walls become part of it. The classic example is Entsū-ji temple in Kyoto, with its view of Mount Hiei.

“Flowers, birds, wind, moon”: the beauty of nature as a subject for art, and the very feeling for it.

“Snow, moon, flowers”: the beauty of every season in a single formula, from a poem by Bai Juyi.

Sunlight filtering through foliage, and the flecks of light that tremble in the wind. Ko (tree) + more (to leak through) + hi (sun).

“Forest bathing”: spending unhurried time in a forest, taking it in with all your senses. The term was coined in 1982 by Tomohide Akiyama, head of Japan’s Forestry Agency, on the model of “sea bathing” and “sunbathing.” Studies record lower cortisol and blood pressure.

The shimmering haze above sun-warmed ground.

“Fleeing water”: a mirage puddle on the asphalt that keeps moving away as you approach.

“The fox’s wedding”: a sunshower, rain falling in bright sunshine. Folk belief has it that this is when foxes hold their weddings.

The first light of dawn, when the eastern sky begins to pale.

The half-light before dawn, when faces can’t yet be made out: “ka wa tare?” (“who is that over there?”).

Evening twilight, and figuratively the twilight of life and melancholy. From “ta so kare?” (“who is there?”). It pairs with kawataredoki: in the Man'yōshū kawataredoki could mean either dawn or dusk, and later the evening came to belong to tasogare.

“The hour of meeting demons”: dusk, when, according to folk belief, misfortune strikes and evil spirits come out.

Admiring the cherry blossoms with food, drink and friends under the trees. In the Nara period people admired ume plum blossoms; the cherry took first place in the Heian period.

Cherry blossoms at night, lit by lanterns.

“Flower blizzard”: a whirl of falling petals.

“Flower raft”: petals floating on water in an unbroken carpet.

A sudden cold snap right when the cherry trees are in bloom.

Soft overcast skies during blossom season.

The moon in a spring haze, blurred and soft.

The first strong, warm southerly wind after the calendar start of spring (from early February to the equinox). The Japan Meteorological Agency officially announces it for some regions.

“The mountains laugh”: in spring, when the slopes are suddenly clothed in young leaves. “The mountains sleep”: in winter. Both are haiku season words that go back to the Chinese painter Guo Xi.

Spring melancholy: an unaccountable sadness in the middle of nature’s blossoming.

The long rains of the fifth lunar month, that is, the tsuyu season (June). “Samidare-shiki” means “in fits and starts, piecemeal”: in business emails people apologize for writing in bits and pieces (samidare-shiki ni shitsurei shimasu).

A sudden summer downpour toward evening, after which the air turns fresh.

“Cicada rain”: a chorus of cicadas pouring down from every side.

A fresh early-summer breeze carrying the scent of young greenery.

Admiring the full moon with dango rice dumplings and plumes of susuki grass. The main night is 十五夜 (jūgoya, “the fifteenth night”); in 2026 it falls on September 25.

“Hunting red leaves”: trips to admire the autumn maples.

A pensive autumn sadness.

A warm, sunny day in late autumn: the Japanese Indian summer. A treacherous word: in a survey by the Agency for Cultural Affairs, more than 40% of Japanese people thought it was about early spring.

A brief cold rain of late autumn and early winter that keeps starting and stopping.

A cold north wind that tears off the last leaves: a sign that winter has come. The weather agency announces “kogarashi No. 1” for Tokyo and Kinki.

“Wind flowers”: snowflakes drifting down from a clear sky.

“Snow makeup”: a landscape powdered with the first snow.

The light that snow gives off at night, bright enough without streetlamps.

The homeland of the heart: not necessarily where you were born, but the landscape you see when you close your eyes. Since 2008 Japan has had “furusato nōzei”: part of your taxes can be sent to any municipality you choose, your hometown for example.

Longing for the places you come from and for the past, both at once.

Longing for your homeland when you are far away.

“Wherever you live becomes the capital”: you get used to any place, and it becomes home.

The particular mood of travel: a light wistfulness mixed with delight at a strange city.

“I’d even borrow a cat’s paw”: so busy you’d welcome any help at all.

“Not knowing, you are as calm as a Buddha”: ignorance is bliss.

“The frog in the well knows nothing of the ocean” (from Zhuangzi). The Japanese later added a consolation: “…but it knows how deep the sky is.”

“The scales fell from my eyes”: a sudden realization. From the Bible (Acts 9:18).

“My ears hurt”: hearing a truth about yourself that you’d rather not admit.

“On a journey, shame doesn’t count”: away from home, you behave more freely. The Japanese “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

“It’s dark beneath the lamp”: you miss what’s right under your nose. “Tōdai” here is an old stand for an oil lamp, not a lighthouse.

“Giving birth is easier than worrying about it”: doing is easier than dreading.