Ichigo Ichie: One Moment, One Time, Never Again
I recently returned from two weeks in Japan—first in Nozawa Onsen, a small farming and ski village where the way of life is simple, deeply connected, and slow—before exploring the rich culture in Kyoto and Tokyo.
I had originally gone for the cherry blossoms. The adventure. The beauty of Japan in spring.
But serendipitously, a friend forwarded me a yoga and meditation retreat to weave into the journey—and then to top it off, the gift of having my mother join me made it all the more precious.
I began the trip with the intention of slowing down, cultivating stillness, savoring, but what I came back with was much deeper.
There’s a Japanese phrase that echoed through every part of my trip: Ichigo Ichie.
"One moment, one time. Never again."
This is far more than a poetic sentiment. It’s a way of seeing the world—of honoring each moment as singular, sacred, and unrepeatable.
This moment, right now, will never happen again.
The Moment That Will Never Come Again
In Nozawa, we wandered cobblestone streets and soaked in the healing warmth of the hot springs, surrounded by snow-dusted rooftops and a silence that felt ancient.
One day, we visited the rare snow monkeys—who live and bathe in the onsens (natural healing hot springs). We stood watching them, wild and free, the snow embracing all of us around us.
I looked over at my mother—this woman I’ve shared so much life with—and felt it.
This moment.
This version of us.
The ease. The laughter. The unspoken knowing.
It would never happen again.
And for a long time, I think I would’ve resisted that truth.
Not because it wasn’t beautiful—but because naming it felt like inviting in the ache of its passing.
As if acknowledging its impermanence might somehow shorten it.
But I know now:
That fear doesn’t protect us.
It robs us.
It keeps us just far enough away from the moment that we don’t fully let it in.
We think we’re avoiding pain, but what we’re really doing is missing life.
So now, I let myself feel it all.
The wonder. The fleeting, breathtaking sacredness of now.
Because that’s how we live it—fully, completely, and wholeheartedly.
The Cost of Constant Doing
And yet—there’s another way we miss.
Not out of malice.
But out of momentum.
We move at lightning speed—getting things done, making things happen, keeping up. We chase after the next win, the next email, the next item on the to-do list.
And while there is nothing wrong with striving, or achieving, or being ambitious...
When our identity becomes wrapped in output—
When our worth gets tied to how fast or how much we can do—
We quietly trade presence for productivity.
And in doing so, we lose the thread of ourselves.
We Forget How to Feel
In all that speed, we forget how to feel.
We override the signals.
We suppress the stirrings.
We shut down the parts of ourselves that need to rest, to grieve, to soften.
We fear that slowing down will derail us—
That turning toward the emotion might flood us,
Or worse… stall our momentum.
But what if it’s the very thing that brings us back?
Because when we skip the processing, we clog the inner channels that allow life to flow.
Beauty. Wonder. Insight. Joy.
We fill our calendars—but hollow out our lives.
Reflection: What Are You Holding Onto?
Lately I’ve been asking myself:
✨ What am I doing because it once served me, but no longer does?
✨ What am I clinging to—out of fear, not truth?
✨ What parts of me are longing to be felt, held, honored… before they slip away unnoticed?
The Sacred Moment of “Is This It?”
I’ve worked with hundreds of leaders and entrepreneurs who are at the top of their game, yet quietly asking the same question:
“Is this it?”
That moment—of asking, of wondering—is sacred.
Because it’s the beginning of remembering. The moment we realize the life we’ve built may not reflect the life we want to live.
It’s not a dead end—it’s a doorway.
A doorway into self-inquiry.
Into deeper listening.
Into the tenderness of being human.
The Beginning of Returning
It’s the moment we get to bring fierce curiosity and compassion to ourselves.
To notice our pulls. Our cravings.
To honor the things that delight us, teach us, stir us.
But if we are moving too fast, we miss them.
We miss the signs. The whispers. The magic that beckons.
So today, I’m slowing down. Again.
And I’m inviting you to do the same.
Turn Inward
These aren’t just prompts. They’re invitations to return to yourself.
💡 What part of your life are you rushing past?
💡 What’s one moment today you could treat as sacred?
💡 If this exact moment would never come again—how would you meet it?
Let that be your anchor.
Let that be your reset.
Let that be the doorway back to presence.
A Space to Practice Presence—Together
This is why I created Calm & Connect.
A space to pause.
To reconnect.
To gently unhook from what no longer serves, and return to what’s real.
🌿 Calm & Connect. Sunday, May 18th.
And if you're a leader ready to bring this work into your organization—through keynotes, workshops, or weekly mindfulness sessions—this is the work I’ve done for over a decade.
Helping high performers slow down enough to come alive again.
Helping organizations become more human.
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