Dinner in Ginza and the Boredom of Freedom

Tonight, I’m going to Ginza to have yakiniku with Sergio.

Or, more accurately, I’m going to be treated to yakiniku.

Sergio comes to Japan from Mexico about once a year, and every time he does, he takes me out for something delicious.

We’ve known each other for more than ten years now.

We first met when I was living in Mexico City.

Back then, we weren’t especially close. Still, whenever we met, we would talk about all sorts of things, and occasionally we’d end up having drinks together at a bar. Ours is the kind of friendship that slowly deepened over time.

In those days, I had a close Mexican friend named Abimael.

One day, he said something with a hint of irony in his voice:

“Most wealthy people in Mexico are wealthy because their parents were wealthy.”

Mexico has no inheritance tax.

As a result, wealth often passes from one generation to the next, largely untouched.

Sergio is no exception.

He inherited enough wealth that he never really had to work for a living.

As a result, he spends much of his time traveling the world.

He eats at great restaurants, drinks fine wine, and flies wherever he wants, whenever he wants.

Many people would envy that lifestyle.

But sometimes, I find myself feeling a little sorry for him.

He’s intelligent, generous, and genuinely kind.

Yet he often seems bored.

And every now and then, just a little unhappy.

It reminds me that money alone doesn’t create fulfillment.

Perhaps what sustains us is something much simpler:

Having something meaningful to do tomorrow.

A purpose.

A vocation.

A reason to get out of bed.

Work that matters.

Work we enjoy.

Enough income to live comfortably, combined with something that gives our lives meaning.

That may be closer to happiness than unlimited freedom.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about this a lot.

As artificial intelligence continues to advance, more and more routine work will disappear.

Perhaps in the future, AI will handle the tedious tasks, allowing people to spend more time doing things that are creative, meaningful, and deeply human.

If I had an enormous fortune, would I stop working?

I doubt it.

In fact, I might work even more.

These days, I genuinely enjoy what I do.

Whether I’m working with clients, writing, teaching, or having meaningful conversations, I often lose track of time.

Not long ago, I said to another wealthy friend:

“It must be nice to have more money than you could ever spend.”

She smiled and replied:

“A moderate amount is enough.”

At the time, I wasn’t sure what she meant.

Now I think I understand.

The wealthy have their own struggles.

The poor have theirs.

Neither side is exempt from suffering.

Watching Sergio over the years has reminded me of that.

From the outside, his life looks enviable.

He travels the world, enjoys wonderful food, and lives with complete freedom.

Yet sometimes, beneath that freedom, I sense a quiet emptiness.

Perhaps I’m wrong.

Perhaps I’m simply projecting my own ideas onto him.

But life is long.

Sergio is only in his sixties.

There is still plenty of time for him to discover a calling, a passion, or a purpose that captures his heart.

And if he does, I think I’ll be just as happy for him as if it had happened to me.

For now, I’ll head to Ginza, enjoy some excellent yakiniku, and continue thinking about the strange relationship between freedom, work, and happiness.