『Drive My Car』

KaradaNaoru Continuing Practice GroupAugust 19, 2026

Today’s session in Musashi-Koyama took place without Manager Kimura, who was away on summer vacation.

Even without our host, the continuing practice group gathered as energetically as ever. We welcomed a new participant, Ms. H, and both the in-person and online sessions were fully attended.

The session began with Dr. Matsuoka’s observation:

“Recently, there seem to be so many people who are unwell or completely exhausted.”

He began by working on each participant’s back and chest, helping us release what we had been carrying.

Even though he appeared to be doing little more than gently rubbing the body with his hands, cries of pain rose from around the room. It had been a while since I had seen Mr. Hattori looking quite so distressed.

Afterward, everyone felt refreshed, as though a heavy load had been lifted.

What are we all carrying?

Perhaps it is not simply accumulated weight, but the weight of responsibility.

One of Dr. Matsuoka’s recent clients was the kind of highly capable person who could handle almost anything and manage several tasks at once.

While working tirelessly and sleeping very little, this person had also taken on a coaching role. Perhaps they had become too deeply involved in other people’s problems, sympathizing and empathizing with them too strongly.

Eventually, that burden appeared in the body as an irregular heartbeat.

I believe each person has a limited carrying capacity.

When we load more than that capacity allows, we become overloaded. Eventually, either the cargo falls out or the vehicle itself begins to break down.

We would have enough to carry if we transported only our own belongings. Yet what we so often load onto ourselves is the baggage of other people.

“My eldest daughter is having trouble with her eyes.”

“My second son is so negative.”

“What can I do for my mother, who is over 90?”

Every member of the group is carrying something on behalf of someone close to them.

We all wear name tags identifying our roles: husband, wife, father, mother, son, daughter, employee.

We are responsible and kind.

Because of that kindness, however, we also carry other people’s worries and fears, making our own bodies increasingly heavy.

When I wake up in the morning, the first people I think about are my 11-year-old youngest child and my 84-year-old mother.

I hope they will spend the day feeling well and enjoying themselves.

Then, little by little, I begin thinking about the rest of my family and relatives, wondering whether any of them are having difficulties.

Without realizing it, this has become a daily habit.

That may make me sound like someone deeply devoted to her family.

In reality, I rush around behind the scenes like an unseen stagehand while inwardly shouting, “I can’t keep doing this!”

According to my third son, I am simply “annoying.”

Wanting to be a good wife, mother, and daughter, I load other people’s baggage onto my vehicle without their permission. I am driving in violation of the law, far beyond my legal carrying capacity.

“I need to do it before my mother does.”

“There is still a little more of the summer homework to finish.”

I do not need to accompany my youngest child to dance lessons, yet I go anyway. Then, despite being an amateur, I offer advice such as, “Maybe you should pay a little more attention to your right hand.”

I really am annoying.

I had always said that self-sacrifice was not admirable.

Yet I convinced myself that this was not self-sacrifice, that I was doing it because I wanted to. Meanwhile, I continued taking other people’s baggage away from them.

My university-age third son moves freely through life. Whenever I begin worrying about him, he immediately tells me that I am being annoying.

So instead, I turned toward my mother and my youngest child, whom I had arbitrarily decided were vulnerable, and began taking their baggage from them.

Before long, my own little truck had become poorly maintained and was falling apart.

Then everyone started asking, “Mom, are you all right?”

I had become like a tow truck, attempting to pull not only another person’s load, but their entire vehicle.

Each person is born with their own car and lives as its driver.

My mother has her own route, and my youngest child has theirs.

I simply happen to be traveling near them during the same period of time.

It is often said that most human worries arise from relationships. Usually, these difficulties do not involve distant strangers but the people closest to us.

In Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya, the characters also become disappointed in those closest to them.

In the end, they realize that another person’s life belongs to that person, and that this is the truth. They then quietly return to their own daily lives.

Expecting things from another person’s life, and then feeling disappointed when they do not meet those expectations, may be an act of arrogance.

That person may become hurt.

Even so, they are living their own life and following their own road.

We can respect that while continuing to drive our respective routes.

Drive My Car

First, care for your own car: your body.

Then steady the driver: your awareness.

Constantly looking around and asking, “Is anyone in trouble?” was not responsible driving. It had become a form of aggressive driving.

I had covered my car with stickers:

“I am a mother.”

“I am a wife.”

“I am the eldest daughter.”

“I will take on any task at work.”

Instead, I can lighten my load and enjoy my own journey with confidence.

When we meet at a highway rest stop, we can gather and share stories about the different journeys we have taken.

It was a confronting yet refreshing opportunity to look at my own journey objectively.

Our continuing practice group is filled with excellent mechanics.

Haruko Inohana

The next session will be held at Kimura Shoten from 6:30 p.m. on September 29.