The Studio Was Never the Point

Lately, I've been reflecting on the journey that brought me here.

Over the years I've taught in very different places.

A studio in a busy city.

Another in a smaller regional town.

And today, a small practice space in the mountains of Nishiawakura.

From the outside, it might look like each step has become... smaller.

And in many ways, it has.

Fewer classes.

Fewer students.

Less noise.

More space.

But this wasn't an easy transition.

For more than a year, I struggled with the decision to close our studio in Tsuyama.

That place had become more than four walls. It held years of classes, friendships, workshops, and shared practice. We had worked hard to protect it—through the uncertainty of COVID, changing circumstances, and all the challenges of running a small community studio.

Without noticing, I had begun to believe that the studio represented my work and perhaps even who I was. So when it came time to let it go, it didn't feel like closing a business. It felt like losing part of my identity.

Only recently did I begin to understand why it had been so difficult.

I wasn't suffering because the studio was closing. I was suffering because I was trying to hold on to something that no longer reflected the direction my life was taking.

As I was developing our mentorship programme around values and meaningful action, I found myself asking the same questions. Not of future clients—but of my own life.

I stopped asking,"How do I keep what I built?" and started asking, "When did I stop being curious?"

Curious about what this next chapter might look like.

Curious enough to wonder whether the life I had built still reflected the life I wanted to live.

Well, there was no great revelation and no angel whispers.

I think I had simply become too busy being busy.

Too busy running a studio.

Too busy planning the next training.

Too busy protecting what I had built.

Somewhere along the way, I'd stopped giving myself permission to be curious again.

It was never the studio.

It was never the building.

It was never even the classes.

The move from Tsuyama isn't about downsizing.

It's about moving closer.

Closer to my values.

Closer to my way of teaching.

Closer to the kind of life I want to share.