What "Life's Gift" Taught Me — The Day I Stopped Wishing for My Youth Back

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Meeting the Song

I actually came across Masashi Sada's "Jinsei no Okurimono" long after my twenties — in 2003, right as I was approaching my mid-forties. Even at that age, I don't think I'd fully grasped what sat at the heart of the song. I sometimes find myself imagining, now, how my student-era self would have taken it in, had he heard it back then. He probably could have followed the surface meaning of the lyrics well enough, but I doubt the real weight behind them would have landed.

An Idea I Couldn't Have Held in My Twenties

At the heart of this song is a single line: that even if youth were offered back to him, just once, he would quietly shake his head. If I'd heard that at twenty-something, I would have doubted my own ears. Back then, I had only just stepped away from the path toward becoming a doctor, and I spent my days carrying nothing but restlessness, with no answer for how I was supposed to live from there. Youth, to me, felt like boundless possibility and a shapeless dread of the unknown, both at once. If you'd asked me at the time whether I wanted to go back to those years, I would have said yes without a moment's hesitation.

A Small Question About Living

Of the "four sufferings" in Buddhist thought — birth, aging, sickness, and death — I never gave much serious thought to the first one, birth, back in my twenties. Being alive was simply the starting point from which I was supposed to go on and accomplish something. Now, at sixty-six, I've come to feel that being born, and simply having lived this long, is already enough of an event in itself. Before any achievement, there's a quiet joy in the plain fact of having lived and reached this age. I think that's what it means when this song says it would decline the offer of youth — choosing the weight of years actually lived over the sheer size of youthful possibility.

What I Hear Now, at Sixty-Six

I built Japanese food businesses across several countries, moved into acupuncture and herbal medicine, gained experience investing in property and stocks, and retired in 2025 at sixty-five. Splitting my time between the outskirts of London and Osaka, I notice I've become far more attuned to the beauty of seasonal flowers, and to simple gratitude for good health, than I ever was before. Extending healthy life expectancy is a daily, practical project of mine. There's no magic remedy — sleep, food, and staying active are what it comes down to — but being able to enjoy that process, rather than merely endure it, feels like one of the real benefits of growing older. I didn't start out with perfect knowledge about investing either; learning gradually, step by step, is what's brought me the peace of mind I have today.

Honestly, since entering my sixties, I've noticed that cuts and scrapes take longer to heal than they used to. There are moments when I feel a flash of irritation at my own aging, without quite being able to accept it. Still, I think there's value in putting these feelings into words rather than hiding them. Even without a reply or a comment, if what I write leaves someone with the sense that "I'm not the only one going through this," that feels like enough to me.

This song also quietly teaches me something about how precious a true friend is. If there's someone willing to sit beside you and see the sun go down together, saying nothing at all, there's nothing left to ask for. In my twenties, I brought a certain restlessness and rivalry even into my friendships, often without realising it. That's no longer true for me. I've come to appreciate, far more deeply than before, how comfortable a companionship can be when it needs no words. Living in the UK, I've come to know a culture built on easy conversation as a way of forming relationships — but the Japanese way of simply being together without saying much carries its own, quite different richness, one I've only really come to appreciate at this age.

One more thing I find personally interesting about this song: the weight of that line — declining the offer of youth — only carries real force because the person singing it has actually lived through the years of growing older. If someone in their twenties said the same words, they'd ring hollow. This lyric has quiet persuasive power precisely because Sada himself has genuinely lived through both what's been gained and what's been lost. Every time I hear this song, I'm reminded that the weight of words comes from the rings of the years behind the person speaking them.

Sada also shows this same easygoing, almost playful attitude toward growing older in his essay collection "Yabai Rojin ni Narou" (Let's Become a Fabulous Old Man) — a book that approaches the subject of aging from a very different angle than the song, but arrives at a similarly warm place. Kindle Edition　Paperback

Closing

Walking into the second half of life, there are certainly things I've set down along the way. And yet, if all that lingering doubt has left me able to cherish things more deeply, then that, I think, is the very gift I received in exchange for youth — no lesser for the trade. Every time I listen to "Jinsei no Okurimono," it brings me back to that thought. Life is worth living. This one song keeps telling me so, in a quiet voice, but without a trace of doubt.

Reference Links

• "Jinsei no Okurimono ~ Hoka ni Nozomu Mono wa Nai~" (Victor Entertainment official artist page)
• "Jinsei no Okurimono ~ Hoka ni Nozomu Mono wa Nai~" (Solo Version), Masashi Sada official YouTube channel

Listen to the Song

Read the Lyrics (Uta-Net): https://www.uta-net.com/song/63989/Note: please enjoy the full Japanese lyrics on the external lyrics database site linked above — they are not reproduced here.

About Masashi Sada

Masashi Sada was born on April 10, 1952, in Nagasaki, Japan. In 1972, he formed the folk duo "Grape" with Masami Yoshida, and the pair made their recording debut the following year, 1973. "Shoryo Nagashi," a song Sada composed, became a major hit, reaching No. 2 on the Oricon chart in 1974 and bringing the duo widespread recognition. After further hits including "Enkiridera" and "Muenzaka," Grape disbanded in 1976.

Sada then launched into a full-fledged solo career, producing a long string of songs that continue to be sung across generations, including "Kanpaku Sengen," "Kita no Kuni Kara — Haruka Naru Daichi Yori," "Kakashi," "Kaze ni Tatsu Lion," and "Shujinko." His narrative-rich lyrics, often woven with love for his hometown of Nagasaki and for family, have won him fans across a wide range of generations.

Beyond his music career, Sada has long been a familiar voice as a radio personality and has also published several novels. He has made numerous appearances on television music and talk programs, at times composing lyrics and melodies on the spot, and his exceptional command of language continues to captivate audiences today.

In 2023, an NHK documentary featured the many songs he has written over half a century and the stories behind their creation. More than fifty years after his debut, he remains actively engaged in concert tours and new album releases.