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The Christmas gift of the year was definitely Jichan’s long-awaited memoirs. Jichan is my 99-year-old grandfather, a quietly brilliant, serious man who spends his time doing jigsaw puzzles, tending to his persimmon tree, going to church, and, as of the last couple of years, writing his life’s memoirs. After much prompting from his children and grandchildren, he finally put (digital) pen to paper, making slow and steady progress in a scattershot approach, pulling on the threads of memory when inspiration struck. This year, as he brainstormed Christmas gift ideas for his grandchildren, he acquiesced to my aunt’s suggestion to print out his work so far in seven chapters—one for each of us.
Born in 1926 in California, Jichan has experienced significant hardship—from growing up as a farm boy during the Great Depression, to being incarcerated in the Japanese American internment camps during World War II, to joining the U.S. Army and restarting his life after the war. Throughout his tales, there is a clear throughline—the concept of gaman.
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Rooted in Zen Buddhism, gaman means to bear the seemingly unbearable with dignity. It's both about "what you do" and "how you act.” It is an active choice to show patience and composure as you persevere.
Gaman became deeply associated with the Japanese American mindset during WWII. In that time, the U.S. government forced people of Japanese ancestry living on the West Coast to leave their homes and move to desolate inland areas of the U.S. Some 120,000 people—two-thirds of whom were American citizens—were placed in internment camps for the duration of the war. Despite the violation of their constitutional rights and losses of property, career prospects, and personal relationships, internees exhibited determined resilience and calm. Gaman was a survival tactic for Jichan and his family at the time. But reading through Jichan’s pages, it struck me that gaman is as relevant as ever given the state of the world today.
On the surface, gaman may seem to run counter to a number of American cultural ideals. While American culture champions bold action, gaman asks for acceptance. While American individualism prizes individual achievement and self-promotion, gaman emphasizes collective good and quiet dignity. Where Americans seek speed and immediate results, gaman encourages long-term patience. But these don’t have to be opposing forces. I would argue that gaman—or at least, my personal interpretation of it—can be a strategic and complementary tool for navigating our ever-changing world. It offers the refreshing permission to slow down, to focus on what matters, and to do it with self-assured integrity.
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I. Give yourself permission to just do what you can.
There is so much pressure to do everything, and do it fast. Personally, whether it's the hustle culture of my adopted city of New York, eldest daughter syndrome, or just the weight of our current cultural moment, there's always a voice in the back of my mind telling me I should be doing more—to better the work, to better myself, or to better the world at large. And while action matters and betterment is a noble goal, when everything feels urgent and nothing feels like enough, the gap between intention and impact feels overwhelming. Truthfully, like 66% of us, I am tired AF—and many feel the same, with American consumer confidence at a 12-year low.
Gaman offers something different. Not a call to action, but permission to just endure. It's a foil to the New Year's resolutions, the job market doomsday posts on LinkedIn, and the relentless urgency of the world’s crises demanding our immediate response. Gaman asks: What if, instead of pushing to become the best version of yourself, the best advocate, or the best employee—you focused on doing what you can with what you have? You can’t pour from an empty cup. I invite you to give yourself permission to practice gaman as well. To create enduring change, you first have to endure.
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II. Keep personal standards high, today and tomorrow.
Jichan’s story also got me thinking: Who are you when the world shifts? What values and standards do you cling to, even when it feels impossible?
This requires a long-term perspective that is increasingly rare. Leaders today face constant pressure to focus on short-term wins, with CEOs reporting they spend nearly half (47%) of their time on issues with time horizons of less than one year. But perhaps there is an argument for a purposeful pause. For example, despite the excitement around AI-created content, consumers are fighting back against the wave of AI slop, reporting that they are willing to pay for higher quality, human-made content. This suggests that consumers will reward the companies that keep standards high and prioritize a human touch, even when others don’t. Consider: What is worth preserving over the long game? How can you lead with conviction, rather than reactivity?
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III. Build from the scrap wood.
Growing up, whenever we would visit Jichan’s house, I would always admire the little wooden baseball player figurines he had displayed in the family room, each only a few inches high. My favorite was the one reaching up for the ball, as if mid-play. Jichan carved these when he was a teenager in the internment camps, using scrap pieces of wood. Even though he was stranded in the desert, not legally allowed to actually attend a baseball game, his love for the sport inspired him to create beautiful things. In fact, many of those who were interned created art pieces out of scrap wood, shells, rocks, cigarettes, safety pins, and other materials. Despite everything, creativity flourished in camp.
At SYLVAIN, we often talk about the importance of whimsy in our work—whether it’s making an unexpected cultural reference, connecting concepts with neuroscience, or just finding a surprising solution to a long-standing client problem. And it can be tempting to deprioritize “time for whimsy” in the swirl of project timelines and deadlines. But the best ideas are often born from the limitations of the creative sandbox. And Jichan’s baseball players remind me that creativity can’t help but be expressed, even when everything else is stripped away. Consider how you can prioritize outlets for creativity, in work and in play—it’s not only what makes the work fun, but it’s essential for us as makers.
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Remember: It’s not a zero-sum game.
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Back then, Jichan found himself caught between Japanese and American cultures. In some ways, I'm navigating similar intersections now. Taking the best parts of gaman and applying them to how I live and work has ultimately been a comforting and authentic path to progress. It is a gentle hand that encourages us all to look inward and keep steady on the path to what’s next.
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Kelly Adachi is a fourth-generation Japanese American and Senior Lead Strategist at SYLVAIN. She brings rigor, curiosity, and calm to brand strategy and consumer research engagements for clients including Nike, American Express, and Amazon. When not at work, she's likely singing (in her choir or at karaoke), playing cozy video games, or teaching herself a new craft.
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Progress Report is a bi-weekly newsletter of business considerations, cultural conversations, and fun recommendations from around the world and web.
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