Chapter ３-Light in the Darkness — Collapse and Return

Light in the Darkness — Collapse and Return

In my third year in Miyama, I married the woman I had been dating since university. Soon after, our first son was born.

From the outside, it may have looked like my life was moving forward.

But inside, I was slowly unraveling.

Five years into the craft, the uncertainty that I had tried to ignore finally overwhelmed me. The future of thatching in Japan was unclear. Work was unstable. There were almost no young successors. I began to feel that I had chosen a path without security, without guarantee.

Eventually, I collapsed into depression.

For two months, I could not work. I could barely get out of bed.

When people suffer, they often search for something to blame. I blamed thatching. I blamed the very craft I had once loved. I convinced myself that it was the cause of my suffering.

One day, as I lay in bed, my wife quietly said to me:

“We have run out of savings.”

There was no unemployment insurance. No safety net. The fear I felt in that moment has never left me.

We decided that my wife and our child would temporarily return to her parents’ home so that they would at least have food and stability. I forced myself to stand up and went to the public employment office.

During my five years as an apprentice, I had obtained two national qualifications: a real estate license and a second-class architect certification. I had studied desperately, sensing that thatching alone might not provide security.

Because of those qualifications, I quickly found a position as a housing sales representative at a small construction company in Kameoka.

Ironically, I had become what I once could not imagine becoming: a salaried employee.

For four years, I worked in residential construction and renovation sales. I learned about building structures, materials, contracts, and real estate. At the time, I believed I had abandoned thatching.

In truth, I was being prepared.

As my health slowly recovered, I eventually returned to the roof.

When you are inside darkness, it feels endless. But looking back now, I see that nothing was wasted. Every experience—especially the painful ones—became part of the foundation for what came later.

Providence can feel harsh in the moment.

But it often reveals its meaning only afterward.