What Japan Has Taught Matthew Hussey About Love and Life
Matthew HusseyJapan is expensive, far away and hard to get to. Matthew Hussey's producer asked why he keeps going back, and the question came up again when he announced another family trip there, this time with his four-month-old son. Part of the answer, he says, is that he simply loves the place. The other part is that he has learned a lot from it. In this video, which departs from his usual dating advice, Hussey describes what Japan has taught him about love and life.
He adds two caveats up front. He is not an expert on Japan, and he knows how easy it is for a visitor to romanticize a place. That second caveat becomes a major theme later in the video.
The Craftsman's Approach
The first lesson Hussey describes is what he calls "the craftsman's approach." In Japan, he says, people seem to care intensely about whatever they do or make. There is an obsession with doing the job well and taking pride in the work. Sushi making is the familiar example, but he believes the attitude extends to everything.
His examples come from his own travels. One is a kissaten, a traditional Japanese coffee house, where the owner has spent 40 years making the same cup of coffee. Another is a tiny Neapolitan pizza place where one person has devoted their whole life to perfecting dough. He also mentions the care a shopkeeper takes in wrapping a purchase, and a business making artisanal cola that he calls "mind-blowingly good."
He points to the film Perfect Days, one of his favorites. It follows a man who cleans toilets in Tokyo, and the film treats him almost like a sushi master: he works with quiet devotion and insists on doing even the smallest thing beautifully. Hussey says that, in his experience, the film is not an exaggeration. It accurately portrays how he has seen many people in Japan approach their work.
He then compares this with England, where he grew up, and America, where he lives now. He does see excellence in both countries. The difference, in his view, is that people there often pursue excellence as a means to an end: a route to growth, scale or conventional success. Much of what he sees in Japan is excellence pursued at the expense of those things. He says he has come across hundreds of small businesses where the goal seems to be doing one thing really well rather than building an empire.
He draws a personal lesson from this: trying to be too many things at once has a cost. He coaches, makes videos, writes books, leads an organization and wants to be present with his family, and he wants to do all of it brilliantly. In reality, he says, excellence comes from doing less. If you care about quality, you have to care about reducing the number of things you try to do. He says he is currently working on this in his own life.
Collective Well-Being: Leaving Places Better Than You Found Them
The second lesson concerns collective well-being. Hussey notes an irony: Japan has very few public trash cans, yet there is almost no trash on the streets, and he calls it one of the cleanest places on Earth. His account is that when trash cans were removed, people got used to taking their rubbish home.
This affected him deeply. He has long held that you should try to leave people better than you found them. He says this often about dating, but he applies it to every kind of relationship. Since spending time in Japan, he has added a second tenet: leave places better than you found them.
He is careful not to present himself as a saint who always lives up to this. Still, he says the practice has made a profound difference in small ways. In a coffee shop, he no longer sees keeping the place nice as solely the owner's job. He treats it as his own responsibility, at least for the corner he occupies. That might mean pushing his chair back the way the owner arranged it, or returning his cup to the counter. He even applies it to public toilets and tries to leave the cubicle a little better than he found it.
He says he does not do this for recognition. He is not sure he has ever said it out loud before. It also doesn't matter much to him if the next person trashes the cubicle. He would prefer they didn't, but it doesn't make him regret having tidied it. He describes the practice as good for his soul. He has become prouder of how he moves through life and how he affects the spaces he is in. It feels more conscious, he says, and it has, strangely, made him like himself a little more.
Invest Where You Are
The third lesson is to "invest where you are." Hussey says Japan made him care about design, and especially about how much love he and his wife Audrey put into designing their own home.
What shocked him in Japan was how intentional spaces are. He describes walking into a random coffee shop that "has no business" being so beautiful, and finding carefully chosen cups and dishware, indoor plants and a curated theme, whether Japandi minimalism, cottagecore or retro nostalgia.
That attitude influenced their home. Inspired by Japan's listening bars, where customers order a drink, sit at the bar and listen to records, they built a wooden shelving nook designed to echo that style. They also replaced what Audrey calls the "bachelor metal" of his pre-marriage decorating with earthy colors, natural materials and wood, creating bright, clean spaces to live and work in.
For Hussey, the specific changes matter less than the fact that they put love and themselves into the house, thinking about what kind of space would bring them joy. He says this paid off on their most recent return. He came home with his usual "post-Japan melancholy," but walking into the house immediately made them excited to be home. He found that validating: the care they had put into the house the year before suddenly made sense. They had left a place they loved, which made them sad, but they had come back to another place they loved, one that made them feel happy and calm. That softened the blow so much that he felt genuinely excited to be home.
He connects this to romantic relationships. Your own "home," in his framing, is you: your confidence, your self-love, how you expand your mind, your friendships, your family relationships and your own life. Investing in it while you are dating or in love with someone insulates you from the worst kinds of heartbreak, the kind that happens when you build your home in someone else. When you invest in yourself, he argues, you protect yourself against future heartbreaks, whether from relationships you eventually have to leave or from people who leave you.
The Limits of Romanticizing a Place
After these three lessons, Hussey acknowledges that everything he has described is an "incredible romanticization" of a place he loves. He knows Japan has an underbelly he never encounters, and that every trait has its inverse. The cultural norms that make Japan fascinating and novel for visitors make it oppressive for many who live there. The focus on preserving a national identity produces a highly distilled Japan that feels like a wonderland to visit. In his view, it also makes integration extremely difficult, even for many people who have lived there their whole lives. He also notes that he is not a Japanese woman living in what he calls a deeply patriarchal society.
"I know that I do not know Japan. I visit Japan," he says, and he stresses that this is a big difference. He does not live ordinary daily life in Japan, and he doesn't even live his own daily life there. His Japan consists of days spent wandering tiny streets with no pressure to be anywhere or do anything. It includes consequence-free beers, large amounts of carbs and sugar, and drinking coffee after coffee in a way he never would at home. His weeks there don't resemble his real life, and not only because he is abroad. He takes a foreign version of himself with him. If he lived his actual daily life in Japan for a long period, he says, he might see it completely differently.
Japan as a Long-Distance Relationship or an Affair
Hussey compares this to a long-distance relationship. You don't truly know how compatible you are with someone until you live in the same place, perhaps under the same roof. In what he calls his "extended honeymoon" with Japan, he never finds out what his real life would feel like there.
He goes further and says it may be more like an affair. An affair can be exciting precisely because the other person stays outside the relationship, where their worst habits and character traits are never really experienced. Reality never hits, so the fantasy stays alive.
He clarifies that he is not saying the things he loves about Japan are inauthentic or imaginary. His point is that he sees them through a pristine, carefully curated lens that he has built up through repeated but intermittent exposure. Recognizing that his version of Japan is idealized doesn't reduce what he loves about it. It does restore a kind of balance, protecting him from the catastrophic thought that he will never be happy unless he lives there.
What He Allows Himself to Be There
In the final section, Hussey admits that part of what he loves about Japan is who he lets himself be when he is there. Japan is where he goes to feel things he rarely permits himself in everyday life: safe, carefree, easy on himself, spontaneous and anonymous.
That leads to a question he leaves open: could he let himself enjoy more of that mode where he lives the rest of the year? He would not bring home the unhealthy habits, which he considers unsustainable in daily life. He would want the freedom, the lightness and the sense of spontaneous exploration.
He ends by inviting viewers to share their own experiences: whether there is a place they have a love affair with, what they love about it, and what it has taught them.
Japan is expensive, it's far, it's difficult to get to. So, why do I keep going there? That was a question my producer asked me when I told her that I was once again taking a family trip to Japan, this time with my 4-month-old son. On one hand, I clearly just love it, but it's also a place that I have learned a lot from. So, I thought I would make the kind of video I never make in a sea of love life videos, and that I would actually share with you what Japan has taught me about love and life.
I also hope you'll keep in mind that I am not an expert on Japan, and that I am well aware of the fact that it is so easy to romanticize a place as a visitor. This subject remains a deeply personal one to me, so I wanted to share it with you. As always, if you have clicked on this video, please give it a like so that other people can find it, too, and hit subscribe so that you and I can stay in touch.
One thing I learned from Japan is the craftsman's approach. I love how much they give a in Japan when it comes to things that they do or make. It feels like there's an obsession with doing the job well and taking pride in the work. You might have seen references to this in things like sushi making, but it extends to everything. People disproportionately seem to take pride in doing what they do, no matter what it is, whether it's a kissaten, a traditional Japanese coffee house where the owner has spent 40 years making the same cup of coffee, or a tiny Neapolitan pizza place where one person has devoted their entire life to perfecting dough. You can see it in the way a shopkeeper meticulously wraps your purchase, or in the business that makes artisanal cola, which is mind-blowingly good.
One of my favorite films is Perfect Days. It's about a man who cleans toilets in Tokyo, but the film treats him almost like he's a sushi master. He approaches his work with this quiet devotion, this insistence on doing even the smallest thing beautifully. My experience with Japan is not that this film is an exaggeration, but an accurate portrayal of what I have witnessed in how so many people go about their work.
No, it's not that I don't see excellence in England, where I'm from, or in America, where I live presently. It's that in those places, when I see obsession with excellence, it's often sought as a means to an end. Excellence is a vehicle to growth, or scale, or conventional success. But so much of what I see in Japan is excellence sought at the expense of these things. I've come across hundreds of small businesses where it feels like the goal isn't necessarily to build an empire, but to do something really, really well.
So, what's the lesson here? For one thing, there is a cost to trying to be too many things at once. In my life, I have done a lot of things. I coach, I make videos, I write books, I lead an organization, I want to be present with my family, and of course, I want to do all of these things brilliantly. But in reality, excellence comes from doing less. If we care about quality, we have to care about reducing the number of things we try to do, which is something I'm doing in my life right now.
Japan also instilled in me a different sense of collective well-being. Something ironic about Japan is that for its lack of public trash cans, there is almost no trash on the streets, and it is one of the cleanest cities on Earth. When trash cans were removed, people got used to disposing of trash at home.
Something about this rubbed off on me on a deep level. I have long held the philosophy that you should try to leave people better than you found them. I say that about dating all the time, but it also applies to any kind of relationship. But I have since added to that philosophy the tenet of leaving places better than you found them.
I am not saying I'm a saint who always lives up to this, but in small ways, it has made a profound difference to the way I approach life. When I'm in a coffee shop, I don't just see it as the coffee shop owner's responsibility to make the place nice. I started to see it as my own, at least in whatever corner of that coffee shop I occupied. It might be as simple as me putting my chair back the way that the coffee shop owner intended it when I stand up and leave, or returning my cup to the counter.
I even apply it to public toilets. I try to leave the toilet cubicle a little better than I found it. I obviously don't do this for recognition. I'm not even sure I've ever said this out loud before, and it doesn't matter to me really if the next person comes along and trashes the cubicle after me. I'd like for them not to do that, but it doesn't make me wish I hadn't made it nice.
There is something about this practice that has just been good for my soul. I have become more proud of the way that I move through life, of the way that I influence the spaces I'm in. It feels more conscious, and it's a practice that strangely has actually made me like myself a little bit more.
What's up, guys? I know we are talking about Japan today, but I also know that the broader goal of so many of you watching this channel is to find love. I did an event back in January called the Year of Love. You may have heard of it. Thousands of you came to it, thousands more missed it, and then complained about missing it. So, I am doing this event one more time live on the 21st of April and I am going to show you in this event a four-step simple intentional plan for finding love in 2026.
If this is one of your big goals in your life right now, is to have an amazing healthy relationship, you have to be there. It's free. Thousands are going to attend, but it's only happening once. So, go to joinyearoflove.com to sign up. It'll take you 10 seconds and I will see you on April the 21st for the Year of Love. Now, back to talking about Japan.
Japan also taught me to invest where you are. Japan inspired me to care about design and even more so how much love we give to the design of our own home, me and Audrey. One of the shocking things about Japan is how intentional spaces are. You walk into a random coffee shop that has no business being so aesthetically pleasing and yet here it is with intentional cups, dishware, indoor plants, a carefully curated theme, whether it's Japandi minimalism, cottagecore vibes, or retro nostalgia.
This rubbed off on me. Inspired by the listening bars in Japan where you literally go to order a drink, sit at the bar, and listen to records, we designed a wooden shelving nook in our home to represent or to resemble aspects of the listening bars' design. We replaced what was a lot of bachelor metal in the house. It's what Audrey describes my design choices before she came along as.
Four things men really want in the bedroom. Number one, 65-inch flat screen on the wall. Number two, fish tank, lava lamp.
My design choices before she came along as, with earthy colors and materials and woods and created bright clean spaces for ourselves to live and work in. But more important than exactly what we did with our house was the fact that we were putting love into it. We were putting ourselves into it, considering the kind of space that we'd really love to live in that would spark joy for us.
And it felt like that really paid off when we came home this time because I had, coming back from Japan, my typical post-Japan melancholy. But then we walked into a space that instantly made us feel excited to be home. And that felt validating because all of that care, all of that love that we had poured into our home last year, suddenly made sense. Yes, Audrey and I had left a place we loved in Japan. That made us sad, but we had returned to a place we love, a place that made us feel happy and calm and which consequently softened the blow immensely. So much so that I feel genuinely excited to be home.
There's a comparison there, by the way, with romantic relationships, that when we invest in the home that is us, whether it's our confidence, our love for ourselves, the way we expand our mind, our friendships, our family relationships, our own life at the same time as being in love with somebody else or dating somebody else, we insulate ourselves against the worst kinds of heartbreak that can happen when we build a home in someone else. So I think that this lesson is just as transferable to romantic relationships. When you invest where you are, when you invest in the home that's yourself, you actually protect yourself against future heartbreaks, against the relationships that inevitably you have to leave or the ones that leave you.
All of this, of course, is an incredible romanticization of a place I love. I am well aware that there is an underbelly to Japan that I do not interact with and that every trait has its inverse. The cultural norms that make Japan so fascinating and novel to visit make it oppressive for many who live there. The preoccupation with maintaining a national identity creates both the Japan that feels highly distilled, making it a wonderland to visit, while also making integration extremely difficult even for many who have lived there their entire lives. I'm also not a Japanese woman existing within a deeply patriarchal society. I know that I do not know Japan. I visit Japan. That is a big difference.
And not only do I not live day-to-day life in Japan, I don't even live my own day-to-day life in Japan. My Japan is filled with days of ambling along tiny streets with no pressure to be anywhere or do anything. My Japan is filled with consequence-free beers, consuming vast quantities of carbs and sugar and chaining coffee in a way I would never do back home. My weeks there do not resemble my real life. Not just because I'm in a foreign land, but because I take a foreign version of myself with me when I go. Were I to be living my actual day-to-day life in Japan over a long period of time, I may have a completely different perspective.
It's not unlike a long-distance relationship with a person where we don't truly know how compatible we would be with them until we find ourselves living in the same place as them, maybe under the same roof. In my extended honeymoon with Japan, I never truly get to know what my real life would feel like lived in Japan. It may even be more akin to an affair that is exciting precisely because the person one is having an affair with remains on the outside of the relationship where their worst habits and character traits are never truly experienced. Reality never hits, so the fantasy stays alive.
To be clear, I'm not saying that the things I love about Japan aren't authentic or that they are just figments of my imagination. It's more that they are a pristine and carefully curated lens that I have created through repeated but intermittent exposure. Being aware that my version of Japan is an idealized one doesn't take away what I love about it. But it does restore a kind of balance that insulates me against the kind of catastrophic thinking that says I will never be happy unless I can live over there.
I also have to recognize that part of what I love about Japan is who I allow myself to be when I'm there. That it is a place I go to feel the things that I rarely give myself permission to feel in my everyday life: safe, carefree, easy on myself, spontaneous, anonymous. Which I suppose begs the question, is this a mode that I could allow myself to enjoy a little more where I live the rest of the year? Perhaps not the unhealthy habits, which would be unsustainable in everyday life, but the freedom, the lightness, and the sense of spontaneous exploration.
I could easily go on for another hour about this. This was a bit of a passion subject for me, so thank you for indulging me. I truly hope you enjoyed it, but let me know what it brought up for you. Is there a place that you have a love affair with? What do you love about it? What has it taught you? I'm sure there will be so much variety in these responses. They may even inspire the rest of us reading them to visit the places that mean so much to you. So I can't wait to read and respond to them. Thank you for watching. I'll see you in the comments.
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