The Shokunin Code
Why mastering one thing, deeply, might be the only path left to fulfillment.
The market’s been volatile. The downtrend in U.S. equities is real. My recent Brazilian picks are working, and I’m holding cash. But the hardest part right now? Fighting the urge to overtrade. To force it. When all mastery demands is patience.
But let’s be clear.
You don’t need a guru. And I’m not your guru.
I don’t have incense or a course to sell you. But I do have a message. One that will challenge you. One that might make you uncomfortable. But if you let it settle into your bones, it’ll make you better. It’ll change the way you see your work, your discipline, and your life.
The other day I re-watched a documentary about a man who carved sushi rice.
Jiro Ono runs a 3-Michelin-star sushi restaurant in a Tokyo subway station. For context, 3 star restaurants mean it’s worth a trip to the country just for the restaurant. And in Jiro’s restaurant there are just ten seats. If you need to use the bathroom, you have to leave the premises entirely and go into the tunnel. It’s a dichotomy. Perfection in a subway station? Can’t be true.
Jiro is the ultimate embodiment of vibes, not as an aesthetic, but as an atmosphere born from thousands of hours of unseen practice. Every cut, every placement, every silence is earned. His intuition didn’t come from talent. It came from devotion. As Jiro put it, “When you work so hard, when you learn to love your work, your intuition becomes a part of you.”
But it’s not just the sushi that stayed with me. It’s what he said.
"You must dedicate your life to mastering your skill. That is the secret of success... and is the key to being regarded honorably."
That’s Shokunin.
Shokunin seek the absolute highest quality. They wake up each day yearning to improve and not because they know what perfection looks like, but because they’re devoted to reaching for it anyway. Bit by bit. Year by year. They chase the top without ever fully knowing where the top is. And still, they climb. Not for applause. Not for validation. But because better is the only direction that makes sense.
It’s not just being good at something. It’s turning the mundane into the sacred. It’s discipline without drama. Repetition without boredom. Pride without ego. It’s falling so deeply into the rhythm of your craft that the work becomes prayer.
And in a world obsessed with speed, shortcuts, hacks, and external validation, this way of being is radical.
Shokunin is a Japanese word that translates to "artisan" or "craftsman," but that’s like calling Da Vinci a painter. It misses the essence. The Shokunin mindset is about mastery, service, and soul. It’s not about applause. It’s about alignment.
It’s waking up with purpose. Not because it’s easy. But because it’s sacred. Every gesture, every task, a quiet offering. Not to the world, but to the work itself.
“All I want to do is make better sushi. I do the same thing over and over, improving bit by bit.” That’s Jiro. That’s Shokunin. That’s the quiet anthem of mastery. Not louder. Not faster. Just better.
Most people treat their work like a means to an end. They show up. They check boxes. They collect checks. They’re good enough to not get fired. But rarely good enough to feel proud. They confuse activity with purpose. Productivity with meaning. They race through life chasing dopamine, wondering why it feels hollow. Why nothing sticks. Why their heart isn't in it.
Here’s the truth: you will never feel fulfilled doing work you don’t respect. And you will never respect work you don’t do with care. The Shokunin mindset flips the entire game. It says: fall in love with doing the hard things well. Even when no one sees. Especially when no one sees. And in that devotion you meet your soul again.
So how do you live like a Shokunin? You don’t need a monastery. Or a katana. You need intention. You need discipline. And you need to stop outsourcing your self-worth to performance metrics. Start with the basics. And start by refining your taste. Because Shokunin know: you can’t make great things if you don’t recognize what great is. Your palate becomes your compass. The inputs shape the outputs. The music you hear, the food you savor, the writing you admire, all of it molds your intuition. You must feed your senses with excellence if you expect to create anything worthy of it. “In order to make delicious food, you must eat delicious food,” Jiro said. “You must train your palate. You must continually develop your sensitivity to good taste.” Most chase novelty. Shokunin chase nuance. They fall in love with the grip of the knife. The weight of the brush. The stillness before the first move. Mastering your craft begins by mastering your stance. You wouldn’t think this rang true in investing, but it does. Think about it.
And then take radical pride in invisible things. Anyone can show up when it’s sexy. Shokunin show up when it’s silent. When no one claps. When no one cares. They sweat the angle of a seam. The curve of a comma. Not for praise, but because their name is on it. Excellence isn’t about being seen. It’s about being proud.
Next, detach from outcomes. Attach to process. A Shokunin doesn’t ask, “How many likes did it get?” They ask, “Did I do it right?” Jiro said, “You have to pour your heart into the work. You have to really like what you do… You must be able to make an effort to stay on the same path for a long time.”
And forget motivation. That comes and goes. Build rhythm. Build discipline. Jiro doesn’t need hype. He shows up because that’s who he is. That’s what Shokunin do. “Even at my age, after decades of work, I don’t think I’ve achieved perfection. But I wake up every day at 5 a.m. and go to work. I always want to improve.”
Watch closely and you’ll notice something else: he’s not doing this alone. Jiro’s restaurant relies on trusted suppliers who are masters in their own right, the tuna expert, the shrimp purveyor, the rice dealer. Each chosen not for price, but for principle. The Shokunin path honors collaboration without compromise. Excellence, in Jiro’s world, is communal. Together everyone wins.
They also obsess over cleanliness. Not just for hygiene, but for honor. At Jiro’s restaurant, the level of care goes beyond what’s visible to the guest. The towels are folded with precision. The counters are spotless. The knives gleam. Cleanliness isn’t a task, it’s a mindset. A form of respect. For the work. For the guest. For the craft.
This is a reminder that Shokunin isn’t just for chefs. You can become a Shokunin in anything. Writing. Parenting. Designing. Selling. Living. And yes investing. It’s not about sushi. It’s about care. It’s about choosing to approach your life as a craft. With pride in the process. With reverence in the small things.
When you carry yourself like a Shokunin, every moment becomes an opportunity to show the world who you are. Not through shouting, but through sharpening. Through noticing. Through returning, every day, to the work with clear eyes and clean hands. They mentor. They teach. You don’t have to be loud. Just generous. Just consistent. Just better than you were yesterday. Jiro teaches rice-cooking like it’s a sacred rite. He expresses care not through words, but through standards.
I also learned that in sushi, timing is everything. The rice must be at the perfect temperature. The fish must be served at its exact peak, sometimes within minutes of missing its moment. Jiro understands that mastery isn’t just about the what. It’s about the when. They focus on the when, every single moment of their lives
And maybe most important: fall in love with the long game.
Which 100% holds true in investing. Or life. Wisdom isn’t just choosing the right thing, it’s knowing the right moment. That kind of sensitivity only comes from experience. From repetition. From respect for rhythm. Shokunin know: greatness isn’t just precision. It’s presence. There is no finish line. No arrival. Just deeper devotion. That’s not weakness. That’s power. In a distracted world, stillness is rebellion. Discipline is freedom. This one should help you all in this market right now, respect the timing. Respect the “when”. Focus on the long game
And shifting gears a touch here’s something you may need to hear: Passion isn’t something you find. It’s something you build. Passion is not lightning. It’s a slow burn. Jiro found it massaging octopus. Honing rice. Watching his apprentices fail at egg custard 200 times before they get it right.
“Once you decide on your occupation … you must immerse yourself in your work. You have to fall in love with your work. Never complain about your job. You must dedicate yourself to mastering your skill. That’s the secret of success.”
Shokunin isn’t loud. It isn’t fast. It isn’t for tourists. But it’s the most rewarding way to move through the world. It’s how you rediscover your passion, by honoring the process instead of chasing the prize.
KPIs. Growth hacks. Optimization tools. They’re fine. But they’re shallow if you forget what they’re in service of. You want to be irreplaceable? Care more. Go deeper. Be the one who bleeds into the work. While others chase dopamine, you chase depth. While others quit, you keep sweeping the floor. Sharpening the blade. Smiling in the quiet. You don’t need applause to matter. You need standards.
You don’t need to move to Tokyo or wear a chef’s robe. You just need to decide: Will you treat your work as a transaction? Or as a chance to meet your soul? Because every task is a reflection. Every effort is a message to yourself. Your work is not separate from your life. It is a mirror of your spirit.
So be the one who sharpens the knife. Who keeps their word. Who does the work when no one is watching.
Be the one who shows the world:
Greatness isn’t loud. It’s disciplined. Fulfillment isn’t given. It’s earned. Passion isn’t found. It’s forged.
Read this again tomorrow. Before your first email. Before your brain gets hijacked by noise. And see if you don’t move different.
And remember this last little fact about Jiro: when the Michelin judges came to eat at his restaurant for judging, it wasn’t even Jiro behind the counter that day. It was his son. The work still earned three stars. That’s the power of standards. Of knowledge passed down, not just through words, but through example. Through rhythm. Through care. True Shokunin don’t just make. They teach. They leave a trail of excellence behind them, long after they’re gone. As Jiro once said, “A great chef has to develop his own sense of taste. He needs to be able to distinguish between what is good and what is not.” Legacy begins with discernment and lives on through devotion.
This isn’t about sushi. It’s about soul. And how you show up … for everything.
That is Shokunin. And that is how you build a life that hugs your soul and lights a fire in everyone who meets you.
The best is ahead,
Victaurs