Itadakimasu

Salmon onigiri from Onigiri Gorichan in Osaka’s Nakazakichō neighborhood

There’s a small ritual I’ve adopted—quiet, simple, easy to miss—but it’s changed how I move through the world.

Every time I sit down to eat, I say: Itadakimasu.

In Japan, itadakimasu is said before every meal. It’s often taught to children early on, ingrained into daily life like brushing your teeth or greeting someone hello. The word itself loosely translates to “I humbly receive,” but its meaning stretches far deeper than that. It’s not just about food—it’s about gratitude, respect, and presence.

The phrase has Buddhist roots. In traditional Japanese culture, heavily influenced by Shinto and Buddhist beliefs, all living things are seen as part of a vast interconnected whole. Saying itadakimasu before eating acknowledges that lives—plant, animal, human—have been sacrificed or dedicated for your nourishment. It’s a verbal offering of respect to everything and everyone involved in the creation of a meal, including nature itself.

The verb itadaku (頂く) is the humble form of “to receive.” It’s the same verb used when receiving a gift from someone of higher status. That humility is the key. It’s not “I’m about to eat this,” it’s “I am honored to receive this.” It’s a moment of reverence.

I didn’t grow up saying itadakimasu, but during a recent extended stay in Japan, I found myself immersed in its rhythm. It quickly became second nature. What started as cultural courtesy transformed into something deeply personal—a small act that reshaped my relationship with food, gratitude, and even time.

When I say itadakimasu now, it’s not just about food. It’s about pausing. It’s about honoring interconnectedness. It’s about choosing to see the invisible labor of the rice farmer, the fisherman, the delivery driver, the chef, the ceramicist who made the bowl. It’s about recognizing nature’s quiet abundance and our place within it.

It’s become a practice in humility.

And it’s shifted how I consume—everything.

We live in a world that glorifies speed. Meals are eaten in cars, in front of screens, during back-to-back Zooms. We’re often barely aware of what we’re putting into our bodies, let alone how it got there. Itadakimasu asks us to slow down. To make space. To receive with intention.

For me, this shows up in how I plate my meals, how I arrange my table, how I sit comfortably and allow myself to be fully present. No phone, no rush. Just color, scent, texture. Just being there. It might sound quaint, but it’s profoundly grounding.

When you pay attention, you start to notice. The beauty, yes—but also the dissonance. The excess packaging, the convenience shortcuts, the small ways consumption and convenience collide. And yet, that awareness brings a sense of agency too. It invites small shifts. Conscious choices.

This awareness doesn’t just live in the kitchen. I find myself whispering itadakimasu when I walk through a sunny street, when I take in an unexpected kindness, when I’m struck by inspiration. It’s become a kind of mantra for life: Thank you. I receive this. Fully, humbly.

It’s made me think about how this ethos weaves into my work. As a creative, as someone who makes things for others to experience and use, I often reflect on the reciprocal energy of giving and receiving. What does it mean to receive generously? To create mindfully? To be a part of a greater web?

For all of this, I thank Japanese culture—not just for the language, but for the perspective. For the invitation to soften, to pay attention, to honor the whole.

Itadakimasu—I will humbly receive—has become a guiding principle. Not just at the table, but everywhere. It is gratitude. It is reverence. It is appetite. For food, for life, for all that we’re lucky enough to take in.

And I’m here for all of it.