This morning, as I waited for my coffee machine to finish brewing, a question came to mind:

“What does efficiency leave out?”

With just the press of a button, a cup is ready in about ten seconds. It’s convenient. It’s rational. And yet, during that short wait, I found myself thinking—when people brew coffee slowly by hand, one cup at a time, isn’t there something in that process?

In fact, this same question had crossed my mind recently while I was hiking Mt. Ikeguchi.

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A sentence I heard in Toyamago

Mt. Ikeguchi lies deep in the Southern Alps, in a remote and quiet region. The night before my climb, I stayed at a local inn called Irori no Yado Shimahata. The owner was incredibly kind and cheerful, and shared many stories with me.

One thing he said stayed with me:

“Not long ago, there were about 250 elementary and junior high school students here. Now, there’s only one high school student left. There just aren’t jobs for young people.”

The trail from Toyamago to Mt. Ikeguchi is carefully maintained. But as depopulation continues, there is no guarantee this environment will be preserved. As I gained elevation, I found myself wondering: What will this trail look like ten years from now?

For young people, leaving their hometown is, in many ways, a rational choice. Moving to a big city offers better career opportunities and financial stability. On an individual level, it makes sense. But when those rational choices accumulate, they lead to a reality like this—only one high school student remaining.

Primary industries, manufacturing, tourism—these are all fields that require time, physical effort, and patience. Results don’t come quickly. Over time, they are labeled as “inefficient,” and gradually, people stop choosing them. But cultivating terraced rice fields, growing trees, tending a fire in an inn—within those processes live the memory, culture, and landscape of a region. I couldn’t help but feel that what has been left behind is exactly what once sustained places like Toyamago.

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What efficiency removes is not only waste

I don’t think this applies only to Toyamago.

Ask AI a question, and you get an instant answer. Take supplements, and you can replace nutrients that are hard to get from food. Search online, and you know the meaning of a word in seconds. Hire a nanny, and parents can focus on work.

All of this is rational. Time is limited, after all.

But when you used to look up a word in a dictionary, didn’t you sometimes encounter unfamiliar words while flipping through the pages? And didn’t those chance encounters occasionally open doors to unexpected interests?

In my research, I’ve been thinking about a paradox:

the more AI optimizes for efficiency, the more it may reduce the space for human thinking.

When perfect answers are delivered instantly, we may stop thinking for ourselves. But this is not just a problem unique to AI—it may simply be part of a much older and larger trend: the pursuit of efficiency itself.

Supplements deliver nutrients, but they don’t carry what was embedded in the process of choosing ingredients, cooking, and eating—our dialogue with the body, a sense of the seasons, gratitude for food.

A nanny can reduce the burden of childcare, but the process of forming attachment for the child—and the way parents themselves grow through raising a child—may not be replaceable.

Efficiency does not only remove waste.

It may also remove something essential that once lived within the process.

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What exists within inefficiency

I have climbed over 250 mountains.

Mountains are fundamentally inefficient. They consume time and energy. If the goal were only the view from the summit, one could simply watch a drone video.

And yet, what I seek exists within the process of climbing.

It is a quiet space where my past self, present self, and future self begin to converse.

On Mt. Ikeguchi, as I looked out over Toyamago, I found such a moment.

In a way, the coffee machine this morning offered something similar. I wasn’t doing anything—just waiting. And in those few seconds of doing nothing, this question emerged.

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A question not to pass by too quickly

This is not a question I discovered on my own.

It is likely one that many people have encountered at some point. Some may pause when thinking about AI. Others through parenting. Others still may first feel it when hearing that there is only one high school student left in Toyamago.

No matter the entry point, the question is the same.

I am not trying to deny efficiency.

Rather, I believe what is being asked of us is this:

What do we choose to remove, and what do we choose to keep?

That was the thought that came to me this morning, standing in front of the coffee machine.

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Masaki “Mark” Iino
Founder & CEO
SOPHOLA, Inc

P.S. The roadside station in Toyamago has a wonderful hot spring and great food—I highly recommend stopping by!

I also heard about the Shimotsuki Festival, designated as an Important Intangible Folk Cultural Property of Japan, held in December. I’d love to visit with my children someday.