Two 1960s wooden houses opposite my old home in Suginami, one of Tokyo's western wards known for its quieter residential neighbourhoods, were suddenly deconstructed over the course of a week. Within about six months, a new apartment building had risen in their place.
The construction timeline was notably faster than conventional on-site building methods. The developer likely achieved this speed through process efficiencies, such as assembling prefabricated modules off-site, allowing different phases to progress simultaneously.
Beyond technological innovation, the project's efficient management and the construction team's discipline were evident. I watched as the workers arrived and departed punctually each day, completing their tasks with focus and precision. Their collaboration was smooth and carried out with minimal disruption to the surrounding neighbourhood.
The pre-construction phase in Japan can be extensive, encompassing the planning and permitting processes that precede site preparation and foundation work. Zoning regulations, safety standards, and community consultations often lengthen this stage, ensuring all necessary protocols are met before visible progress begins.
In the case of the apartment in my neighbourhood, there was likely a protracted consultation period before the old wooden houses were deconstructed. Site preparation and foundation work progressed steadily, but the building seemed to rise with astonishing speed once construction began. In Tokyo, this is common—structural work, particularly the final stages, moves rapidly, giving the impression that buildings have materialised almost overnight, seamlessly blending into the streetscape.
I’m currently in the final stages of writing my book, applying the finishing touches to its overall flow and pacing. Without rushing, I aim to embody the same spirit as that new apartment building—bringing it to completion efficiently and without unnecessary delay. Yet, the process is filled with obstacles. The difficulty of finishing projects is well-documented, with the final stages often referred to as the "last mile problem."
A study by psychologists Steel and Klingsieck (2016) highlights how procrastination peaks in the last mile, driven by heightened anxiety, decision fatigue, and perfectionism, often causing projects to stall indefinitely. In their research, participants working on long-term tasks exhibited significantly higher rates of procrastination as they approached completion. The desire to deliver a flawless result amplified feelings of uncertainty, leading to task avoidance and delays, even when deadlines were clear. This demonstrates the mental strain that finalising work can impose.
I've previously written about my setbacks with unfinished projects in a newsletter, reflecting on the ideas I've started but never fully realised. However, the newsletter has become an antidote—its weekly, relatively short, and self-contained format has kept the momentum going. While the current book project is a more significant undertaking, I'm mindful of keeping the pace up towards the end, pushing through the difficult stages of finalisation to avoid letting it drift into that limbo of creative stasis.
I often think of the Japanese verb 仕上げる (shiageru), meaning "to finish" or "to complete." It carries a sense of refinement and the act of bringing something to its final, polished state. The word comprises two kanji: 仕 (shi), which means "to serve" or "to work," and 上 (ue or jou), meaning "up" or "above." The verb 上げる (ageru), derived from this kanji, means "to raise" or "to bring up." The kanji 仕 evokes the idea of dedicated effort or craftsmanship—work done with care and intention—while 上げる suggests lifting something to a higher plane.
Adopting shiageru as a mindset, and constantly reminding myself to refocus, deftly manoeuvring the work toward completion rather than becoming entrenched in endless options, feels like a way to overcome the challenges of the last mile.
With that said, I’m feeling somewhat worded out this week. So, my friends, I leave you with a brief photo essay of eclectic Tokyo buildings from my archive. Collectively, they must represent years of planning and permitting, with perhaps a bit less time spent on the final fit-out. I hope you’ll appreciate their squared-off geometric forms and the mix of contemporary and retro finishes.
Until we meet in Tokyo,
AJ
Back Issues
Tokyothèque