Looking back, I am thankful that I didn't go into the film

Hear the words of Hideo Kojima, a visionary of stories woven through games, who declared: “Looking back, I am thankful that I didn’t go into the film industry.” At first, these words may strike the ear as strange, for was it not the dream of many artists to step into the halls of cinema, to carve their legacy in light and shadow? Yet Kojima’s statement is not one of regret but of revelation—he gives thanks for the road not taken, for the detour that became destiny. His voice carries a teaching for all: that gratitude is not only for what we gain, but also for the doors that remain closed.

The first jewel in this saying is the recognition of thankfulness for divergence. Too often men and women mourn the paths denied them, believing their lives lesser because a dream was not fulfilled. But Kojima teaches that blessings may lie hidden in the roads we never walk. By not entering film, he discovered a new realm—video games—where he became not merely a storyteller but an architect of worlds. Gratitude here is not backward-looking despair, but forward-looking wisdom: to see that destiny is shaped as much by what we do not become as by what we do.

The second flame in his words is the understanding of unique calling. The film industry was a noble path, but it was not his path. Had he gone that way, his vision might have been constrained, his voice one among many in a crowded chorus. Instead, by embracing another craft, he pioneered a form where storytelling, artistry, and interactivity merged into something wholly new. His thankfulness reveals the truth that greatness does not come from imitating others, but from walking the road meant for oneself.

The third truth is the paradox of limits as liberation. What seemed like a limitation—that he did not enter the world of film—became the very thing that freed him to innovate. This echoes an eternal principle: when doors close, new horizons open. Many of history’s greatest achievements were born not from having all paths available, but from constraints that forced creativity. Thus Kojima’s gratitude is heroic—he thanks not only for blessings received, but for limitations endured, for they gave him wings to rise where others could not.

History gives us a mirror in the story of Leonardo da Vinci. Though he longed to complete great sculptures and buildings, many of these commissions fell through or were left unfinished. Yet the very failures of his architectural dreams turned his focus toward notebooks filled with visions, inventions, and studies of the human form—works that would inspire the world for centuries. Like Kojima, he could look back and be thankful for what did not come to pass, for it led him toward the work that would make him immortal.

The fourth jewel is the teaching that gratitude reshapes perspective. Kojima could have said, “I regret not becoming a filmmaker.” Instead, he chose to be thankful. In doing so, he transforms what might seem a loss into a gift. This is the power of gratitude—it turns missed opportunities into hidden blessings, and failures into foundations. It is not the circumstance that defines us, but the lens through which we view it.

The lesson for us is clear: do not despair over the doors that close. What feels like denial may be redirection. Be thankful not only for the dreams realized, but also for the ones denied, for they shape you into who you were meant to be. The paths you do not walk are not wasted; they guard you from what is not yours, and they point you toward what is.

Practically, take time to reflect on the things you once longed for but never attained. Instead of bitterness, practice gratitude—ask yourself: What blessings came because that path was denied? What unique journey did I walk instead? Train your heart to see every closed door as a guidepost rather than a grave, and your life will become rich with meaning.

Thus Kojima’s words echo like ancient wisdom: be thankful not only for what you have, but for what you escaped, for what you were kept from, and for what you became instead. For the destiny of a soul is shaped not only by the paths it treads, but by the ones it leaves behind.