Let’s be honest, we’ve all had that “dream Jili”—a big, audacious goal that feels just out of reach, shimmering on the horizon. It might be launching a business, writing a novel, or mastering a complex skill. For years, I treated my goals like vague wishes, and unsurprisingly, they remained just that. It wasn’t until I started viewing my ambitions through a different lens, oddly enough inspired by a narrative about feudal Japan, that I cracked the code. The journey to your dream Jili isn't a straight sprint; it's a strategic campaign where unseen obstacles and active resistance are part of the terrain. Think of the reference material describing the three Templar lieutenants on Awaji Island, each creating a unique type of friction for the protagonists Naoe and Yasuke. Their challenges mirror the very real, dynamic barriers we face when pursuing anything meaningful. Your goal isn't just sitting there waiting for you; the path to it is actively defended by your own personal "lieutenants" of doubt, distraction, and complexity.
The first lieutenant you must identify is your internal Spymaster. This is the voice of over-analysis and hidden sabotage. Just as the spymaster’s agents blend into the populace, your Spymaster’s tools are the subtle, everyday thoughts that undermine you. You decide to "scout" a new opportunity—maybe research a course or reach out to a potential mentor. Immediately, your Spymaster floods the zone with reinforcements: "Is this really the right time? What if you fail? Look at all these other people already doing it better." These thoughts, hidden in the unassuming clothing of practicality and caution, surprise you with blades of hesitation. I’ve lost count of the projects that died in the "scouting phase" because I let this internal surveillance convince me the landscape was too hostile. The key is to recognize this pattern. Your initial forays will attract mental resistance; expect it. The tactic isn't to avoid scouting, but to do it quickly and commit before the reinforcements of doubt fully mobilize. I now give myself a 48-hour rule for initial research on a new step—just enough to map the objective, not enough for the Spymaster to build an army against it.
Once you move, you’ll encounter the second lieutenant: the Samurai. This represents the overt, structural barriers on the main road to your goal. The samurai patrols the obvious paths, setting up roadblocks. In real life, these are the formal requirements, the stiff competition, the need for credentials, or the sheer logistical grind. Want that promotion? The Samurai has placed the roadblock of "needing five years of management experience." Writing a book? The Samurai patrols with the daily, battle-hardened routine of actually writing 500 words, every single day, which is far harder than it sounds. We often waste energy trying to storm these roadblocks head-on through sheer willpower. Sometimes that works, but it’s exhausting. The lesson from Naoe and Yasuke isn't that they always fight the soldiers; it's that they know the Samurai exists and that the main road will be hard. You must either prepare to be strong enough to pass the checkpoints—by acquiring that experience, building that discipline—or, crucially, be prepared to find another route. But beware, the main road isn't the only challenge.
This brings us to the third and most insidious lieutenant: the Shinobi. If the Spymaster works on your mind and the Samurai on the obvious path, the Shinobi sabotages your alternative routes and your safe havens. This is the realm of ambushes and poisoned blades on the side roads. You think, "I'll skip the traditional career ladder and build a personal brand online." The Shinobi is there with the smoke bomb of algorithm changes and the poisoned blade of comparison culture. You decide to take a weekend off to recharge in the "wilderness" of disconnection, and the Shinobi sets the tripwire of guilt—"you should be working." In my own journey to build a consulting practice, avoiding corporate structure, I faced constant Shinobi attacks: scope creep from clients that felt like ambushes, the poisoned blade of imposter syndrome when working alone, and the tripwire of burnout from never truly hiding from work. The Shinobi ensures there’s no perfectly safe, sneaky path. The counter is not to seek a path without obstacles, but to develop a sensor for these ambushes. Expect smoke bombs (sudden distractions), have an antidote for the poison (a mantra or practice to counter negative self-talk), and watch carefully for tripwires (the habits that lead to burnout).
So, how do you actually unlock your dream Jili amidst these three active lieutenants? It requires a layered strategy. First, you must map your campaign. Name your goal precisely. Is it "achieve a senior director role" or "publish a historical fiction novel"? Then, forecast the lieutenants. Where will your Spymaster strike? Likely at the planning stage. Where will the Samurai's roadblocks appear? In the key milestones. Where will the Shinobi lay ambushes? In your contingency plans and rest periods. I estimate that 70% of successful goal achievement is in this anticipatory mapping. Next, you engage sequentially but flexibly. You might need to conduct swift, decisive actions to bypass your Spymaster's intelligence network—just start before you're ready. You’ll need to gather resources to pass the Samurai's checkpoints—maybe that’s a new certification or a solid portfolio piece. And you must always move with awareness, knowing the Shinobi is in the shadows, ready to exploit haste or fatigue. This isn't a linear process; it's a dynamic game of pressure and adaptation. You’ll have days where you break through a Samurai roadblock, only to walk into a Shinobi smoke bomb the very next morning. The process is messy, but conscious.
Ultimately, unlocking your dream Jili is less about a pristine step-by-step checklist and more about becoming a strategic commander of your own resources and attention. The three lieutenants—Spymaster, Samurai, Shinobi—aren't there to stop you permanently. They are the inherent friction of any worthwhile endeavor. They test your commitment, refine your strategy, and separate a fleeting wish from a true purpose. When you start to see your setbacks not as random failures but as the predictable tactics of these internalized adversaries, you disarm their power. You begin to respond rather than react. The dream Jili stops being a distant fantasy and becomes an operational objective. Your campaign will be unique, but the nature of the resistance is universal. So, map your terrain, expect the lieutenants, and advance. The goal is not just to reach the destination, but to become the person capable of the journey.