Today is August 20th.
Only 7 days left until the JLPT results come out.
More than a month has passed since the exam ended.
During this time, friends, family, and classmates have kept asking me:
"How did it go?"
"You'll probably pass, right?"
"Do you think you passed N2?"
Every time someone asks, I honestly don't know how to answer.
Because to be honest, I have no idea myself.
Before the exam, I did a few practice tests, and my scores were consistently at the "barely passing" level.
Not the kind of score where you're confident and comfortable.
More like:
If things go normally, I might pass. If they don't, I might fail.
So all I can do now is—
wait for the result.
According to official JLPT information, the first 2026 JLPT exam was held on July 5th.
And right now, I'm standing at the finish line of that exam, waiting for the final verdict.
Does putting in this much effort guarantee I'll get the result I want?
I've been thinking about one question this whole time.
I believe I've put in more time and energy into learning Japanese than most ordinary learners.
Since coming to Japan, I've been studying Japanese non-stop.
Memorizing vocabulary.
Learning grammar.
Practicing reading comprehension.
Practicing listening.
Grinding through past JLPT exams.
Doing practice tests.
I invested a huge amount of time preparing for this N2 exam.
So of course, I hope my effort pays off with the result I want.
But—
does putting in effort guarantee you get the result you want?
I've increasingly come to feel:
not necessarily.
This isn't pessimism.
If anything, I've come to see it as a very realistic problem.
I'm not denying that "effort always brings some kind of return."
Effort definitely brings change.
But the problem is:
what you gain isn't necessarily the same as what you wanted.
These two things aren't actually contradictory.
The gap between 59 and 60 might be just one point
Imagine an exam out of 100 points, where 60 is a passing score.
Someone who didn't study seriously at all ends up scoring 30.
Someone else who studied hard for a long time ends up scoring 59.
Looking at the scores alone, there's already a huge gap between the two.
One scored 30.
The other scored 59.
The latter's score is almost double the former's.
There's no question effort made a difference.
But here's the thing:
59 is still a failing score.
This is exactly what's been worrying me lately.
Effort really did change me.
My ability really did improve.
My scores really did get better.
But that progress never translated into the actual result.
So does that effort count as a success?
If the goal is "pass the exam," the answer is brutal:
not passing means not reaching the goal.
It doesn't matter how much time you put in beforehand.
It doesn't matter how many words you memorized every day.
It doesn't matter how many late nights you pulled.
The result doesn't automatically change just because you worked hard.
That's how cruel exams are.
In the end, they only tell you one thing:
whether or not you met the standard.
What I'm actually most afraid of isn't failure
So if I don't pass this JLPT, what would really hurt probably isn't "not getting the N2 certificate."
It's something else entirely.
I worked this hard—so why didn't I manage to put enough distance between myself and people who didn't try nearly as hard?
That's the part that would truly leave me feeling defeated.
Say one person studies 10 minutes a day and ends up scoring 30.
Another person studies for hours every day and ends up scoring 59.
From a growth perspective, the second person has clearly improved a lot.
But if the final result for both is "fail," at some point you'll still feel a sharp sense of defeat:
What exactly was all that effort for?
This is actually something a lot of people run into in real life.
Working hard, but never getting promoted.
Working hard to start a business, but never making money.
Studying hard, but not getting into the school you wanted.
Working out hard, but never reaching the body you wanted.
Putting effort into a relationship, but still losing that person.
Trying hard for a long time, only to realize you're still far from your goal.
Effort and results are never simply equal.
Effort only increases your odds of success—it can't guarantee it in advance.
This might be something adults have to slowly come to accept.
But that doesn't mean effort is meaningless
Still, thinking it through, I realize I shouldn't swing to the other extreme either.
Concluding that "effort is meaningless" just because "effort doesn't guarantee success" would be just as wrong.
Let's go back to the earlier example.
Between 30 and 59, neither one passes, but that 29-point gap is real.
The person who scored 59 has genuinely mastered far more than the person who scored 30.
That gained ability doesn't just vanish because it "fell short of 60."
If both keep working hard for the next exam, the person who scored 59 is clearly closer to the goal than the person who scored 30.
So, effort doesn't necessarily lead directly to results, but it definitely changes your odds of eventually getting there.
Sometimes, the results of effort don't show up right away.
They might take time.
They might even require several failures before a sudden breakthrough happens.
So I've increasingly come to feel:
the meaning of effort isn't just about passing one particular exam.
It's also reshaping a person's abilities, habits, mindset, and the range of choices available to them in the future.
If I pass this time, of course I'll be happy.
If I don't, of course I'll be disappointed.
But at least I know these past few months of effort weren't completely meaningless.
Right now, all I can do is wait
But here's the problem—
I already understand all of this in theory.
But the results still haven't come out.
So right now, there's genuinely nothing I can do.
I can't go back and change my answer sheet.
I can't retake the exam.
I can't add points to my own score.
I can't even change the final result by replaying the exam day answers in my head over and over.
All I can do is wait.
And "waiting" is precisely one of the most agonizing things a person can do.
Because when people wait for an unknown outcome, the brain can't help but pre-run simulations of the future.
"What if I passed?"
"What if I didn't?"
"What if I'm off by just a point or two?"
"If I really failed, do I have to take it again?"
"Was something wrong with how I studied?"
"Did I just not work hard enough?"
One question leads to the next.
The results haven't even been announced yet, and my brain has already rehearsed every possible scenario.
Last night, I listened to The Power of Now
Last night, right before bed, I listened to a book—The Power of Now.
One core idea from the book that stuck with me is this:
don't keep living in the past, and don't keep projecting your consciousness into the future—come back, as much as possible, to the present moment.
That statement is actually not complicated at all.
The past has already happened.
The future hasn't happened yet.
The only thing we truly ever have is this present moment.
The book also draws a distinction between the practical "time" we genuinely need in daily life and the "psychological time" that keeps trapping us: of course we need to look back and learn from the past, and we need to plan for and set goals for the future—but all of that can only actually happen in the "now."
I suddenly realized how important this idea is for where I am right now.
Because my biggest struggle right now is this:
my body is sitting here, but my mind has already run off four days into the future.
My body is still in Tokyo.
But my mind has already jumped ahead to the day the results are announced.
I've even started imagining:
"What will it be like if I pass?"
"What will I do if I don't?"
But none of that has actually happened yet.
What I need to practice is "living in the present"
I used to think life was all about having goals.
Planning for the future.
Constantly pushing forward.
None of that is wrong.
I still believe people should set goals for themselves and work toward them.
But now I'm starting to realize:
having a goal doesn't mean you have to live in the future every single day.
I can study for N2.
But while I'm studying, I should actually focus on studying—
not study while constantly thinking about the exam result.
I can prepare for a future job.
But whatever needs doing today, I should just do it well today.
I can look forward to a future life.
But I should also genuinely feel today's sunlight, the streets, the food, the conversations with the people around me.
The future needs planning.
The past is worth reflecting on.
But the place where life is actually happening is always now.
This might be exactly the ability I most need to practice right now:
pulling myself back from the past and the future.
Four days from now, the answer will show up on its own
So right now, I don't want to keep guessing anymore.
I don't want to keep recalculating exactly how many points I might have gotten.
I don't want to keep getting anxious over some question I can't quite remember the answer to.
What was going to happen has already happened.
What I could do, I've already done.
Four days from now, the answer will show up on its own.
If I passed—
I'll celebrate properly, and then keep studying.
If I didn't pass—
I'll go back, analyze what went wrong, find my weak points, and try again.
Passing isn't the finish line, and failing isn't the finish line either.
The JLPT is just one checkpoint on my path to learning Japanese.
What really matters is whether I can keep moving forward on that path.
And after finishing the exam, I've also become increasingly clear about what I actually want to improve—
it's not grinding through practice tests for the next certificate.
It's turning Japanese into a language I can genuinely use.
Understanding it when I hear it.
Being able to speak it.
Being able to have natural conversations with Japanese people.
Being able to express my own thoughts in Japanese.
That's what I actually want.
Start by living today well
Four days left until the results.
The effort I already put in can't be changed now.
The result four days from now can't be changed right now either.
So why should I keep spending the rest of this time anxious?
I'd rather bring my attention back to today.
If there's studying to do today, study.
If there's rest to be had, rest properly.
If there's somewhere to go, go for a walk.
Eat a meal, and actually taste it.
Listen to a piece of Japanese, and actually pay attention.
Talk with a friend, and actually be present.
Actually live one full day.
As for what happens four days from now, I'll leave that to the version of me who's there four days from now.
Maybe this is the simplest reminder I took away from The Power of Now:
The past is already over, the future hasn't arrived yet, and the only thing I truly have is now.
I don't know whether I'll pass the JLPT.
But at least today, I still get to decide how I spend it.
And that's the one thing that truly belongs to me.