So today marks the one year point since I came to Japan last May.
I feel like I should say something deep and meaningful. I don't know what, though. I pondered this entry on my way home from the train station, walking through the narrow passageway connecting the entrance gate to the western part of town. Two competing Korean barbecue restaurants had their doors open, filling the path with the scent of beef and flame. It was dark, as night had fallen far before my train reached my destination, and a gaudy casino glittered shamelessly in the overcast sky.
The moon was blurred by a persistent cloud.
I realized I had no clue what to say.
I hate people who always go on about finding themselves, as if self-actualization was something you could easily encourage and measure. I used to be like that. I used to be a lot of things, and most of them would not be easily defined by positive adjectives. Now I'm starting to realize that the self is always changing, and hence the best that we can manage is a vague awareness of the change.
I don't feel like I've changed so much this year. But I know that I have.
My general attitude towards life has changed. Before, I was very goal driven -- almost stupidly so, to be honest. I knew where I wanted to be in one, two, five years, and I knew the general steps towards achieving those goals. There's nothing particularly wrong with being that sort of person, except for the fact that life isn't always so easy to predict and control. I was going to come here, learn Japanese, make a billion friends, fall in love, and then come home and go to graduate school and blah blah blah.
What really happened was that I came here, realized quickly that my Japanese has, to a large degree, fossilized, and the best that I could do would be to become more comfortable with the language that I did possess and slowly build up my everyday vocabulary. I would never be a professor of Japanese. I probably, upon reflection, wouldn't want to be. But I had wanted to want to be, which is the greatest folly of all.
I had underestimated the degree to which making friends would be difficult. I've managed a few new friends, but not the endless karaoke partners I had been dreaming of before boarding my initial flight.
Let's not even talk about love.
My first reaction to all of these realizations was, well, then, Japan is useless, there is no point in me being here, I am going home. But something held me here. It was probably something silly, like a boy band, or a well paying job. But as the months went by, I began to realize that perhaps the things that I had defined as my future (my language skills, my teaching experience, etc.) were really just tools for me to use to enjoy my present. Perhaps it was okay to not have a large goal in mind, but rather to explore the road presented before me until the time comes for me to choose a different branch.
This has been a huge shift in my outlook on life. I find myself enjoying my life a lot more now that I don't feel pressure to "keep focused." I am happy with my functional fluency. I am happy with my friends, and will be several times more happy with my friends in one month, when my best friend makes her way over here. And, to be honest, I am happy with my job. I went through times in which I felt like an impostor and a talking monkey, but now I think I understand the nature of the beast a little more. I've started studying Italian on my own as a hobby, and while it's a lot of fun, I do catch myself thinking things like "I wish I could pay some Italian person to correct my pronunciation and teach me basic conversational tidbits." It's a good job. It's a fun job and my students are great.
So a year in Osaka City has passed! What will the next year bring? I don't know, but I hope it's delicious.
I feel like I should say something deep and meaningful. I don't know what, though. I pondered this entry on my way home from the train station, walking through the narrow passageway connecting the entrance gate to the western part of town. Two competing Korean barbecue restaurants had their doors open, filling the path with the scent of beef and flame. It was dark, as night had fallen far before my train reached my destination, and a gaudy casino glittered shamelessly in the overcast sky.
The moon was blurred by a persistent cloud.
I realized I had no clue what to say.
I hate people who always go on about finding themselves, as if self-actualization was something you could easily encourage and measure. I used to be like that. I used to be a lot of things, and most of them would not be easily defined by positive adjectives. Now I'm starting to realize that the self is always changing, and hence the best that we can manage is a vague awareness of the change.
I don't feel like I've changed so much this year. But I know that I have.
My general attitude towards life has changed. Before, I was very goal driven -- almost stupidly so, to be honest. I knew where I wanted to be in one, two, five years, and I knew the general steps towards achieving those goals. There's nothing particularly wrong with being that sort of person, except for the fact that life isn't always so easy to predict and control. I was going to come here, learn Japanese, make a billion friends, fall in love, and then come home and go to graduate school and blah blah blah.
What really happened was that I came here, realized quickly that my Japanese has, to a large degree, fossilized, and the best that I could do would be to become more comfortable with the language that I did possess and slowly build up my everyday vocabulary. I would never be a professor of Japanese. I probably, upon reflection, wouldn't want to be. But I had wanted to want to be, which is the greatest folly of all.
I had underestimated the degree to which making friends would be difficult. I've managed a few new friends, but not the endless karaoke partners I had been dreaming of before boarding my initial flight.
Let's not even talk about love.
My first reaction to all of these realizations was, well, then, Japan is useless, there is no point in me being here, I am going home. But something held me here. It was probably something silly, like a boy band, or a well paying job. But as the months went by, I began to realize that perhaps the things that I had defined as my future (my language skills, my teaching experience, etc.) were really just tools for me to use to enjoy my present. Perhaps it was okay to not have a large goal in mind, but rather to explore the road presented before me until the time comes for me to choose a different branch.
This has been a huge shift in my outlook on life. I find myself enjoying my life a lot more now that I don't feel pressure to "keep focused." I am happy with my functional fluency. I am happy with my friends, and will be several times more happy with my friends in one month, when my best friend makes her way over here. And, to be honest, I am happy with my job. I went through times in which I felt like an impostor and a talking monkey, but now I think I understand the nature of the beast a little more. I've started studying Italian on my own as a hobby, and while it's a lot of fun, I do catch myself thinking things like "I wish I could pay some Italian person to correct my pronunciation and teach me basic conversational tidbits." It's a good job. It's a fun job and my students are great.
So a year in Osaka City has passed! What will the next year bring? I don't know, but I hope it's delicious.
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