Pockets
“Winter is over.” My coworker was telling me, deadpan. “Spring’s time.” First and foremost, I wanted to believe her. But if I looked to my left and out the floor to ceiling windows, what confronted me was a blur of gray and white. An icy, snowy mess was spitting down from the sky and the remnants were caught in my scarf and hair. I had braved the elements just to arrive and be told it was spring’s time. Ironically, it wasn’t much later that I had the conversation with the same coworker that is as familiar to me as the back of my hands.
“Was there snow on the roads.”
“Yes”
“A lot?”
“Kind of.”
“You are safe?”
“Appears so.”
“Good.”
“Yeah.”
“Commute wa taihen desu ne!” The commute is such a drag.
“So desu ne.” What you said, buddy.
I have this conversation at least five times a day. Since August. There wasn’t even snow then. But it was preemptive. And it prepared me to handle the roads with grace and courage, so that everyday, I could show up to work, prove to my coworkers that I’m alive, and then have this conversation with all of them, separately.
February is said to be the coldest month in Japan. And it’s left its frigid mark on me. I got pulled into the principals office, first thing, one day and my stomach lurched in speculation. Was I in trouble? This was unprecedented. I entered the office, trying to appear poised but realistically I looked shaky, and frumpy, for my first visit to the principle’s office ever. Turns out I was in trouble. The principle had walked into class the other day and caught me doing just the lowest possible deed: walking around with my hands in my pockets. While his English is rough, he did manage to tell me that it is “very bad manners” to slouch around like that. Collin, via text, confirmed that this was a thing in Japan. Which is always fun. It’s always good to learn a rule in Japan that you have been breaking, daily, for the past year and half. Especially from your newish, no-nonsense boss.
He kind of laughed nervously after and I did my best to ham it up and apologize, bow a lot, sew my pockets shut, ect, before leaving his office. I sat at my desk for the next hour and thought of all the reasons that I hate working in Japan. It was a great morale boosting exercise.
This was this same principle who teamed up with my vice-principle the week before to explain to me that I had “achieved up, maybe.” I guess they really meant the ‘maybe.’
“You’re maybe better at your job but maybe you’re just a garbage human being- it’s hard for us to say.”
At the end of that ‘achieve up’ meeting, the principle, who had been mostly silent, looked up at me and asked,
“Are you happy?” This is a question that I get often. Usually I just throw up the peace signs to frame my face (making it look as small (read:beautiful) as possible) and in my most kawaii voice say “yes.” Then everyone feels good about everything and we go about our days. Or it’s the perfect opportunity to recite the 7th grade textbook a la Mary Brown the exchange teacher and say “No I don’t miss America. Japan is my second home.” It’s so much easier to give the answer that people want to hear than try and dig deeper. But the way he asked me was so different than I’m usually asked. It was genuine, and vulnerable, like he knew the answer but didn’t want to hear it, but also wanted me to feel heard. Maybe it’s because he’d observed me slouching, or barely finding enough to do all day to keep busy, or seen me (heaven forbid) yawn when I thought no one was looking (** although that is a police offense, a principle’s office visit wouldn’t cut it. I’d have to do hard time.) I was torn. It was the first interview question that caught me off guard.
Myself in Japan, around my coworkers and most of my students, is the simplest version of myself. There’s no layer beyond small talk. Myself can only be unwrapped to include my favorite color and animal. I’m so blonde and gangly and visible here, that people are always staring. They stare at me from the aisles of the grocery store or while eating an apple (which I apparently do the wrong way). Just existing warrants disbelieving looks, as though a talking ostrich has just unexpectedly appeared in your post office. Ironically, though, I feel so unseen that it’s painful. It’s like I’m disappearing. And that simplicity that is the relationships around me makes me feel shallower and shallower, less and less real. I’m yellow. I’m llama. I’m pizza. “How are you?” “I’m fine.” “I’m fine.” “Im fine.”
Working in an environment where my most basic and useful job is to say simple words in English has ebbed away at my confidence. Without feedback and direction on the more creative aspects of my job, I often feel like my work misses the mark, is not valuable, is only worthwhile if there is extra time. In a message from my good friend Schutte recently, he wrote really clearly about the struggle with self worth. He said that when who we are is so tied up in what we do for a living, then our own value of ourselves can come from the way that we receive a monthly paycheck. We need a monthly paycheck or we can’t live so one way or another, we have to do something, and this something, according to society, defines us. That tangles up self worth with how we get food. Which is simplistic. This job, this environment where I have to make sure I’m not accidentally doing things like putting my hands in my pocket and where kids hate making eye contact with me, can cause my self-worth as a worker to fade, and with it goes my personal self-confidence.
On the one hand, this way of looking at my work paints it as complex as I want to look at it. A depth that I crave and feel is rarely reciprocated in my professional relationships here. (To be clear, the lack of reciprocation comes more from the language barrier than a lack of interest, or lack of trying.) But at the same time, it oversimplifies it as being a purely negative work experience. And it’s not. I have students who seem to respond my presence (after countless months). And I have coworkers who take the time to struggle through painful conversations where neither of us seems to be getting a leg up on the language barrier. After these moments, I can leave work feeling seen, even if it’s because of the 6th conversation about my commute that I’ve had that day.
“Are you happy.” My boss asked me, genuinely. Could I lie? What was the lie and what was the truth in that moment? “Yesno.” I’m both happy and unhappy here. It’s Spring’s time but it still feels like winter. I’m challenged everyday and at the same time everyday I sit, trying to find a way to feel fulfilled at work. I can’t stay at this job much longer and so I’m not. What I’m worried about is turning my back on this experience. Of spending the rest of my time here scratching the days off the calendar. Counting down to leave Japan and then arriving home and missing it like crazy. It can be easy to let something like a principle’s office visit spiral into this big thing that ruins my day, and makes me question the other days I’ve spent here. Because working in Japan is hard. Doing something to challenge yourself always sounds so romantic that you forget what the process actually means. It means a teeter totter of good and bad days. The important thing is to dwell on the good and learn from the bad. A balance that I sometimes get really wrong here.
A part of my professional life here that has blossomed was getting an Editor position for a magazine written for and by foreigners who live in Japan. As a Culture Co-Editor, I realized that I didn’t know anything about Japanese Culture. So I began diving into Japanese literature and finding things in my small community that deserved attention. This lead to me having a stake in the place I’ve been living, and a broader understanding of the way the world around me works. It was through this position that I decided to read the James Clavell novel Shogun. This quote has been swimming in my head since I found it two weeks ago. An important concept to reflect on after you’ve been pulled into the principle’s office,
“‘Always remember, child,’ her first teacher had impressed on her, ‘that to think bad thoughts is really the easiest thing in the world. If you leave your mind to itself it will spiral you down into ever-increasing unhappiness. To think good thoughts, however, requires effort. This is one of the things that discipline-training is about. So train your mind to dwell on sweet perfumes, the touch of silk, tender raindrops against the shoji, the curve of this flower arrangement, the tranquility of dawn. Then, at length, you won’t have to make such a great effort and you will be of value to yourself, a value to your profession- and bring honor to our world.’” — Shogun.
I’m happy and unhappy, perpetually, as is the human experience. But which way I lean on days that I spend toeing the line will define not only this experience, but who I become because of it. As this passage brought to light, how I lean will explain how I bring value to myself and my profession, and most importantly, it will help me honor this world
