Evolution

"HEY!"

I woke up from the nap I was sneaking in at my desk. To be more precise, I was woken. And I nearly had a heart attack.

"Hello!" One of my English club students said playfully as she laughed at me jumping three feet in the air.

"You really surprised me," I said, half laughing and half trying to figure out how to exist in the world of the waking once again.

She laughed again. We talked about what we had to do for English club that day. She often corrects my Japanese as I correct her English. It's a half and half conversation, always.

"There are a lot of students in this school," I say, struggling to find the words in Japanese.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"I mean, it's hard to recognize everybody's face."

"Eh!?" She said, surprised. "Sensei doesn't know his own students!?"

"There's over a thousand of you. Sometimes I'll see one of you outside of school, like at the station, and they'll be like 'oh, John-sensei!' and I'll wave back and say hi, but I'm just thinking, 'who are you?'"

She laughed again.

We went to the English room and started to set up the projector. We were watching a movie that day - once in a while I let them do that, for an easy day. They want to get through all of the Harry Potter movies by the time I leave. Some of the other students had gotten there early.

"Hey, John!"

"Hey," I say casually.

Today there was a guest, a friend that one of the boys had brought with him. There are only two boys in the club, and about six or seven girls, so I often feel like they're left out. I was glad to see him there - and as a bonus, I even recognized him. A lanky kid with a sharp nose, glasses, and a mop of hair over his forehead.

"We're watching Harry Potter today," I said. "Which is funny, because it looks like we have the Japanese Harry Potter with us today."

The boys laughed, and the girls clapped.

"Do you still want Kraft Macaroni as a souvinier?" I ask one of the girls as I continue to set up the projector.

We had had a conversation earlier about what they wanted from me when I returned from America, and this one particular girl really, really wanted Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, claiming that it was "very famous" and that she had wanted it for a long time.

Surprised, I had told her it wasn't very good, that it was actually bottom tier, cheap food. While quite surprised by this, it apparently did not deter her from her desire for it.

"YES," she says in very clear English.

"Alright," I say, shrugging.

This atmosphere. Casual banter, friendliness, a sense of familiarity and comfort with one another.

A year ago, none of that existed. My students would barely talk to me, would always call me sensei instead of John or John-sensei, and were afraid to approach me.

And, at that time, I was also afraid. I was trying to overcome the feeling of being cast headfirst into a new culture, a new workspace, and a new lifestyle. I didn't speak good Japanese and nobody spoke English. I was a fish out of water, just trying to survive. Let alone run an English club.

It was awkward for everybody back then.

Of course, that changed. We grew accustomed to each other by spending time together. I grew more used to Japan. They grew more used to my American mannerisms.

This kind of growth is something I have experienced ten, one hundred-fold over the course of my time here.

You see, a major reason I came to Japan was to grow as a person, to find myself, so to speak. For a long time, I think I resisted that. I longed for home, I put myself in an English bubble of fellow foreigners, and I holed myself up in my apartment and watched English shows and played English video games.

Before I came here, I was a shut-in. I suffered from anxiety and depression, among a myriad of other problems. I worked from home at a journalism job and substituted on occasion, when I needed some extra money. I did go to grad school, do student teaching, all of that, but it never felt like I was moving beyond my own personal bubble. I spent my post-college years in a rut, in my tower, holing myself up, shutting myself off from the world, and being content with that.

But I was never really content, I suppose, because I came here.

It took a while, but I gradually found my footing here. I would say it didn't really happen until my second year started, when I decided I needed to get out there and shed my skin if I ever want to be truly happy in life.

The people I've met on JET are amazing. They seemed superhuman to me, when I realized what passes as normal for them. They take weekend trips to other cities, get together on a whim, climb mountains and snowboard and get involved with the community. Everyone is different, and everyone has their own strengths. I'm not self-defeating enough not to recognize that I have my own, as well, but being around all of these exceptional people began to give me a bit of an inferiority complex.

JET only accepts colorful people, or so I hear from people who've been on the selection panels. They want people who are interesting to be around, who have varied interests and a cheerful and adaptable personality. From my experience, that has definitely turned out to be true.

So I clung to them, learned from them. And as I did, I began to open up. I found myself actually enjoying being out in the world. And as I gradually unlocked the chains around my ankles, I found myself doing better in all areas of my life. My mood improved, my capabilities at work improved, my energy levels improved.

I'm still a loner, and I'm still a person who likes to stay home and listen to music over going out a lot of the time. But I feel my horizons expanding, exponentially so because I am also in a foreign land.

I would have never sacrificed a Saturday morning to go out and take a trip to the mountains before. But here, I did. Ask anyone who knew me, tell them I did that, and watch how surprised they are.

Before I came here to Akita, at the Tokyo JET orientation, a Japanese teacher gave a wonderful presentation on how to get over culture shock. One of the statements he made stood out to me. "You can't change who you are, but you can change your way of thinking."

The longer I'm on this program, the more sense that makes to me.

You don't have to change, you just have to evolve.

And life isn't worth it if you don't, I don't think.

"See ya," I say to my students as they leave English club. Notice the colloquial ya, not the you, not the "See you" everyone says here that nobody says anywhere in America or Britain.

"Bye!" They say, cheerfully waving.

That casual exchange means so much more than it seems on the surface.

 Last year, I just wanted to get the hell out of here because of how uncomfortable I was. But this year? My way of thinking has changed enough to make me consider staying another year.

Funny how that works.