The problem with having no idea about what to write is that writing comes difficultly (and reads like shit). I stare at the screen and I see a huge white swath of nothing and it intimidates me. Am I to fill that entire space with coherent prose and something worth reading? Is it enough just to type until the white is lessened and the black is increased? How presumptuous of me to assume that the text would be entered in black and not, say, a much more vibrant color such as green or purple. Though I suspect green would be harder to read. I’m not sure if there would be much of a difference between black and purple.
Would there be anything really different about words typed in purple as opposed to words typed in black? What if I were to type the words in black and then change the color of the text in its entirety to purple with a few clicks of a button? Who could tell, other than a key logger, that I had not entered all the text in purple? An easy deception it would be, one that could only be discovered if I were to grant access to the truth of my method.
I can’t remember the last time I wrote anything of significant length. Perhaps the last document of such volume was my statement of purpose that I submitted as part of my application to the JET Programme back in 2006. That was so long ago. Almost five years since I took my trip around the world. Almost five years since I got back to Chicago and realized that a future in banking regulation was not the path that I wanted to follow. Almost five years ago when I submitted the successful application that eventually found its way to a board of education willing to hire me with little more than a hunch about what kind of person I was. I wonder if they realize how much I polished and perfected that essay. I wonder if any of the contracting organizations understand what they are getting themselves into when they extend that offer of faith to an unknown future employee.
How well it did work out in my case. When I came to Japan as a participant of the JET Programme, I promised myself that I would stay at least two years. One year seemed too short of a time frame to get to know the place. Two years would be better, I thought. Oh, the unexpected occurrences and the uncertainties about what I was spending my time here doing! Who knew that my decision to stay a third year would be decided on a whim, simply because my boss had caught me off-guard with the question of whether I wanted to stay or not? Who knew that my situation – rather, my state of mind – would improve to the point where even though I was working 15-20 classes week, I enjoyed them more and found a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment? Who knew that I would stay the maximum length of time allowed by my contract, only to enter into the final year with uncertainties as to what comes afterward? I certainly didn’t.
I can’t tell if I’m in one of my annual lulls right now, bringing me down a bit. Not to mention the poorly timed development of a new interest that might just conflict with other interests. One would think that with all the free time afforded me by my relatively lax schedule, that I would be taking advantage of all sorts of growth opportunities. For example, studying Japanese seems like a worthwhile goal, doesn’t it? I’m in the perfect place for learning it. Not a day goes by where I don’t use Japanese. How many people would enjoy the privilege of being in my position? I get paid well, my work is not stressful, my expenses are low, and I live on a subtropical island whose natural beauty is readily accessible, whose culture relishes an easy pace of life, and whose traditional martial art of karate has inspired me to do more than just show up to practice a few times a week.
So what’s my problem? What is it about this recent emotional funk that is so hard for me to get out of? Is it the fact that I live so far away from large populations of people? I don’t think so. Living in a city would not automatically solve the problem that is my current discontent. Is it a recent loss, and the frustrating situations that follow? Is the lack of a distinct purpose overshadowing me and making it seem like the future has nothing in store for me? What am I going to be doing a little more than a year from now? What if I choose something that seems interesting now, but in a year turns into drudgery? I know I’m not the first person in the world to face these problems, this lack of self-confidence. But it’s the first time for me.
