Sunday, May 08, 2005

S-L-O-W-L-Y

I have learned the virtue of slowlyness since comming to Japan. The most obvious and least metaphorical place is in my Shamisen lessons. We recently had our "Happyo Kai", or "Salon Kai", which was basically a miniconcert where everyone in the group played what they had been working on. I played two songs: Kojou no Tsuki (something's moon) and Matsu no Midori (private? green). While practicing both I was continuously reminded to go s-l-o-w-l-y by my teacher. In music as well as in life I have always been a rusher.

I always go too fast. Sometimes it's okay because I don't miss anything. Sometimes, however, I miss important details and end up stumbling because of my haste. Japan is teaching me that the old adages are true. Nothing good comes easily. Nothing worthwile is quick. Taking your time is what makes things so worthwhile. That's why you can be content with your single beer during Yakiniku, the tiny size of Japanese desserts, and why you can appreciate the fresh feeling of your neighborhood after an evening rainstomr. You take your time, you linger, and in doing so you soak up so much more of life that is worthwhile.

I feel like this time in Japan is truely a gift. I have a great job where I have almost total creative control. My coworkers are all well educated and friendly (and sometimes a little too friendly...), my students can be apathetic-but for the most part I really enjoy being with them, and in general I have time at work to watch the people and the landscape of our school. In high school I learned the importance of acheivement, and I fought for that in a fast, neverending battle to prop up my adolescent self esteem. In college I lost my sense of self and spent a lot of time rushing from one thing to the next, trying to find it again. I always thought what I wanted was a fast track career that would win me a lot of approval and where I would be too busy to worry about much. But now, now I understand taking my time. Now I can take it easy and not feel the pressing guilt of unmet obligations. This is one of the things I will always remember, and I will take this away with me when I leave. After all, what's the hurry?

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