Monday, September 29, 2014
When I arrived at Tokyo?s Narita Airport I had exactly two semesters of Japanese language study under my belt. For the first time since accepting my job as an assistant English teacher for the Japanese Ministry of Education, I freaked out. I wondered how I would survive in a country when I could only understand every tenth or fifteenth word the flight attendant was saying.
If anyone had asked where my Japanese professor?s office was, I could have told them?in grammatically correct and well-pronounced sentences?the exact location of his office. But that didn?t help me much. His office was across the ocean, in Walla Walla, Washington.
I managed through that initial moment of terror and continued to live in Japan for three years. Turns out I didn?t need to know everything. And neither do you.
Living in Japan taught me a few things about imperfection:
Not admitting you don?t know something will get you into trouble. Initially, I tried to fake it when I didn?t understand the words in conversations with my Japanese colleagues. I politely nodded my head, smiled and indicated I knew
exactly what they were talking about. That worked? until they asked me a question. It didn?t take long for me to realize that explaining I hadn?t understood the last five minutes of the conversation was much more embarrassing than if I?d just admitted I couldn?t understand in the first place.
It?s okay to admit you don?t know something. There are numerous cultural nuances that were impossible for me to understand before living in Japan. After I arrived, I diligently paid attention to the cues around me. Every day I attempted to understand everything I needed to know about how to be polite. Of course there was no way I could know everything. And of course I made some major social blunders. I finally started asking for help when I didn?t know how to do something. I was amazed by how much richer my experience became.
Imperfection makes it easier to connect with other people. To my students, I was the English expert. That made them nervous. Like me, they didn?t want to make mistakes. They were embarrassed to speak in front of their classmates. But when I showed them my imperfections,
when I was honest about everything I didn?t know, they opened up. Our classes became more fun. They were willing to engage. We were all able to learn together. That connection never would have been possible if I?d attempted to maintain the image that I knew everything.
These lessons in imperfection have continued to enrich my personal and professional life. When I?d rather not admit I don?t know something, when I feel embarrassed by a mistake, when I don?t want to show my imperfections, I recall the many imperfect moments in Japan.
That?s when I embrace the treasured gift of not needing to know it all.
