Every night, after I wearily stumble into bed, exhausted from attempting to teach the principles of English communication using only a 1983 grammar textbook, I grapple with the same dilemma. It's a fairly universal situation; The Clash wrote a song about it. The question is this: when you know you're unhappy, should you stand your ground and try to work things out, or go after something better?
I've gotten tons of advice, most of which I agree with, even the contradictory stuff. Should I stay? Some friends point out that it takes time to carve out a satisfactory groove through life, that if I were to change cities every time I had the blues, I'd only make myself lonelier. They argue that fulfillment comes from somewhere deep inside, not from your zip code, or even your job. Should I go? Other friends remind me that my career—indeed, my life, as I define it—can't even begin until I leave this place for a more suitable environment. They suggest that there's a fine line between self-improvement and procrastination, and that I may well be on the wrong side of it.
But my friends can't make my decisions for me. Only I can. The problem is, I've begun losing faith in my own decisions. I keep telling everyone that I have to move to New York so I can begin making movies. And I really believe this. But I'm not sure how much stock I should place in my beliefs. They have a pretty crappy track record.
In 1994, I decided that the logical path to a career in film was film school. So I headed off to CalArts, in L.A., and spent the next two years fighting against a Directing program so bizarrely anti-creativity that, as far as I know, not a single one of its graduates has ever worked as a professional director.
I dropped out in 1996 and decided that the best thing to do was to move to Toronto, where I tried to rekindle an old relationship and seek out work in the Canadian film industry. The relationship crashed and burned after six months, and I never even spent a day working on films.
I moved on. I decided that I needed to go somewhere where I could relax and live a healthier life; that somewhere turned out to be San Francisco. I was basically right about that one, it was relaxing and healthy. But I wasn't happy there either. No matter how much crazy Internet money I was making, I just couldn't fit into California's legendary navel-gazing, I'm-okay-you're-okay way of life. And I still wasn't working in film. In the end, I stayed there for six years, the last three of which were joyless and empty.
I was under no illusions that moving to Tokyo was going to make me a filmmaker, but I was in pretty bad shape by that point. It was starting to look like I was going to spend the rest of my life designing clickable onscreen buttons, and I knew I had to do something different, something that would re-energize me and give me the shift in perspective that I so desperately needed.
Instead, one year later, I find that my job is sucking the life out of me, and that my perspective, if anything, is shrinking. Every night, as I stare at the ceiling, a voice in my head yells at me to get out—just go, move to New York, buy a video camera, make friends with the berets-and-cigarettes crowd and get on with my life. And I've always listened to that voice before.
It's just that, lately, I can't help noticing that's it's almost never been right.
Mike. Figure out what motivates you and embrace it. It's clearly not Japan.
So, come home.
Mike, we have chatted about this before, so I know that you left out one of your options. What happened to moving to part-time freelance (i.e. more money/hr) teachng and finishing your animation? That still seems like the best solution. But John Amos is right about your storytelling ability and the quirky nature of the story you could tell about your year in Japan. This should be your next film. I think that a documentary form would be good, but I think that it should feature a very sarcastic, well composed voice over narration. I think that you should plot it out carefully and find a good cameraman to work with you. You need to use a very high quality digital video camera, so you may need to raise some money. One episode done on low quality video would help in that effort (and give you a sense of what you are planning to do). Documentarians have lots of fun--and they are gaining audience.
So: Stay, then go.
John, Dave and Ben--
Thanks for writing, and thanks for caring. I wrote a follow-up entry based on the feedback I've received, so be sure to check that out.
As far as documentaries go, I'm sure I could make a decent one, but film school gave me a lifelong distaste of the standard student documentary--the long tracking shots out the car window, the droning narration explaining the deep significance of it all. I need to think of a "hook," before I can consider a project like this.
As far as Japan goes, remember that it's not Japan that's making me miserable. It's my own staggering uncoolness. Leaving here won't get rid of that.
Lastly, I hope you'll understand if I'm a tad reluctant to devote all my resources to making a film about loneliness in Tokyo. I'm told there's this Bill Murray movie...
The piece of advice I agree with is "Fulfillment comes from somewhere deep inside, not from your zip code, or even your job." I recenly read "The Power of Now" by Eckart Tolle, and I believe that the key to contentment and joy is being present in the current moment, regardless of your circumstances.
If you want to be a filmmaker, make films now. Right where you are. Hanging out with film folks in New York is not a prerequisite. Sell your still camera, buy a video camera and make a documentary about your life teaching English in Japan. I have read every entry in your blog, and you're a good story teller. Tell the same stories with film. I'd like to watch the scene at the gaijin bar.