Approaching 30

In less than a year, I will officially leave my twenties. Entering a new decade of your life always feels significant, regardless of what society tells us. As we age, we trace back over our journey in life that has brought us to our present moment, and think of all the choices we did and didn’t make, and all of the progress we have or haven’t made  towards finding the life we truly desire.

By the time you are thirty, there are certainly a number of milestones you are expected to have reached. You are expected to have completed at least one college degree, established a career to some extent, purchased a car and home, perhaps some major appliances, gotten married, become a parent. This is normal progress- maturation, and steps on the path to self- actualization. I don’t believe that anyone truly feels any one of these achievements will bring about happiness, or that any one is an ultimate measure of individual success or self- worth, yet they do count of something. At the very least, they serve as evidence that we are capable of meeting societal norms and expectations. When we can not accomplish these things, it surely means we have failed in some way, however minor it may be. There must be something we haven’t done correctly, something we weren’t quite good enough at, that prevented us from being more successful.

Yet the timeline of adulthood has been constantly shifting as our society changes; we no longer marry right out of high school, and couples are having their first child later and later in life. Fewer individuals can afford to become homeowners, and are forced to pay inflated monthly rent instead. What was the “normal” or “standard” in the past clearly is no longer so; but how much have we changed our own perceptions of progress and accomplishment? Not very much, in many ways.

I don’t consider myself an exceptional “millennial”. By that, I mean that I believe I have fared no better or worse than any other members of my generation, and that I have encountered many of the same challenges and had many of  the same opportunities. I grew up under the same conditions, experienced the same triumphs and tragedies, and have struggled to be heard in the same way as my peers. I grew up in a world evolving more and more rapidly with the accelerated advancement of technology. I have survived the difficult years where many were without any steady source of income, but it has not been a straight path towards the career I have now chosen, perhaps belatedly.

So, yes, I am another millennial who may be judged as an “adult” a bit later than traditionally expected. I am proud  to say I now own my own car, and have recently purchased a house, and have begun to (hopefully) build a true career instead of just having a job. If you had told me I would be where I am now three years ago, I probably would have simply laughed and said that it simply wasn’t possible. Of course I am proud of all that I have achieved in the past few years, and I realize all of the hard work I have done. In spite of all I have been able to accomplish, there are moments when I still feel as though I have fallen far behind my peers, and my own expectations of myself.

It’s amazing how easy it is to fall into the simply traps of comparing yourself to others and of focusing on what we are lacking rather than what we do have.

I am guilty of both of these transgressions against happiness. Through my daily social media feeds, I perpetually see friends getting married and having children, celebrating wedding anniversaries even. Recently even my youngest cousin, who is about eight years younger than me, got engaged. While I hold no illusions about other’s lives being perfect and feel that mine is inherently inferior and extremely dull in comparison (though this is true in a few instances), I can’t help but wonder why my life has turned out so different from theirs, why I wasn’t able to find the same stability and… normalcy, for lack of a better word. Was I asking too much? What had I done so very differently from them that would have prevented me from maintaining a relationship, sticking with a job I felt passionate about and establishing a solid position there? What had I “missed out” on?

In all fairness, there were things I did do that deviated from some of my peers. I went to a liberal arts college, getting a degree in Literature and Writing, nothing practical like pharmacy or marketing. I went on to work on my Master’s Degree and worked random jobs to support myself as I could. My only solid career option was teaching, and I only half-heartedly tried to find a teaching position, not feeling I would excel as a teacher and also recognizing the difficulty in obtaining a position as an adjunct professor, at least  where I was. (Though, retrospectively, I have no real clue how likely or unlikely it might have been for me to get a position, as I realize my efforts were minimal in applying and inquiring about it at the time.) As far as relationships go, I had a number of promising relationships that failed for a variety of reasons, as many relationships do, and  I couldn’t say it was the result of anything other than not being able to reconcile differences and find solid common ground to stand on. We learn from each relationship and move forward. I do not regret any of the relationships that I had, nor do I wish they had worked out any differently. However, I still wish I had been able to find a more suitable match much sooner than I did. I have had to look on with a constant tinge of jealousy as many of my friends and loved ones have negotiated relatively peaceful and healthy relationships which have stood tests of time and hardship while my own relationships ended in disappointment.

Perhaps I should have had different expectations, both of myself and of life in a broader sense. Why is it so easy to believe that we are entitled to the “perfect” life that we imagine for ourselves? Is it pure egotism and selfishness? I suppose on one level it is. But we are all entitled to happiness, at least as much as we are willing to discover in life. Our culture informs us that we must have certain things in order to be “happy”, and how much these relate to what will actually bring us contentment is difficult to say. In some ways, we seek acceptance, love, and comfort more than anything tangible. We need someone who cares for us and is there when we need them most, and that we have some sort of place in our social circle, however large or small it might be. While we value our independence and expect to be allowed to be our own person, we also do not desire to be isolated for our entire lives. To be accepted into society, we must make concessions and subscribe to certain expectations and values. We must “fit in”, for lack of a better phrase. This is not meant to be pessimistic, and it is not advocating blind adherence to “social norms”. Certainly, we can only continue to improve as a society if we question our values and reconsider what is accepted as an ideal and moral life. With each generation, we experience slow by steady progress towards new conceptions of what is valuable and meaningful, and new models of success and decent. We strive to do what is right for our fellow women and men, and for our environment. At least I believe this is true of most people. (I must believe this, and refuse to give in to hopelessness for our future.)

However much progress we make, we still cling to long-standing models of what the “perfect” family looks like, and what a “perfect” life should look like- a home in a quiet, quaint neighborhood, a career, two cars, two or three children, a loving and supportive life-long companion. Responsible citizens pay all their bills and taxes on time, they do not litter, they recycle, they take family vacations, they offer help to their neighbors in need, they spend quality time with their children and help them learn and grow, they do not drink excessively or get involved in any type of drug use, they stay informed about important news events, they donate to charity, they support local businesses, they abide by all laws- including the posted speed limits. They contribute to their community and have healthy social relationships, they don’t display either depression or aggression, they are polite and compassionate, they work hard while at work and have hobbies to unwind during their free hours of the day. They make sure to change their oil regularly and send birthday cards to those who are important to them. They mow their lawn before the grass becomes a tangled jungle, they attend their children’s recitals and performances and help with homework, they slowly work their way up through promotions at work. Eventually, their children will graduate, move out and begin their own journeys. They will retire, purchase another home somewhere where it is warm year round, somewhere that offers many activities and social gatherings for seniors. All of the milestones and daily activities have become engrained in our society as the correct path, full of happiness and fulfillment.

I by no means mean to say that we shouldn’t wish to have a family, have a comfortable place to live, and a career that provides us with a sense of achievement. These things are certainly valuable; they provide us with a sense of purpose as well as security and relationships that help us continually improve. Everyone wishes to be able to look back on their days and know that they achieved their goals, that we will be remembered as someone who was successful and meaningful.

Yet it is is so easy to get caught up in the day to day chores and tasks, and lose sight of the experiences that matter most. For, as many have said before me, it is our experiences that truly determine the quality of our lives. Exploring beautiful landscapes and cities, attending  a powerful concert or play, discovering history and art in museums, having meandering conversations with friends and family that have no specific subject or purpose in mind, simply holding hands and enjoying the close presence of a loved one. All of these small, simple moments are ultimately more valuable than the specific job title we hold or our physical address (and its implications, positive or negative).

While we recognize that material items and social status are hardly where we truly find value in our lives, we continue to pursue them because it is a part of being a member of society. This does not mean that we ignore our own values and beliefs, or that we discount our experiences in favor of social conventions. Instead we try to find a way to balance them, though this is not something that is easily achieved.

Part of me recognizes how irrational it is to constantly compare myself to others, and to evaluate my own worth and success based on unrealistic “ideals” or cultural prescriptions. Why is it so difficult for me to be satisfied with all of the progress I have made, and be thankful for the many opportunities life has provided me? Am I just selfish, shallow, and ungrateful? Am I that different than thousands of other adults my age around the world? I realize am not alone in feeling inadequate, rejected, and a failure in some respects.

The future has never been more uncertain, as we continue to face a great many challenges locally and globally. My generation has been provided with many advantages compared to previous ones, yet we also face challenges as great or greater than those before us. I do not wish to present us as some great tragedy, something to be pitied or granted some sort of clemency for their missteps or transgressions. I do not believe that we  are entirely self- centered and uncaring, and I do not believe that we are lethargic and unmotivated, contributing nothing valuable to society. We have done what we can under the circumstances, though this does not absolve us of the need to continue to strive for more. It also does not mean we need to look at ourselves as less capable or less accomplished because we do not reach certain expected milestones earlier in life.

I know that eventually I will get to experience the inexpressible joy of marrying someone who makes me a better person every day, and that perhaps I will become a mother. I know rationally that the fact that I have not married or become a parent yet is not a fair way of evaluating my accomplishments or worth, but that does not mean I can not long for these things and wonder dolefully at why I have been denied them.

As we continue to press forward with many advances in society both positive and negative, my generation will continue to struggle to find their own place and establish  their own conceptions of “success” and “true adulthood and independence”. Our achievements will come at different times than our parents and grandparents, and may look a bit differently. We do not need to feel ashamed of this, but we also do not need to complacently accept that we can not become exactly the adult we wish to be, that we have to resign ourselves to lesser positions and fewer fulfilled aspirations. Certainly we need to find joy in our every day experiences of beauty and companionship, and we can certainly revise our expectations of what the “ideal” life looks like. Such larger cultural changes take time, and we must always remind ourselves that it is only when we resign completely that we have truly failed. We are allowed to feel disappointed in ourselves, but we must not believe that we are not making progress or that we will not be able to have the future we desire.

I’m not going to say that we should ignore our social feeds, or that we should stop seeing certain milestones in life as being significant and markers of achievement. We should not simply ignore our hopes or aspirations, but instead be motivated by our desire to continue to better ourselves- not simply because society tells us to, but because we seek something a greater sense of fulfillment. There is no single path we can- or should- all follow, and we may all encounter detours and barriers that force us to backtrack. But we must keep going, and we must never feel that we are any less significant because others have made further progress than us.

So I will let myself feel jealousy and longing for something more, for the things I have yet experienced in my own life. I will allow myself to not be “perfect” but I will not stop pushing myself to find greater fulfillment and greater purpose through perpetual forward momentum toward the life I envision for myself. And I hope I can inspire and assist others to do just the same.

 

 

On Bad Writing

Everyone who knows me knows that I am an avid reader; my nose is almost always in a book whenever I have a spare moment, and even when I really don’t. I enjoy many different authors and genres, though I may not be overly enthusiastic about some fantasy and sci-fi series, depending on the style. I am one of those people that can’t abandon a book even when I am not enjoying it very much; I feel I owe it to the author to stick it through to the end to see if my opinion changes throughout the novel or story. In reality, there have been few books that I have disliked to the point where I truly wanted to quit them, as I usually find something intriguing or enjoyable about most stories and easily get wrapped up in a fast paced plot or interesting character.

Yet the novel I just recently finished was one of the few I would say I felt like was a waste of time, and a prime example of very poor writing. It was one of those novels that makes you wonder how some people get published and who decides that a manuscript is worth investing in. I wish to leave the name of the novel out, so that I can address my concerns without necessarily tying everything to specific references to the novel or seem like I am going on a tirade against a particular author.* My concerns with the novel were in part reactions to some of the details of the novel, but I want to speak primarily to principles of quality storytelling- of presenting a story that readers feel a true connection with, and finish feeling as though they understand something a bit better about their fellow humans. At the conclusion of a story, shouldn’t we feel as though we’ve had some insight into the lives of others, and feel like we are better able to understand and connect with them? Isn’t writing, at it’s heart, about our shared human experience, the truths we experience every day regardless of our race, gender, or age? Perhaps I am too idealistic in believing this.

The problem I had with this particular novel is that is seemed to be what the author imaged a “epic, grand” novel was suppose to be, rather than a naturally evolving novel, with compelling characters and a plot that was captivating and intricate. Instead, the novel jumps from one unbelievable situation or “coincidence” to the next in a way that is seemingly endless and frustrating. as there appears to be little logical progression or any attempt to resemble a real life experience (note that the novel doesn’t present itself as being fantasy or magical realism). Certainly, the unbelievable happens in many novels, and is usually welcome to some extent, since aren’t we seeking an escape through reading as well, however temporary it might be? Yet there must be some balance- the mundane, day to day events presented in contrast to the extraordinary ones. The novel is set primarily in Africa, though there are scenes in India and America as well, and these settings are described quite vividly. At some moments, the description feels a bit overwhelming, in fact, as if all your senses are being assaulted.

By many technical or “formal” standards, this novel could certainly be held in high regard. There is a complex plot, shifting points of view, and many narrative layers. While the characters are somewhat developed, they do no seem to experience any major changes, remaining generally static except for a few instances.

What was most concerning to me was the progression of events and their implications. The novel is essentially a biography of the narrator- he begins with the brutal story of his mothers journey from India to Africa, and then the traumatic event of his own birth (and his twin brother), and recounts events throughout his childhood and adolescence into adulthood. This type of sweeping narrative is no easy task, but it is an astounding thing when done well. I was relatively absorbed until the events began to deviate from the focus on the complex relationships between the primary family members and adults in the narrator’s life, and turned towards the sexual. I hardly consider myself sensitive to intimate scenes in writing or film- I’ve been exposed to enough that I generally do not feel awkward or offended. But when I read about the narrator’s first sexual desires and first intimate moments at the age of eleven, I must admit I was a bit startled and concerned. Certainly, all adolescents begin to have such moments in their early teens, but I believe eleven is a bit early for any real desire. I tried to remember what my own feelings were at that age and couldn’t recall any strong feelings of sexual curiosity. Perhaps I am the odd one, but this just seemed exaggerated and unnecessary.

From that point on, the novel turned into one about unrequited love and betrayal, and sexual repression to a mild extent. Yet the plot also expanded into murder and political revolution with guerrilla warfare, and much more. Each chapter brings one unimaginable event after the next in what feels like an endless spiral of tragic circumstances and coincidences. Throughout it all, our narrator seems undeterred from his ultimate goal, though this is not to say he has no powerful emotional reactions to these events. Yet, in the end, he ultimately shows little compassion for “the love of his life” or his own twin brother.

Having a emotionally distant or cold narrator can be an effective tool for a writer, but this novel doesn’t seem to be truly trying to present the narrator as such. What concerned me more than narrator’s reactions, in some ways, was contrived events as well as the presentation of female characters. Each traumatic event feels deliberately forced upon the narrator for the purpose of the novel, and the events that follow only perpetuate the downward momentum. Certainly, some women are portrayed as strong and virtuous in the novel, yet many are also portrayed as temptresses and irrational- such as the narrator’s main love interest. Her actions are the main catalyst for many horrifying events, leading to the tragic climax. She is rarely shone in a positive light- instead, we are mainly shown her often unforgivable flaws. In the later scenes, she is pitiable, but still does is not provided with any redemptive qualities. She is driven first by lust, then by anger and pride. Our narrator renounces her, yet also ends up accepting her back into his life in one rather awkward sex scene only to have her leave him again.

I will say, the author is a male. My trouble with the novel is both with is absurdity of the plot and the ways it perpetuates the woman as the source of evils. While he presents some in positive ways, his “positive” woman are generally submissive or extremely devout. The one strong woman who was independent, intelligent, and in some ways kind  is also shown as someone who “toyed” with the man who loved her, thus a mean-spirited “tease” and then one who finally accepts the role of a wife and turns only to religion at the conclusion of the novel. At the same time, the novel on the surface may appear to be “progressive” in that it exposes horrors of FGM and also describes doctors devoted to improving the medical care of women in rural Africa. For me, one does not negate or diminish the other. Woman are still the offenders, and men are better left alone to fulfill their potential.

After I finished the novel, I checked out reviews on Goodreads to see if anyone else felt the way I did. I only saw positive reviews, readers “dazzled” by the description and the powerful, moving story. Nothing that mentioned the troubling scenes of child sexuality or the general mistreatment and dismissal of woman to being the sex in need of redemption, riddled with injurious sins.

Perhaps I am being overly critical and my perceptions is “skewed” by my “liberal education”, as my father likes to tell me. I do not mean, through my analysis, to directly imply that the author is misogynistic, simply another member of the male patriarchy bent on suppressing women. I am not that spiteful. Regardless of the intent, the sentiment is still present, and yet it seems to be overlooked entirely. Yes, this is simply one novel that only received mild attention in the literary world. But the fact that these issues were not recognized at all in any critique or commentary of the novel is concerning to me since this is hardly an anomaly. Despite progress we have made- and yes, I believe we have made progress- there still remains a great deal of media in all forms that continue to present women in ways that are damaging and simply encourage attitudes that reduce women to unrealistic stereotypes. Men and women can be equally virtuous and equally malignant; is it that difficult to depict this through our art?

I suppose I have gone a bit off the topic of “bad writing”. Initially, I was aggravated by the  non-sencicalness of the novel, but as I reflected on it more the more I was both angered and disheartened to recognize the inability of a “modern” novel to allow for a female character to be intelligent, independent, and compassionate, an overall good person. While these types of characters do exist, and I do realize that every individual does not consist of purely positive traits, the simple fact is that it seems males will continue to be allowed to be tragic heroes while women will always remain either passive victims or malignant schemers who deserve punishment. Neither gender deserves to be pidgen-holed, regardless of it whether or not it is “just a show” or “just a book”. Art isn’t and doesn’t necessarily have to be a reflection of reality, yet art has a impact on culture and, therefore, values. If we continue to turn a blind eye to art that reenforces detrimental stereotypes and conceptions of the genders, everyone suffers.

Bad writing doesn’t just mean writing that is uninteresting, dull and uncreative, or unintelligent. Bad writing is writing both writing that is writing that is disingenuous, attempting to be something it simply is not, where meaningful action is replace with extreme drama and/or tragedy in an attempt to be interesting. Bad writing is writing that presents unrealistic and noxious images of either women or men, in ways that are may be obvious or subtle. The novel I just read encapsulates that, and I fear that there are many more pieces like it out there, receiving praise and quietly impacting our overall culture in a negative way. Creating communities that can recognize such images is of crucial importance, and having conversations about the implications of the images we see presented to us through popular culture is equal as important. Until this happens, we will continue to have bad writing, and make minimal advances towards real equality and a truly compassionate society.

*If you wish to know the title of the novel and the author, please feel free to ask.