The First 7 Months

I've been back in the U.S. for about 7.5 months now. I've already finished one contract and will start the second in one week. It keeps getting harder to be reflective, and without that reflection, I feel like I'm not actually living. True introvert. I think I'm at that awkward stage of transition, the one right before things start to get easier. I do want life in the U.S. to feel comfortable again, but I'm equally afraid of losing the way of life I had to adapt to over the last three years.

Self-definition (see above example) is one trait of "life in the U.S." that stands out more than ever, and it's a trap that I quickly find myself falling into. On almost any day that I interact with people who speak English, I hear some version of this sentence: "I'm a _____________, so ________." Why is it that we feel the need to so clearly state where we stand and what we think and who we are at all times? Whatever happened to letting people figure it all out as they go, even if they should get it wrong? This need to self-define almost becomes a game. I have to state what I am before anyone else in the room should say the exact same thing about him/herself. Once it's out there, and someone says, "I'm a perfectionist, so these uneven margins really grind my gears*," all other comment is usurped. There's infinite pressure not to say, "Oh yeah? I'm a perfectionist too! That's so neat. We're so much alike." In this economy of selling oneself at all times to anyone, it's sacriledge to claim a similarity with someone if it's already been used as that person's identity. We're all individuals, so we can't possibly have the same idiosyncracies. And this is where it all gets tricky. In order to avoid looking contrived, or worse, like a follower, I must come up with my self-definition first, before anyone else has laid claim to it. I'm not sure when all this competition in the realm of self-identity surfaced, but I've noticed it in doses I've never experienced before.

Perhaps we need to constantly define ourselves for those around us because we live such separated lives here. The extreme "my time-my life" individualism of the U.S. strikes me as odd after spending time in significantly more collectivist societies. Although I always remained an outsider in those places, I could observe daily the extent to which social groups, family groups, community groups, and work groups collaborated and shared more than just the narrowly defined tasks that brought them together. As an outsider, I had the liberty not to be bound by such obligations, and perhaps I look back on it fondly since I had no real responsibility within that system. However, I miss it. I miss seeing people check with others first before making their plans. I miss the concept of always having more space at the table, more room for others. I miss the physical proximity of squeezing into crowded areas and the normalcy of seeing coworkers' laundry on the line.

Isolation becomes so much simpler when the most common mechanism for crossing streets, states, and statuses is a car. I hop in mine, and it's just me. I admit that I love the isolation of driving. I hate the waste of space and resources. I am definitely torn on this point, but at least driving myself everywhere still feels odd. I hope it never becomes my norm, even if it is my habit out of necessity.

The anthropologists task lies in the familiar quote: "making the familiar strange and the strange, familiar." I think I've lived this even if I haven't come back with anything resembling ethnography. For me, the exercise isn't one of purely academic inquiry. There's something to learn when you cast off the "norm" and borrow another's way of life. The greatest loss would be to forget the strangeness that, for a while, became familiar.

*clever phrase credit - S. Dutt