Identity Crisis

Is it normal for people in their thirties to have identity crises?  I’m not sure if that is what I should call it, and to be honest, this “identity crisis” hit somewhere in my twenties.  Anyway… here’s the deal.  Ever since I was young, I never dreamed I would find myself living in the suburbs. Around the age of five I started believing I would be a missionary to Africa when I grew up and would go around picking up starving children in the desert to nourish back to life.  (Now I also had fond dreams about living in the Wild West like the Wilderness Family or living a romantic, colonial-style life like the Ingalls’ family—as if colonial life was romantic.)  When I hit my early teens, I decided I wanted to live in the inner-city mentoring troubled youth.  When I hit my late teens and was trying to decide what to study in college, I decided I wanted to be a dynamic, urban English school-teacher (think of Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds or Hillary Swank in Freedom Writers).  I wanted to be a mover and a shaker.

Now here I am.  A suburban mom who works part-time as a substitute teacher.  I volunteer in my kids’ classrooms, tutor an adult student through the Literacy Council, and help at a thrift store.  I take walks through the neighboring developments.  I meet with friends for coffee.  I plan play dates for my kids.  I read a lot.  I spend a decent amount of time as a homemaker—cooking, grocery shopping, cleaning, doing laundry.  I go on dates with my husband, have friends and family over for dinner, and spend a lot of time with my faith community, Koinos.  

Sometimes I wonder if I missed my boat.  I’m not a mover and a shaker.  I live an average, middle-class American life.  How did that happen?  Wasn’t I supposed to be living in Africa or in the Bronx and changing the world?  Hence, the identity crisis. 

You know what, though?  Living in the suburbs the last eight years has actually helped break down some of my own stereotypes of suburban people.  For starters, we’re not all white.  Nope.  Actually, in our little neighborhood alone, we have quite a rainbow of ethnicities.  We have families from Africa, India, the Middle East, and Japan.  We’re not all stingy and self-centered either.  Some of my closest friends live in suburbia and are extremely generous with their time, their money, and themselves.  And we certainly don’t all have our lives together.  On the contrary, I’ve learned that suffering and pain come in many forms and escape very few people.  Even those of us lucky enough to have plenty to eat, a nice, safe home, and a good education have needs.

I’ve watched divorce devastate dear friends.  I’ve witnessed depression and self-hatred cause people I care about to cut their arms.  I’ve seen how addiction robs life from those I love.  I’ve seen friends mourn the loss of children.  I know people who have access to health care but still lose their health.  I’ve seen how prejudice, arrogance, and homophobia create walls between good, decent people. 

So as I sift through my identity as a global-minded citizen in a suburban context, I ask myself these questions.  Is it necessary to learn a foreign language or travel to make my mark in the world?  In what ways can I use my “privilege” to be a blessing to others… in my home? in my neighborhood? in Reading? in the world?  What does it mean for me to live a Glo-burban Life?

That's Not Fair!

As a parent of two young children growing up under very privileged circumstances, I am always on the lookout  for ways to expand my children's perspective on the world.  I often worry that their little lives, which have been insulated from most pain and suffering, will not be able to appreciate all the good around them.  Perhaps more than any other virtues, I want them to grow up with an attitude of contentedness and a desire to make the world a more just place for all its creatures.

Last night we watched the last few minutes of Extreme Makeover - Home Edition before the kids were scooted off to bed.  Ty Pennington was revealing the amazing bedrooms, each one designed around the unique interests of each of its residents.  He then led the family outside to view their immaculately landscaped back yard, a perfect hiatus for relaxation or summer parties.  A batting cage was built for the son whose father used to coach his baseball games but who now sits permanently in a wheelchair for paraplegics.  The final revelation was the family rec room, a mini-gymnasium actually, complete with a climbing wall and small basketball court.

At this point in the show both of our children were turning green with envy and saying things like, "That's not fair!" and  "They're so lucky!!"  So as we watched the credits begin to roll, Jarred and I seized upon this opportunity to lecture gently instruct Dylan and Jaida about the nature of fairness.  We explained how this family had been through a lot with their father's accident which left him paralyzed and asked them to imagine what it would be like if their Daddy could never walk or run with them or do anything on his own ever again.   We then reminded the kids that they, too, are very lucky.   Unlike a lot of children in the world, they have a sizely, warm home with plenty to eat in the refrigerator and comfortable beds and lots of clothes and healthy parents. 

Perhaps it was the green turning paler on their cheeks, but I could see in their faces that they understood that perhaps they shouldn't wish to switch places with the kids on the TV show.  So until the next time I hear those all-to-common words "that's not fair" I am thankful for the lesson taught by Extreme Makeover - Home Edition not only to my children, but to all of us "big kids" who sometime dwell too often on how life is not fair for us.