30-something identity crises
Music: Vanishing Kids: Skies in Your Eyes (2007)
A dear friend and colleague visiting with me from out of town left very early this morning, apparently unable to sleep. Last night we had a somewhat-comforting talk about identity. Although one starts asking it in one's teen years, we discussed how we are both still haunted by the "who am I?" question. Intellectually, I'm persuaded by the answer first advanced by Hume and elaborated by psychoanalysis: I am the sum or bundle of my reactions to experiences and the stories I tell, and that others tell, about "me." I am as I do; I am the meaningful ensemble of my gestures. I am a repository of narrative. I am the son of Dan and Jane and emplaced by their name.
Yet this intellectual understanding of identity is unsatisfying in moments of crisis, in moments of extreme sadness or misfortune. There are moments when you recognize "now" is not where you thought you'd be back then. There is a mis-match. Lacan would say the mis-match is that inability to overlap with the imago/ego-ideal. Ok, that makes sense too, but it seems to me Erik Erikson had the best, pragmatic description of dissatisfaction with his theory of "identity crisis" when, you know, you're actually in crisis: for about every decade of one's life, the "who am I?" question recurs. Often caused by some unfortunate event (death, loss of a job, a break-up, and so on) one is forced to reckon with the fact that his or her life is not as he or she imagined it was to be.
For me, moving to UT precipitated a crisis of sorts (a break up; self-questioning about whether I could live up to expectations; financial hardship), and then my break up last summer also really precipitated a crisis that only finally came to head with the news of my continued professional insecurity (viz., still waiting for tenure). As I was telling my friend last night, I'm an insecure and sensative person (like many of us) and so I have been doubting, as of late, my over-investment in professional security. That is, in exchange for the security of a career, I seem to have neglected personal relationships, and now at 35 I have the security of neither. In time I have faith one, the other, or both will change, so I'm not despondent. And years of dropping acid and talking to god-the-wall about the existential condition of thrownness led to a sort of acceptance way back then that periodic crisis and stretches of solitude was the way of this life gig.
Even so, I'm not where I thought I'd be either.
My friend shared similar concerns, and then we started talking about other people our age also enduring something of a 30-something identity crisis. I'm not going to name names, but I can count about ten friends who are going through, or just made it through, some crises. We're talking major things: bad break-ups or failing marriages, deaths, severe job changes, and financial hardship. WTF? Is there something about the 30-something years that makes the crises more transformative, more pressing, more conspicuous? Any 40-somethings have some advice for us?
Well, I don't really know what to say about this topic except that "identity crises happen," and there are a bunch of us working though it. We worry about whether the academic life was the right choice. We worry about whether we can cut it in this job, about getting tenure, about running out of time or ideas. We worry about trusting others and ourselves. We worry about the "biological clock" and whether a family life is possible. We worry about what we gave up by embracing a family life. We worry about being fat or unhealthy. We worry about finances and retirement. And what's most infuriating: we don’t make enough money to buy a sports car to help resolve this crisis!
(I think, however, a Vespa is certainly in order)
Erikson argued that identity crises were both necessary and inevitable, and it is only through crises that one can continue to maintain and fashion a dynamic identity that can whether the really big crises yet to come (death and dying). Of course, for those of us working though them (apparently some crises are years-long) this is little comfort. That said, I reckon the most satisfying thing I can say is what motivates this blog post: hey, 30-something people in identity crisis, you're not alone. It sounds sentimental, and in a way it is, but sometimes identification requires a recognition of mutual crises: we're in this together.