The Young Adult-"Real" Adult Tug of War

Being 26 years old is like straddling a great divide, with one foot planted in youth, the other struggling to find balance in adulthood. It is a unique time in life, where my mid-twenties compatriots and I are still somewhat able to live double lives. But in subtle ways, I get the impression that my time as a divide straddler is dwindling, that I no longer will be able to do some of the activities I love with the vigor of my teens and 20s. This is a difficult realization to make, and it comes from a number of factors. So fellow mid 20somethings, commiserate with me for a few moments on three major realizations that the march toward 30 (gulp) has brought to life.

I am comfortable with my body, just in time to notice its small failures. Perhaps one of the most difficult things about adolescence and young adulthood is the ongoing battle with the mirror and scale. We are bombarded with messages from every cultural direction, telling us what to look like, what to eat, how to dress, what kind of clothes we should buy, and how we should present ourselves to the world. Robert Kegan, a psychologist at Harvard, says that this concern with the other, the definition of self through the lens of everyone else, is a hallmark of young adulthood. The stress of conforming to societal ideals about appearance, and its debilitating effects, are often seen most clearly in college students, who struggle mightily with competing messages of "be yourself" and "be like everyone else." I am happy to say that, 5 years after college, I struggle with body image less and less. And, surprisingly, I have found that the less I worry about looking and being perfect, the better and more lovely I feel. Ultimately, that self-esteem struggle of the 20s causes major unhappiness, and a complete inability to see oneself clearly. The distance from college has helped me let that go.

But, the trouble lies in the fact that, as I have grown more comfortable in my own skin, my body has in some ways begun to show the signs of betrayal. I can't run long distances the way I used to. It takes longer to recover from physical activities. I feel the effects of two or three beers the next morning. I see small signs of aging in the form of wrinkles and gray hair. I'm comfortable with my appearance, but also have to begin confronting the inevitable changes that come with getting older. Scary.

Some things are funny, and some things are not. Perhaps also related to the stage of life where definition of self is largely external, I have found that the older I get, the less tolerant I am of ignorance. Gone are the days where I'd thoughtlessly laugh at people who make hateful, sexist, racist, or toxic comments disguised as "jokes." I can't pinpoint exactly when this transition took place, but since it has, the fake laughter has stopped. This can be quite awkward at times, as there are many people whose only means of humor is at the expense of others. What is even more awkward is admitting to myself that this is part of who I am now, and that may mean that acquaintances of the past no longer have a place in my life. These feelings extend not only to the ignorant jokers, but also to people who begin stories with "This might be racist, but" or "I am not sexist, but..." If these phrases are necessary to tell a story or explain a point, chances are what's being said IS racist, IS sexist, is offensive. My tolerance for such interactions has swiftly vanished in my journey toward 30.

We don't have forever. Being 26 comes with a lot of birth-life baggage. Friends are getting married and having children. Elderly relatives pass away. Twenty-somethings are caught in the middle, pulled roughly in both directions. For me, this has been one of the greatest struggles of my mid-20s; constantly feeling as though I have to defend my position- in a long term relationship, focused on my career and my own growth, content with the present- from the questions and remarks on both sides. Suddenly, at 26, my marital status is of great concern to my older relatives (and sometimes, to people I've just met), whether I am renting or working toward purchasing a house changes opinions, and social circles are divided between singles, couples, and families. I have to admit this is part of being 26 that is most complicated; I know I won't be here forever, but I also know I like where I am right now and find myself actively resisting external forces propelling me to make decisions before I am ready or based on what everyone else my age is doing.

I am sure there are many, many other aspects of the mid-20s worthy of discussion here. Perhaps this is just one of a multi-part series of reflections about what it means to be young adult in 2010. I am curious about whether others nearing 30 are experiencing similar or different realizations. I'd be delighted if you'd share them in the comments.

Student-as-Teacher: Crossing the Border

September is here, and fall is in the air. This time of the year has always been magical for me because with it comes the start of a new school year. I can almost smell the fresh Crayola crayons, the pencil shavings, the dust of the chalkboard. New beginnings come with the fall, chances for new achievements, for mastering new content through reading, writing, studying.

I am a student at heart, and I think I always will be. Long before boys, or sports, or a good white wine, school was my first true love. I know this because looking back on my behavior leading up to the first day of classes, there is no denying I was preparing for a big date. I would organize, re-organize, and organize again my fresh new school supplies in my bookbag, agonize over which lunchbox was just the right size, and lay out that first day outfit weeks in advance (which is saying something, because this behavior occurred even during 8 years of uniform-wearing private school). I would not sleep the night before, but instead stay up late writing my name in all my new notebooks, thinking about what the school year would bring.


In an oft chaotic and tumultuous childhood, school became a refuge, a place where I knew there were always answers. If I studied hard, I would get good grades. If I did all of my homework, read every book I could get my hands on, the solutions were there. Like a treasure hunt, the school year for me was a tantalizing opportunity to discover, question, and confirm.

Of course, it becomes clear somewhere around middle school that maybe all of the answers aren't there, that maybe the answer is there is no one right answer, but that did not stop me from trying.

Though tempered with anxiety about "grown-up stuff," I am still that first-day jitters, pig-tailed, notebook-labeling little girl when it comes to the start of the semester. I can't wait to dive into fresh textbooks and ponder new ideas. But, this school year is different than all the others in one very distinct way. This year I am a student, but I am also a teacher.

Tomorrow I begin a semester-long voyage into unfamiliar territory, co-instructing an undergraduate course in leadership. For the first time, I will see what school is like from the other side of the desk, the view from the chalkboard (which is now more likely a high-tech whiteboard). And though I have taught students before in other settings, tomorrow will be different.

Much of the summer was spent preparing for this moment, this transition from student to teacher. Teaching this semester has the potential to change my perspective on education, learning, and possibly even my career. I hope that crossing the border will help me figure out where I stand, and in particular, in what direction I'll move come graduation in May.

God in all things?

Loyola University is a Jesuit institution, which means that its mission and values relate to the Jesuit ideals of education set out by Saint Ignatius of Loyola (here on campus, he goes by Iggy, for short). Twenty-eight colleges and universities in the United States ascribe to these values, and I have come to feel a great affinity toward Jesuit educational institutions because of them. For example, the Jesuit identity of our institution indicates a special focus on the practice of discernment, or separating our thought and decision-making process from worldly wants, desires, and fears, and instead focusing on the deepest needs of our hearts and minds. Jesuit education promotes the idea of a unity between heart and head, as well as using our talents for the betterment of the world. There is also special attention placed on freedom for oppressed populations, holistic development, and working toward an end to poverty. These values are etched on the walkway in front of the Loyola library, and I enjoy reading them as I navigate my way around campus. But one always gives me pause: commitment to seeing God in all things. 

As I mentioned in a previous post, I have undergone what Sharon Daloz Parks calls "spiritual shipwreck" over the past ten years. I arrived at college with a seemingly deep and solid Catholic faith that was brought into question by the many challenges of identity and the nature of knowledge while I was an undergraduate. I vacillated between different denominations, teachings, and beliefs for much of college, during which I experienced some painful losses of both family members and friends. As cliche as it may be, I experienced a crisis of faith in college from which I have yet to recover. 

Over the past year or so, I have re-opened and begun the process of cautiously exploring the vault of my spirituality. I have attended different types of masses and spiritual gatherings, embraced the mind-body experience of yoga, read numerous books, articles and psychological theories about faith development, and even wrote papers about the spiritual struggle in college. While all of these things have helped me soothe the pain of losing something that was such an integral part of my childhood and young adult life, I still have not figured things out and the sense of emptiness created by my lack of faithful assurance has left a void inside me. 

This summer, as I found comfort and conviction in the Jesuit ideals of education, I also have felt uncertainty about the idea that God is in all things. In the past few years, I have read, seen and experienced a lot of things that seem to contradict this concept in the form of war, greed, hatred and the wretched existence brought on humanity by the scourge of poverty and oppression.

 I have felt disheartened and discouraged by these things, and have found it difficult to believe that there is a God out there who would allow such evils to exist in the world. 

Last night, as I was muddling through my thoughts on a lot of these issues and feeling down about the lack of answers I was coming up with, I scoured my bookshelf for something to read that would distract me and my over-analytical brain. I picked up Ann Patchett's Truth and Beauty,

a nonfiction narrative of the author's friendship with a fellow writer, Lucy Gealy, a victim of cancer that left her with extreme facial disfigurement. No sooner did I begin reading the book did I start coming across random lines and passages that seemed to be speaking directly to me and my anxieties about faith, life, and my future. 

p. 15"True spiritualism, more often then not, shows you just how hard things are, not how easy." For someone who is struggling with her faith, these words immediately popped out and soothed me. 

p. 39 on writing "It's got to be every day. If you don't turn out pages every day, you're not really a writer. You're just playing at it... you won't be for real if you don't write the pages. Then you're just like everyone else. A lot of talk and nothing gets done. All promise, no delivery." This section too struck me, as I have spent most of this summer contemplating whether I have a future as an academic, and whether my desire to write and be read is enough to carry me to the next phase of my academic life. 

and finally, p. 42-43 "I came to understand that night that I could not worry about [death] anymore. I knew then that it was just too enormous for me to manage, and that worrying about [it] would swamp me. If I was swamped by worry, I would be useless... I decided that night I would take all the hours of my life that could easily be spent worrying and instead I would try to [do something.].The world is saved through deeds, not prayer, because what is prayer but a kind of worry? I decided that my love [and passion] would have to manifest itself in deeds. 

I read and re-read this passage maybe five times and thought to myself, how ironic it was that I had pulled a truly random book off of my shelf and found so many insights into what I was feeling anxious and stressed about? I thought about something Judy Deshotels, a resident chaplain on campus, had said me a few weeks earlier; "Prayer and spirituality take different forms for different people. Your work and devotion to others can also be a form of faith and prayer." Patchett's passage seemed to reinforce that message. 

Although I still don't feel as though I am capable of seeing God in all things, despite my alignment and respect for many of the other Jesuit values, last night I began to think that maybe I do "see" God in books, and more generally, in the written word. And although I know I still have a long way to go in my own faith development, I like to think that that is a start. 

Lost and Found

In college, students ask a lot of big questions: What does this all mean? What is my purpose? What is most important to me? Who am I? Is there more to life than what's in front of me? We ask ourselves these questions throughout our lives, but many psychologists have pointed to the age of traditional college students (18-24) as the time in the lifespan where our thoughts and feelings about the big questions get more complex. When we're children, much of life is black and white. There are clear-cut rights and wrongs. There are good things and bad things in the world. The answers are either yes or no. These ways of knowing are referred to as dualistic, or dichotomous.

But when we hit that young adult stage, it's as though someone has showed us the puppet strings, or given us a pair of glasses that split the black and white into a full spectrum of color. Suddenly, getting a right or wrong, a yes or no about anything in life is difficult, which can be very frustrating for students and those of us who work with them.

What do we do when there is more than one right answer? This past week, Dr. Carney Strange, professor at Bowling Green State University, came to speak at the MSU Raines Colloquium in our department. Dr. Strange has spent much of his life thinking, researching, and writing about the ways students answer the big questions in college, and how they come to incorporate (or not) spirituality into their existence.

I was fortunate to have the opportunity to be part of a small group of students who had lunch with Dr. Strange before his talk. In our group conversation, we talked about the disorienting dilemma of college attendance, and how many of us felt firmly rooted in our respective faiths before we started college, only to find out that unquestioned belief could suddenly, jarringly be open to interpretation- and that this meant we had the freedom to begin the process of self-authorship, the writing of our own stories and lives.

Dr. Strange asked many more questions than he answered in our spiritual discussion, and later in his talk. But, I think that was the point. Figuring out who we are, what we are meant to do, and where we are going involves asking a lot of questions, and doesn't always result in a single, right answer. At one point, Dr. Strange asked our small group at lunch why we thought the college experience results in so many students' abandonment of previous religious or spiritual belief. It's scary to come to terms with the fact that your way, your beliefs, your faith is not the only way, nor the right way under the scrutiny of others. In college I felt as though I lost my beliefs and sense of spirituality. But, what I have realized in the past year or so is that spirituality is not something you can lose. Spirituality is an integral part of me, it IS me, I never lost it, I just was not focused on or exploring that part of me in college.

I think this is the case with multiple parts of our identities. We may not always be focused on our race, gender, education level, socioeconomic status, or beliefs, but that doesn't make them any less a part of who we are. I have come to realize in the last year that my spiritual self is a very important part of who I am, and that has little to do with religion, as I always thought was essential in college. I know I need time to stand still, quiet my mind, and feel at peace. I know that giving to and helping others is the most important thing I can do in life, and it is the way I hope to leave a mark on the world. I think that we are all connected in some what, and know that I am most happy and content when I've made the road a little easier for someone else. And if those things aren't spiritual, I don't know what is.