the box in the corner

I've been thinking a lot about my semester in Los Angeles lately, probably because that was the last time I really made an effort to write. LA wasn't something that anyone I knew expected me to do, and although no one was against it, per se, no one was very "for" it. I distinctly remember having a conversation with Uncle Wayne before I left: I told him what the program was about and why I was planning on attending. He was surprisingly attentive, and he only had one thing to say when I was done - "That's great. I'm really proud of you."

I remembered that many times while I was gone. Sometimes it was that moment that gave me the courage to explore the city, approach strangers outside of the studios or even get in the car to go to church. Fear plays a huge role in my life (and, I think, in any life), and when the going was toughest I would remember that Uncle Wayne was proud of me. Knowing that at least one person had my back made me able to engage in a community wildly different than the one I was used to.

I've also been thinking a lot lately about our culture and wondering whether a culture so devoted to independence could spend a little more time looking into what the word actually means. How many times as a child were you told "you can be anything you want to be"? Even if it wasn't your parents, I'd bet good money that there was at least one TV show or song in your childhood dedicated to you being "all you can be."

There are lots of negatives to that particular message, but the one I want to bring to light is the fact that independence done well is a lot more about autonomy than it is about libertarian independence. When our parents were telling us to dream, did they ever stop to ask yourself what happens when we can't be "anything" we want to be? What happens if it turns out that we can't be... anything? Don't pretend that that never happens, because it does. And what happens when we don't want to be anything like you want us to be?

You may have noticed that our generation is obsessed with connectedness. Being connected to people is a great thing, but I don't think we know how to do it well. In his book Hurt, Chap Clark suggests that the experience of adolescents in America is characterized by abandonment and disconnectedness - it's no wonder that we want community, but it is equally unsurprising that we don't know how to do community. We've never had a model, and how can we imagine "all we can be" when such a big part of us is missing?

It's not about people not genuinely caring about us, but it's a distracted kind of caring. Does this resonate with your experience in the world? Instead of being loved, our generation is managed. Instead of being inspired to greatness, we're being herded to it. We all believe that we should dream, and that we should dream big. Most of us do those things, but when it comes down to living the dream, we're stuck. At least, that has been my experience. The dreams are there, the ideals of beauty and justice and truth, but they just can't seem to come out.

When I was in LA I drove around the city, visited studios, walked the streets barefoot. My roommates and I had movie nights, midnight pancakes and liked to wander The Grove, or sometimes walk to Yogurtland after midnight. We had a good thing going - living and learning and looking to a bright future. But most importantly, I did my own grocery shopping. It seems like a very small thing, but every time I put away groceries I remembered that being there was part of my dream. Lots of people were behind me - I was most certainly not "independent - but I learned to live with autonomy.

Funny story: I still have the cardboard box that I filled with the remaining non-perishable foods from our apartment. Now that I'm living at home again, it sits in the corner of my room. It's my little nudging reminder, when the commute starts to wear on me, that I did it once and I can do it again. More people should have experiences like that to look back on.