Odd People

The search for one's identity as one, if not the most important, task of adolescence was described in detail by Erik Erikson and John Marcia. Good Heavens! It makes everything sound so earnest and serious, like we're busy little beavers working diligently on our identities.

Fortunately, the task is made easier for the identity slackers out there in that there's a number of ready-to-wear identity possibilities to choose from -- kind of like shopping at the Pottery Barn for identities; with each one combining the happy features of being both utliitarian and decorative. Consider that identities have accessories that go with it: the dress, the music, the 'tude, the language. Even if you go to an all-girls' school, there are still some choices regarding identity to be made despite prohibitions of navel flaunting and the necessity of jewlery for that feature.

Yes! You can dress as a junior version of Mom (or Aunt Sue), and come on as a Student Government type or an incipient careerist. Or, wear whatever with knee pads and be a manifestation of a Sk8r gurl! If you like Big Hair, then there's the Country look. Of, for the really antisocial, there's the Head Shop Crowd. There are opporutinities to be Retro Beat or Hippie Chicks. Or Biker Grrrls. Like death, taxes, and spam, there will always be Preppies. And the Drama Crowd, with the histrionic (in both senses) Drama Queens of both sexes! And lately it's become okay to be a Lady Jock (Praise or blame Anna Kournikova and Serena Williams for that!) and not have to shave your legs regularly. But for those who want to stray away from the oft-chosen identity categories, there are some others:

Like how about an artiste or the budding young novelist? Now this is a terra incognita regarding identities for most teens. While the adults like to see teens dabble in art (or at least learn to paint their rooms) and knock off a sonnet now and then, the idea of a young person writing a serious, mature novel with insights into human nature is as exotic as a dog walking on its hind legs or speaking French. Wow! What could be better? To pick up an identity that will both make you very different and at the same time will confuse adults: now that's a twofer for you!. For many teens, really shocking adult authority figures would be worth it in itself.

Yeah, for a while I wanted to be a precocious teen novelist like Françoise Sagan or somebody like that. Soooo . . . . I would, like, wear black jeans and a bulky black sweater, affect heavy eye makeup, a pouty expression, and put on an air, an essence, not of cynicism so much as jadedness. And tried my hand at crafting words. I shifted in music taste to the classics: Nine Inch Nails, The Velvet Underground, The Doors, Nirvana, Rage Against the Machine. Nothing pop -- just serious music commenting on the state of things. I tended to look at things through a glass darkly, and felt good about myself on my maturity.

I tried poetry; or maybe you should call it 'jingle writing.' Ahhh, my poetry sucked like an Electrolux. As most poetry does.

I even tried to play the part by taking up smoking, but was unsuccessful in it. Also, while scotch on the rocks gave a good buzz, it did not taste as good as daiquiris.

In general, it's hard to be a serious novelist when you come home wearing a white blouse, a brown skirt, and saddle oxfords; and watch MTV or Sailor Moon on T.V. right away.

Also, being jaded and world-weary is tiresome. And Weltschmerz: can I get some at Wal-Mart and not have to go through all of this? The fact is, writing is serious business; and having something to say does not come ex officio as a result of being a new novelist.

As Flannery O'Connor put it well: "Everywhere I go I'm asked if I think the university stifles writers. My opinion is that they don't stifle enough of them."

I'd guess that the coup de grace on my writing career came with the periodic Delia's catalog in the mail. How could one continue to wear black, loose-fitting clothes when there are these hot new outfits to wear? Suddenly there was a retreat from intellectualism. It's time to play. Let's dance!

Ah! Shallowness!

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