Letting the Joneses Win
In this 3-part "Culture Shock" series, Plugged In Online's newest writer grapples with moving back to the U.S. after spending nearly five years living in Asia and Africa. This is Part 1.
I used to think I was a reasonably well-adjusted person. But then I had to move back to the United States.
Donning U.S. culture again felt like wearing a sweater that's four sizes too small: I stuck out of it. I squirmed to make it fit. I felt beyond absurd. Different aspects of American life that had once felt normal now felt uncomfortable and—dare I say it—horrifying.
Before my homecoming, I'd spent almost five years teaching in East Africa and rural China. Both are far-flung regions where life is relatively slow and uncomplicated compared to our frenzied, disproportionate U.S. existence.
Living life outside the reach of American advertising, for example, was much more serene. It was also freeing since I had space to ponder things beyond how my abs look, the kind of car I drive or the clothes I wear. In fact, I'd been living in areas where many people wear the same clothing almost every day—without their friends (or Stacy London) staging an intervention.
So reentering our consumer-driven, image-mindful country felt like jumping naked into a glacial lake. (Well, at least my shock and audible gasping were probably pretty similar.) I came home to American friends who were ashamed to carry the same attractive, perfectly useful purse for more than a few months—forget about wearing a sweater twice in one week.
As terrible as it may sound, during my first days back I wanted to smack several people and yell, "Get over yourselves!" Instead, you'll be relieved to know I bit my tongue and tried to smile a lot.
Inadequacy Is the New Black
Once back in the West, I was instantly warned of my serious shortcomings. An advertisement in the airport told me I could hold my head higher if I'd have cosmetic surgery. Radio commercials on the ride home touted teeth-whiteners and designer jeans guaranteed to slim. And when I turned on a television—for the first time in about a year—a smug, collagen-lipped woman flatly announced that I'm fat. She'd been a "huge" size 12 (like me), but after dropping 40 pounds, men finally noticed her. I sat there wondering if this might be because her mouth was now bigger than her hips.
When I turned the TV off—instead of giving it away, as I'd initially been tempted to do—magazine spreads prolonged the criticism. It seems I lack a shocking amount of crucial, life-advancing stuff: Oprah's book-club pick, the right wardrobe, emotional fulfillment through yoga, an ideal haircut, fat-burning food, life-altering laundry soap, mind-boggling sex, fantasy vacations, George Foreman's grill and perfectly clumping cat litter. (Thankfully my cat is reasonable and doesn't mind clay.)
A steady stream of "the-Joneses-are-better-so-you've-got-to-do-more" messages poured from every form of media I experienced. It all felt outrageous and vulgar, as if perfect strangers were attacking my very worth. Because, actually, they were.
The self-conscious, materialistic American roller-coaster ride was already killing me. Only weeks before I'd been content. Now I felt pressured to run just to keep up. I hadn't started buying or doing new things to enhance my supposedly deficient self, but a deep, secretive, very worried part of me wondered if I should. Everyone else seemed to be doing it. And everyone else looked a whole lot better. Didn't they? Especially with IKEA-sleek houses, the latest electronics, three sets of dinnerware and closets full of those slimming jeans.
Nothing Numbs Like Excess
Even during difficult financial times, we still have so much in the United States that we don't fully recognize or appreciate a lot of it. And as I watch those around me extend themselves in order to get more, I can't help but think that the intoxicating push to accept all of this as "normal" hugely affects each of us in some way.
Actually, there's a little game of sorts you can use to test this theory. Try it with a group of kids. If you don't have access to children, try it with a group of adults who act like children. It might measure, on some level, how much the pressure to amass possessions and be fulfilled through them has influenced our society:
First, find an empty glass bottle and a stick. Next, place the bottle on an empty stretch of dirt—if you can find one wedged in between all the concrete. Invite the group to roll the bottle around with the stick, pass it with their feet or run around with it for a few minutes. Then observe their responses.
Will they invent new games with their bottle and stick? Smile with delight? Giggle with glee?
I predict not.
But in parts of the Third World with few resources and even less income, I have watched boys play with Coca-Cola bottles for an entire hour. And they didn't feel at all deprived. Resourceful to the core, they could have fun and be creative with lots of things we wouldn't even consider in the West.
Why? Possibly because American advertising had never told them that a bottle is boring.
Get Me Off This Crazy Culture!
As I reacclimated, I pictured George Jetson screaming, "Jane! Stop this crazy thing!" I felt a lot like him at first, because I wanted off the American ride. I wanted out of my very own country that bore me and brought me up. It felt insatiable compared to the other places that had felt so much more satisfied.
But for some reason—and this has to be God's work, not my own culture-shocked machinations—I realized that I don't have to participate in the madness.
I can say no.
So instead of waving my arms and babbling to summon the men in white coats when I'm dragged to the mall, I've instead learned to pray while navigating it. I especially pray for patience when walking through pet stores that sell doggie g-strings and high-end boutiques with $400 shirts that don't seem a whole lot different from the ones I walk past at Wal-Mart.
And the more I navigate and pray, the clearer my path through life becomes.
Among other things, I've realized anew that our culture is just a culture. It's not the definitive means to estimate our worth if we don't achieve its punishing standards. Our identities, for instance, don't depend on physical attractiveness, "coolness," books we read or toys we play with. Our worth is in Christ, not in what any of the Joneses think of us. Our value isn't even based on what we think of ourselves, because identifying us is God's job.
Maybe you haven't experienced reverse culture shock as I have, but you've got to admit that living in this country is stressful. The advertisers' enchanting call to accomplish and acquire is irresistible at some point—even when we don't fully recognize how it affects us.
So I'll pose this question to you, just as I've posed it to myself over and over again in the past few months: Do I have this possession, or does it have me? Ask it every time you begin to believe you're better or more secure than others because of the lifestyle you've cultivated.
Let the Joneses win, I say. And wear the same sweater twice in one week, just to drive the point home.
In Part 2, Meredith continues to resist full reacclimation as she sets her sights on another phenomenon of U.S. behavior: the illusion of communication.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3