Identity Crisis in Song Lyrics

Disclaimer: the following blog walks a fine line between “real” and “too personal.” I chose to post this because I believe that this semester is just as much a period of personal development as it is a string of African experiences. This entry focuses on the personal development portion.

Talking to myself in a breezeway
Putting down anything that I find
Be it liquor, or candy, or sadness or brandy
Or your words so soft and so kind

I wonder if I still own a bible
If my fingerprints still sit on that page
The one about love, and why it's so patient
And why I have lost it with age

An answer never seems to escape me
But now I'm feeling lost my dear god
Sour and dry if I could I would cry
But my eyes barely open for sunlight

-River City Extension, "If I Still own a Bible" 

I can hardly believe that I’ve been here for a full two months. I remember the day I left Kansas City. I ran with Dad, stopped by Chipotle on the way to the airport to get a final fix, and then goofed off in the airport with Dad and Kaleb while we waited for my flight. I had to wrestle Kaleb to get a hug good-bye. There was snow on the ground. It seems like a year ago.

After the first few weeks in Uganda, once the initial shock wore off and I felt as settled as I could in a foreign country, an unshakeable feeling of restlessness settled in. I often feel overcome with an unbearable feeling of boredom which leads to less than optimal decisions. Instead of listening to informative (yet poorly presented) lectures, I find myself writing out song lyrics instead. I have reached entirely new levels of procrastination. Even when the papers due are 10 pages long, I will not spend more than 3 hours on it. Running has been half-hearted and infrequent. My weight gain is shocking. Despite my countless attempts to motivate myself to get back in shape, lose weight, and prepare for a successful cross-country season in the fall, I still find myself eating horrific amounts of food for no other reason than to combat this pervasive, restless boredom. When I am in the group, I just want to be alone. I find myself consuming more alcohol than usual to try to have fun, yet I still feel removed and distant when with the group. When I am alone, the boredom persists. I have turned to reading novels. My main entertainment is the lives of fictitious two-dimensional characters.

It’s not that I haven’t had fun here. I have. Two weekends ago the group went rafting on the Nile and it was one of the most fun things I’ve done. My host brothers were a blast to talk to. The group is a unique, vibrant, and wonderful mix of people. The issue is that my internal conflict has overshadowed these fun experiences and people.

I suppose I would call this an identity crisis.

 I find myself looking frequently at pictures from high school on Facebook. I long for the girl I used to be. The girl who would only eat organic food during cross-country season. A girl who looked forward to every race, every run, as a chance to push myself to the fullest and test my limits. Someone who really believed in a God. Someone who valued charity and kindness.  Not this bitter young adult who seeks immediate gratification instead of the satisfaction of achieving goals, sulks in solitude rather than enjoying the company of friends, wallows in selfish self-pity instead of fueling obstacles into motivation. I need to get rid of this person.

For too long I have allowed the excuse of Kari’s situation last year to shirk my responsibility for my actions. I gained 15 pounds and told myself, “It’s because I’m depressed from her situation.” I was distant from my friends—“I’m having a hard time dealing with things at school and need alone time.” My grades struggled—“How can I keep up good grades when there is a crisis at home?” And while these excuses had some validity, I never got out of crisis mode. My family has returned to a level of normalcy, yet I have continued to have the same problems and lack of motivation.  

While I can lament my current state over a whiney, overly informative blog post, and can regret it and feel ashamed, none of those things can alter the situation. The only thing that will cause change is if I take action. If I lace up my running shoes every day, if I choose to eat pasta instead of pizza, if I allot 3 days for a paper instead of 3 hours, if I go out for a evening with friends instead of silently reading a vacuous novel in solitude.

I think I have come to a lot of these realizations because this boredom and laziness and inability to be dedicated to anything have persisted in Africa. I thought going away, a change of scenery, of culture, of people, would solve whatever deadness and numbness that had prevailed since my sophomore year in college. But it persisted, and even worsened in this different land. The problem has always been internal. My boredom is not of DC, or of the mid-west, or of the people I know and love. But it is with the vacuous, self-centered person I have become. How can my selfish concerns provide continual entertainment? How can I feel alive without goals or ambitions? The cure to my boredom was not to come to Africa (altough I'm glad I did). Instead, it must originate in a deep change from within and a revival of the self-determination, motivation, and ambition that I used to value and receive joy from. I need to once again have the sensation of working as hard as I can at something and, at the moment of truth, taking comfort and pride in the knowledge that I had done everything possible to ensure success, had given it my all.

“It’s not the long walk home that will change my heart

But the welcome I receive at the restart.”

-Mumford and Sons, "Roll Away Your Stone"