Buying a Tribe
I find myself thinking a lot about belonging these days, about the ways I affiliate myself with the human beings around (or even those distant from) me. Maybe it's because, as a military brat, I grew up in so many different places. I was born in another country, in Germany, and a South African friend of mine suggested that I might be able to obtain a German passport because of that. She thought it would be cool, not to mention someday convenient, to have passports from more than one country (this is, of course, the sort of thing that would never occur to most Americans; until she suggested it it had never occurred to me). The more I thought about it, the cooler it seemed to me too. But when I went to the website for German consulates in the U.s., I discovered that I never belonged to Germany either because both my parents were U.S. citizens.
A long time ago, we used to talk about our belonging in terms of tribes, and I still find that a useful way to think about it. A tribe shares your interests and history, biological or otherwise. If gives you a sense that you aren't alone in the world; it can provide values and structure and even family.
Like many people, our culture's mobility has undermined my ability to find a tribe according to geography. I lived in Kansas the longest, from adolscence through early adulthood, but I haven't lived there now for more than 20 years. I've lived in too many places, both as a child and an adult to claim a tribe that way.
At one time, people could belong according to the place where they worked: a steel mill or an auto factory or a farm or newspaper or corporation. But we've become pretty mobile about our work too. I've been a reporter, a teacher, an editor, and a smattering of other things since I was first in college. Each in turn held out the promise of a solid tribal affiliation, but I don't think any of them has ended up really defining me.
And so, like many Americans, I've tried to find my tribal affiliation by buying it. Our culture often tells us that we are what we own: PC or Mac, Levi's or Wranglers, Ralph Lauren or Tommy. Is the house brick or adobe or wood frame or manufactured? Is the television Sanyo or Sony? Does my bed have independent coils or a sleep number?
In high school, I was in the tribe of Adidas wearers, then I spent time in the Nike tribe. Nowadays, I've joined the tribe that purchases discounted running shoes.
Cars are one of the quickest paths to tribal affiliation. Currently, I belong to the Honda tribe, specifically those who own the late-1980s Civic four wheel drive wagons. Mine is light blue, and when I spot another member of the tribe, also in pale blue or a kind of golden bronze or more rarely white, I feel an instant kinship no matter what the age or gender or race of my tribe mate. I'm pretty happy with my tribe, but I have to admit I sometimes dream of joining the tribe of Subaru or Volvo. Of course, ultimately, I really want to be in the tribe of Prius, but let's not get crazy here.
My more immediate short term is to join the tribe washer-dryer owners, and then, in a few years, the tribe of homeowners, possibly van owners. I don't know that I could count on any of my fellow tribe members if the chips were down, but I don't know that that's the point anymore. Really belonging gets very messy and complicated. It involves dealing with people I sometimes disagree with, and remaining connected to and invested in them anyway. It means admitting I'm wrong sometimes, having to do things someone else's way, realizing that I'm not in control of the universe and shouldn't be.
So I drift back and forth between wanting the autonomy of independence and the belonging of tribal life. When I think about it that way, it sounds quite a bit like dealing with my sons when they were in toddlerhood. I don't know where that leaves me, but it's not a hopeful sign.
A long time ago, we used to talk about our belonging in terms of tribes, and I still find that a useful way to think about it. A tribe shares your interests and history, biological or otherwise. If gives you a sense that you aren't alone in the world; it can provide values and structure and even family.
Like many people, our culture's mobility has undermined my ability to find a tribe according to geography. I lived in Kansas the longest, from adolscence through early adulthood, but I haven't lived there now for more than 20 years. I've lived in too many places, both as a child and an adult to claim a tribe that way.
At one time, people could belong according to the place where they worked: a steel mill or an auto factory or a farm or newspaper or corporation. But we've become pretty mobile about our work too. I've been a reporter, a teacher, an editor, and a smattering of other things since I was first in college. Each in turn held out the promise of a solid tribal affiliation, but I don't think any of them has ended up really defining me.
And so, like many Americans, I've tried to find my tribal affiliation by buying it. Our culture often tells us that we are what we own: PC or Mac, Levi's or Wranglers, Ralph Lauren or Tommy. Is the house brick or adobe or wood frame or manufactured? Is the television Sanyo or Sony? Does my bed have independent coils or a sleep number?
In high school, I was in the tribe of Adidas wearers, then I spent time in the Nike tribe. Nowadays, I've joined the tribe that purchases discounted running shoes.
Cars are one of the quickest paths to tribal affiliation. Currently, I belong to the Honda tribe, specifically those who own the late-1980s Civic four wheel drive wagons. Mine is light blue, and when I spot another member of the tribe, also in pale blue or a kind of golden bronze or more rarely white, I feel an instant kinship no matter what the age or gender or race of my tribe mate. I'm pretty happy with my tribe, but I have to admit I sometimes dream of joining the tribe of Subaru or Volvo. Of course, ultimately, I really want to be in the tribe of Prius, but let's not get crazy here.
My more immediate short term is to join the tribe washer-dryer owners, and then, in a few years, the tribe of homeowners, possibly van owners. I don't know that I could count on any of my fellow tribe members if the chips were down, but I don't know that that's the point anymore. Really belonging gets very messy and complicated. It involves dealing with people I sometimes disagree with, and remaining connected to and invested in them anyway. It means admitting I'm wrong sometimes, having to do things someone else's way, realizing that I'm not in control of the universe and shouldn't be.
So I drift back and forth between wanting the autonomy of independence and the belonging of tribal life. When I think about it that way, it sounds quite a bit like dealing with my sons when they were in toddlerhood. I don't know where that leaves me, but it's not a hopeful sign.
posted by A Pilgrim at 10:48 PM
1 Comments:
this tribal longing is both what we most want, and what we most want to avoid. on some primal level, we all want that safety. and yet, we do shy from the responsibility and work that goes with it. so we find ways to look like we belong to something, but keep ourselves to ourselves for the most part.
i'm not sure what that means. i certainly don't want to over-romanticize tribal affiliations, as if they are some "noble savage" way of life we hyper-post-modern humans need to reconnect with at pricey weekend seminars to feel whole and peaceful.
i flirt with comunities with established identities -- the gblts, the tattooed people, the pierced people, the DINKs, the adjuncty labor crazies, those with literary aspirations...
but really, all i want is friends. intimate, loving friends. the kind i can call at midnight b/c i'm freaking out; the kind i can count on to lay my head on their lap and stroke my hair til i breathe more smoothly. the "communities" aren't so important. who needs community when you can have hugs?
not at all sure i'm on the same topic you were. but there it is. unedited repsponse (well, except for the typos).
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