The Girl In The Photo

See that girl?  She’s got long, brown wavy hair, and a collection of freckles that further intensify her sense of childlike innocence that’s so clearly evident in the way she moves.  White earbuds dangle down the side of her face, and I take pleasure in imagining that she’s listening to Avril Lavigne, or Pink, or someone equally as gusty and fierce that I probably haven’t heard of.  Actually, I’m certain it’s the latter, because this girl is one of those girls that just exudes uber-coolness, and uber-cool people always know all about the other uber-cool people–especially when it comes to music.

There’s a reason for my infatuation with this earth-goddess, racerback tank-wearing, leather bracelet-donning, pop punk rocker, and that reason can be summed up in two words:   hula hoop.

I’ve seen her three times now; she appears on campus at the university where I’m completing my graduate work.  She hasn’t got a care in the world, as her and her iPod jam out in the middle of an uninhabited patch of grass, her hips gyrating to the beat of the music, as she hula hoops around and around in endless circles.  Passersby heading to their next class look on in amazement, and I hear them snicker amongst their circle of friends, calling my sweet earth-goddess pop punk rocker names like crazy, insane, psychotic, and wacky. They ridicule, scorn, sneer and laugh with contempt.   While the fact that she’s wearing a racerback tank top in the dead of winter in Pennsylvania is, perhaps, questionable, as much as they mock her, I think they’re all secretly green with envy of her bold confidence.  I know I am.

You Can’t Hula Hoop In Public! *Gasp*

You see, for some reason, the fact that she’s hula hooping in the middle of campus is somehow considered wrong, against the rules.   It’s not considered “socially acceptable behavior,” and as such, is condemned, judged, and scrutinized.  It’s weird, and it makes us uncomfortable.  To cope with our discomfort, we label her a host of undesirable things.  She must be those things.  After all, we would never hula hoop in the middle of campus all by ourselves, and we’re the normal ones.   Scoff, scoff.

Now imagine for a moment that instead of my earth-goddess, it was a little girl out there hula hooping in the grass, be-bopping around to the rhythm of the music.  Her hair flies wild in the wind, and her cheeks are rosy with life.   Passersby–you, me, everyone–would look at the little girl and be filled with a warm sense of nostalgia.  We’d appreciate and admire her youthful vibrance and untainted purity.  We’d look on and think to ourselves, Oh, to be young again.

At what point do we cross over?  At what point does it become unacceptable to be young and carefree?  At what point do we become uptight, guarded and judgmental?  And more importantly, why?

Socialization Irks Me

It seems that the socialization process is to blame for my inability to hula hoop in public, or skip down the hallway of a corporate office building, or grab the cute guy standing behind me in line and lay one on ‘em.  (That is, my inability to do so without it seeming extremely strange.)  Socialization–the inheritance of the norms, customs, values of a culture–is an ongoing process that starts at birth, and usually regarded as a positive transformation that teaches new members of society how to be, well, members of their society.  It prepares individuals for the roles they are to play, for example, their gender role, and shows us how to participate “successfully” in society.  And while that may be good and nice and even useful in some arenas, in the arena of my own personal growth and the free-spirited, carefree Ashley that I am, it’s damn stifling.  Socialization is nothing more than a big, fancy synonym for “fitting-in,” and in case you couldn’t tell…me and fitting-in don’t always play nicely together.

Let me run down a fun little list of some of the goals of the socialization process:

1.  Impulse control. In other words, the cute guy behind me in line is out of the question.  I don’t like this already.

2.  Development of a conscience. Wait, I thought we had religion for that?   You mean to tell me that there’s other factors that actually determine whether or not you eat puppies for dinner?  That’s a relief–I was wondering why I didn’t do that.

3.  Cultivation of sources of meaning, i.e. what is liked, what is valued. He-llo, money-is-my-everything-and-on-which-I-base-my-self-esteem.  (By the way, stop doing that already.)

4.  Preparation of humans to function socially. Yeah, we really don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable around here.  Don’t rock the boat.

It is just me, or does the idea of being taught what to feel and when (sad when people die, fake happy when people get the job that you wanted, sexy when you fit into a size 4), and essentially learning what you’re suppose to be really, really creepy?

If we’re constantly living our lives based on a predetermined set of rules–emotional responses, gender roles, etc.–then how can we ever know who we really are?  How can we ever know what’s natural?   Is life just a series of fabricated obligations?  Are we just a series of fabricated obligations?  Are we really alive, or just living by the rules?

Ashley Rant

I don’t particularly care for hard and fast rules when it comes to being a human being.  We live and die by what’s “socially acceptable,” and we socialize ourselves right into submissiveness–not submissiveness to society, but rather submissiveness to ourselves.  We suppress urges.  We muffle feelings.  We smother instinct.  We stifle sensuality.  We trample our senses.  And we put a big, giant Stone Cold Steve Austin choke hold on spontaneity.  Instead, we’re a bunch of cold, unfeeling, desensitized, devastatingly inhibited creatures.   And that sucks.

I’m blatantly heartbroken by the university professor who uses his/her status as an excuse for acting like a condescending jackass.  I don’t care where you got your Ph.D. from; you’re still a human being and–surprise!–so am I.

I’m thoroughly saddened by the doctor who is too busy to answer a scared, anxious, dying patient’s questions.   Who’s actually more important in this scenario?  Apparently, the doctor thinks its him/herself, which is a conflict of interest.

And I’m maddenly distraught by the hundreds and thousands of everyday citizens who look away from the homeless person, because offering them an innocent smile and, perhaps, just a glimmer of compassion, would be too much to ask.  We’re deathly afraid they’re going to ask us for money, and then we’ll have to feel guilty for denying them it.   After all, it’s all about us and our feelings.

All of these scenarios are dehumanizing, and I’m tired of watching people’s actions reflect their manufactured “roles” in society, instead of reflecting their roles as a human being.

When are we going to realize that human connections are truly all we’ve got, and we should be nourishing them, instead of discouraging them in order to feed our individual ego?   Let’s be honest with ourselves–in the grand scheme of things, I’m not all that important.   And you’re not all that important, either.   And it’s about time that we drop the act.

Be real with yourself.  Be real with others.   Be silly.  Be uninhibited.  Be free.  Be the earth goddess, racerback tank-wearing, leather bracelet-donning, pop punk rocker.   Be you.   And most importantly, be a human being–not just a representation of one.

The Contest

Here’s your first opportunity to do so:

Go buy yourself a hula hoop, because you’re going to need it in order to videotape yourself hula hooping in a public place, which you will then send to me.  What?

Yes, that’s right.  I’m initiating a contest–the person who hula hoops in the most creative public place, and videotapes themselves doing so, wins the prize.  What’s that, you ask?  Well, it’s $100 for the first place winner, $50 for the second place winner and $25 for third place–voted on by the readers!  The deadline is March 22nd–one month from today–at which point I’ll post a video montage of all submitted entries on The Middle Finger Project. The vote will take place, and winners will be announced no later than March 31st.  For official rules, click here.  What are you waiting for?  Get out there, shed some of your inhibitions, and have a damn good laugh at yourself.  And then score some cash, you animal!

Okay.  Ready?  On your mark.  Get set.  GO!  Send all entries to ash @ themiddlefingerproject.org.  But shucks, don’t put the spaces in there.  Deal?

P.S.  Please don’t throw out your back.  But if you do, be sure to videotape that too.