Anomie. It's the most interesting word I have heard of in a long time. But what does it mean? According to my Sociology reading from Conley's "You May Ask Yourself", it's a sense of normlessness or aimlessness that comes when you feel that life can no longer be considered predictable under reasonable means. Anomie may also occur when social regulation is reduced. In this post, I hope to tell you about my sense of anomie and how it relates to my writing.
When I first saw this word, I thought to myself: "Hmm, that sounds familiar!" It feels like a good thing to say that, although looking back, it wasn't such a good thing at first. I moved to Buenos Aires, Argentina in December 2007, when I was twelve years old. I had moved before, but never outside the United States.
Moving to Argentina turned everything upside-down. I had to learn Spanish at a very uncomfortable rate while trying to make new friends and get used to a very different way of life. Things weren't so great between my parents, school was difficult and I had absolutely no idea how to adapt.
After nearly six years, I realized that I could never adhere myself to a particular set of norms. Back in the States, I more or less knew what these "rules" looked like, both said and unsaid. When I moved, I tried to find a new set. With the passing of time, I found a lot of different rules, but many of them changed quickly according to different circumstances and even people. In fact, sometimes it was hard to say if there were any real norms at all. Maybe this frustration came from me being American, while most of the people I knew were born and raised in Buenos Aires. Some of them had changed schools or houses, so they understood what that felt like. But countries? Most people hadn't, with the exception of certain members of my youth group and first non-USA middle school, both of which were international.
At this point, you might be wondering: "What do you mean, you didn't know what the norms were?" Let me explain. If you were born and raised in Buenos Aires, particularly in the area I spent most of my adolescence in, then you knew what kind of actions and attitudes were accepted and not accepted, as well as what kinds of people were well-liked and weren't. There were also a lot of rules that weren't spoken, but felt collectively, and everyone knew what they were. Except for me, the foreigner. And then there was the general fact that, at most private schools, Americans were put down as different in many, many bad ways. (Unless you went to one of those fancy international schools, had a very rich family and became popular easily. I went to one briefly, but it got too expensive, and I was neither rich nor popular.) My brother was bombarded with horrid jokes about the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I was called an undocumented alien immigrant (among many other barbarities), nearly thrown into a garbage can (while I had a limp, mind you!) and had my phone stolen from me twice. (It's a miracle I even got it back!)
I tried to learn the norms, in order to fit in. I was still able to make friends (mostly outside of school) and get decent grades, since there were certain "school" and "friendship norms" that applied for both the USA and Argentina. But the more I tried to apply myself to this process, the more I felt like there were so many rules that feel obsolete in quite a few situations, which happened so many times that I came to think that there was a set of norms for Argentineans but not for foreigners, who had to pray to get lucky.
Here's an example of a rule that fell "obsolete": As an American at a bilingual school, English classes were pretty easy for me, and a lot of people looked to me for help. I found, at first, that helping people from my class with certain translations made them very happy, which made them act nicer towards me. But over time, things got to the point where those people would treat me badly even after I had helped them, or would get frustrated after asking for my help and realizing that the translation would be more difficult than expected. People made jokes that I'd always say "It depends on how you use it" or a similar phrase when helping, but it was pretty true. In many cases, I needed more context than what they gave me to properly help them, and if I gave them the wrong answer, it'd just be worse for me. But given my previous experiences, I'm not sure that rule still fully applies, since so many other ones don't.
Finally, I was able to graduate high school, get into college in the United States and start having a more stable life. My sense of anomie has mostly faded. The good part is, I have some great inspiration from my experiences with anomie. In spite of it, I even made some friends who I still talk to today (They are more understanding of us "Yankees", and know full well how immature it is to bully someone just because they are from a different country and are "different" as a person). But now, I know what it's like to feel that you can't rely on anything or anyone. I've lost sleep wondering whether I'd be at the same school or house the following month, because I was terrified of change and loss. Looking back, I feel more comfortable with change now, and I'm grateful for that, but I don't wish it upon anyone to feel like I did.
I hope that my writing can make people feel less of a sense of anomie, or more comfortable with it. Some people might embrace it, and if I can help them do that, help them make sense of things, then I'm grateful.
There will be certain characters in my projects who will feel plagued with a sense of anomie. Christine experiences some of it in my novel "Promises Made, Kept and Broken", which will hopefully be published in 2015. Lance, Jennifer and Meg are three characters from a work-in-progress that struggled greatly with it. Jasmine and Megan, from two other novels in the works, find themselves dealing with it as well. It is even present in some of my poetry.
You could definitely say anomie has been a huge influence on my work. There have been many other influences, ranging from close friends to bizarre situations and even made-up settings and people (I wrote a poem recently in which I mentioned there was a man holding a candle in his mouth while driving through the woods in the dark. I have never seen that happen or even heard of it happening. Imagination is key), plus everything in between. In the end, I want to inspire people and feel inspired, be happy and help others feel the same. Anomie tends to take away your sense of belonging, and I have been able to get it back by reading and writing. If you're feeling a sense of anomie, or anger, or sadness, or simply that you don't belong: I can help you. There is more to life than a struggle for identity and belonging. Somewhere out there are people who have felt exactly the same as you. You may not know them, but they are reaching out to you in one of the best possible ways: through their writing.
Courtney
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