Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, “my life is not an apology, but a life,” (Self-Reliance, 1841). This memorable idiom guides me as I return to Stern College this year. I have changed over the summer; I have morphed and molded myself to become more authentic. The space and separation we are granted for almost three months entitles us to reflect upon what we wish to be and, moreover, whom we wish to be. Although Emerson declared that a person’s existence should not cater to another’s expectations, life often becomes an explanation, an appeal, even an honest beg for forgiveness. The modern day version of Emerson’s idiom, “you do you,” resonates with the counterculture hipster movement, yet, many feel ashamed by their own nonconformity. Why is this?
Many versions of the same idea have been articulated over time, whether it be, “If I am not for myself, who will be?” in Ethics of the Fathers; or, in the words of Bob Dylan, “All I can do is be me, whoever that is.” We live by these philosophies; we encourage children to be creative, passionate and free spirited, yet our socialization dictates that we forego this wild* piece of ourselves in the process of becoming adults. Because we reframe our unconventional behaviors and deem them to be childish, a culture of shame permeates our senses of individual pride. We shape and reshape ourselves to fit into the mosaic of internal and external expectations, yet, we shatter parts of our identities in the attempt to piece them back together. While diligently molding ourselves, the opposite of conforming becomes deforming – causing us to view ourselves as deformed or, misshapen.
We at Yeshiva University pride ourselves on the unique fusion of Torah U’Maddah, religious studies and secular studies. For me, a binding factor in this dichotomy is the Jewish and universal value of derech eretz – in my own loose translation, common kindness.
Why is it, then, that so many of my personal qualities, interests, and experiences have felt deformed while here at YU? Whether it be my left-wing politics, my passion for American literature, or exploring my sexuality, why do these beliefs and experiences feel stifled by the assumption that all will conform at my university?
I do not claim to have the most beneficial approach for each person, but I believe that creating a new culture – a culture of pride – begins with empathy, and to show empathy, I will share some of my personal experience.
Last year, I began to question my sexuality; considering whom I was most attracted to and why, if these attractions were reliable, and if I should be ashamed of these feelings. Finding that I feared my own reality, I fell into silence, never uttering the words I so desperately needed to articulate. After months of internal discomfort, I began discussing sexuality with friends, since then having grown comfortable and proud of identifying as bisexual.
After going through this tumultuous experience, I see now the extreme necessity to have more people empathize with others on the Beren and Wilf campuses alike. The fact that I felt so alone when going through this process is striking when I look back on it and I wonder how many others are also struggling alone.
In retrospect, I see the importance of alliance, support, respect and conversation. I believed I was alone only because there was not a visible, supportive community. I wish I could say with confidence that there is a thriving pro-LGBTQ community at YU, but I fear that that would be a bit of an exaggeration. However, these communities — whether supporting those identifying within the LGBTQ framework or otherwise — begin with just a few voices, a few willing students who envision a more inclusive school.
To create this vision and turn it into a reality, I return to my earlier idea that we slowly discard these shapes we call conformity — these geometrical value judgements which assign worth to ideas and identities. I know my life is not an apology or an explanation, but it took me a long time to work through the guilt and remorse I felt for being me. I would still feel isolated and scared had students not offered their support, and now I hope to do the same for others.
If this is to be a university that prides itself on promoting derech eretz, let this belief system reach to all students, all identities, all forms. We are all worthy, infinitely shaped and, in the idea of Emerson’s Transcendentalist views, divine.
*Reference to Throeau’s essay, Walking.