The Feminine Mystique

It began, as many things do, by me being frustrated with being here. Feeling sorry for myself is what it is in actuality, so long as we’re being honest. I was tired, bored, frustrated with being here and the lack of things to do at the clinic, and the slowness with which my projects were progressing. I was beginning to feel stuck in a rut and on the verge of one of my famous “what is it all about” fits of confused and anxious hysterics when I decided to make a plan.

In an effort to avoid becoming the miserable cow I know I can be in times of frustration and irritation, I fell back on my oldest and most common Peace Corps motivation, self improvement. I’ve been trying to read “The Feminine Mystique” for what feels like the better part of a decade. It was recommended to me a few years back by Abby, a friend from college who now lives in Utah (congratulations of the recent wedding by the way, darling!), and whom I always seem to find in moments of turmoil or success, and is consistently a great source of perspective and wisdom. Despite only speaking about once every 3 or 4 months (or really with international long distance to consider it’s been a bit less recently) we can always catch up on each others comings and goings quite quickly and then launch into the sort of gossipy “our-own-problem” solving sessions that have become the lucky hallmark of our friendship. I trusted her judgment (along with the raves reviews and constant cultural references I was always running across) and knew now was the time to read it.

I had begun to delve into it several times prior to coming to the Peace Corps, and as it was the 40th anniversary edition there were several introductions and forewords that I had to get through before even getting to the actual book. I threw it in my m-bag as something I figured I’d finally have the time and motivation to get through. After a few false starts in this country, it was heavily referenced in another book I was reading and I knew I could avoid the mystique no longer.

For those of you residing in the same cave of dark unawareness of one of the most influential books of the 2nd wave feminist movement as I previously was, let me give you a short briefing. I’ll begin by letting the cat outta the bag that if you are in the mood for a lighthearted page turner this, it not it (but try something from the Shop-a-holic series-they’re cute and I heard they’re turning them into a movie! Which I’ll probably get this side by the time I leave? Perhaps it’s already come out?).

The Feminine Mystique, while well written and organized, can get a bit…heavy. I had out my highlighters and marking pens like I was taking a course on the damn thing (apologies to those I’ve promised to lend it to after this). This was due not to my lack of opportunities for interactive intellectual pursuit in the bush but more for my constant shock and indignation at things present in modern day American society that are remnants of “the problem that has no name.” I was surprised that despite being born several generations after the naming of the feminine mystique there were still so many relevant references within it’s nearly half century old passages (although I must admit there are some embarrassingly outdated Freudian references to homosexuality and a glaringly offensive under representation of women of less means or minorities).

I have long known that I am a member of a generation whom, while not suffering the same pressure and lack of options by which the women of the 50’s and 60’s were oppressed, is still struggling with having it all. It is now more acceptable to be living outside the societal boundaries of marriage and motherhood, and indeed while many of my agemates are married or have children, there is still fair amount who don’t. There are plenty of role models for women who don’t want to be married, or have children, or have found ways to have both of the above as well as a meaningful career.

I found the book to be as engrossing and interesting as any modern day conspiracy theory tome due to Friedan’s extensive research of the historical, political, economic, societal, pop-psychological, and baby boom trends that led women back into the home with the goal of reaching “sexual role fulfillment.” Having had a few desperate housewife sort of near misses with marriage in my day, it was fun (in a completely sick way of course) to read about what I sometimes wondered if I was missing out on, look out the window at the African sky (or dirt, crazy trees, mating donkeys, whatev) smile (or really, smirk) and think…. Nope. Glad I’m here.

Overall I think it is an amazing book and would recommend it, whether you’re male or female. It’s been interesting to try to translate the message of it to those who are not from America, but luckily(?) our culture is pretty pervasive and most people of European descent that I spoke with could at least relate to the concepts. It was admittedly more difficult to me to describe it to the Batswana women in my village (read, it was a complete comedy of errors) but at least provoked some interesting discussion.

Towards the end of the book, as I was slowing down in a victory lap of competition, Friedan puts forth a chapter on the “New Life Plan for Women.” In the heart of her description of the concept that is will be a difficult transition for women to make, to go from being unaspiring, unactualized, unfulfilled homemakers to the risk of self discovery through meaningful work, I got to thinking about the value of things. Not physical, economic, material things, but the value we place on our interactions with others, the relationships we foster, and the ways in which we show that we care. With this theme in mind, please bear with me now, as I’ve been thinking about this one for a while.

One of the interesting things I’ve experienced during my time in the Peace Corps is an overwhelming generosity from people. Friends, family, and complete strangers have reached out to me to send me stuff, letters, encouragement and kind words via my blog or email or the post. People I’ve met throughout the delta and the country have helped me, fed me, sheltered me, and taken me out to the bush or to really nice hotels or somewhere when I need to escape it all. I have been extremely blessed and lucky. It is this support that has undoubtedly helped buoy me along, especially in times of personal crisis, so common and natural and occasionally overwhelming during an experience like this. I’ve often struggled with how I can repay these generosities, or even what I could have done to deserve it. It’s especially hard under conditions like I experience in Seronga, when I question if I could even be having any impact in terms of “paying it forward”. I’ve found that unfortunately, in some realms it seems I “keep score”. I’ve always had a hard time accepting things and feeling indebted to people, especially when I grapple with trying to determine the means with which to repay someone. I’ve really struggled to come to terms with it here.

I wanted to ask people “If I could give you a gift, in the form of something I could do for you, rather than buy or create, what would it be?”


My thought process in arriving at this question came from ideas about: How often are we able to offer up something of ourselves, something only we can give, or offer, in the face of possible misunderstanding or rejection? How often are we able to ask someone for something we need that cannot be purchased? How can we connect with people we know and love and have often evolved in relationships with in which we operate on a series of assumptions rather than caring, vulnerable inquiry? Especially when the ins and outs of our every day lives may have become so different and varied as a result of the inevitable time and space that results when one chooses an experience like mine? This is admittedly something I’ve struggled with a lot since being here. For some back home their lives are rapidly changing on a scale in which I will have a hard time recognizing them and their situations when I return. This is certainly true for them with mine.

It’s an interesting question to be asked via text message but you make do with what you have..

I began with my mom, and have to admit I was kind of nervous as to what her response would be. Her being my mom, my best friend, and, as she tends to be, my safety net for this experiment, she of course responded with the obvious but touching “Come home to me safe and sound and happy I love u.”

I realized I was putting myself in a vulnerable position. When taken seriously the question often puts the other person in a vulnerable situation as well. A big theme of “The Feminine Mystique” was real versus imagined (or created, or oppressively enforced) vulnerability as women, and how often a path to fulfillment or enlightenment often involves risk of some sort. I think emotional vulnerability is as real of a risk as any other so I tried to plough ahead.

I decided to “man up” and send the text to several more people (so now if you received one you know the whole deal, if you didn’t, now I’ve explained the concept in many, many more words that a text could carry, and so you know what I was up to. I’m still interested in everyone else’s response if we haven’t spoken about this yet, it seems with my internet time being limited as it is these days my blog is my main forum from which to speak with most of you.) and ask a few people face to face.

The responses I got were great. They ranged from sincere, to sexual, to sarcastic, to confused. It opened up several great conversations that wouldn’t have happened otherwise, and presented a powerful jumping off point from which to build deeper relationships with people that for many reasons I may not have had that connection with before.

I guess the point I’m very round about-ly trying to make is really an attempt to share some of the contemplative thoughts (Truths? Conclusions? Bullshit?) I occasionally feel that I come to here. I’ve been feeling quite lonely lately, and desperately miss the type of late night (or occasionally happy hour) discourse in which people sit around a table collectively pondering anything from the meaning of life to the beauty of the label on the wine bottle. I am realizing here that although I can hack a hell of a lot more that I previously thought in terms of solitary living, I am inherently a very social person. I crave the sort of deep connection that was present in so many of my relationships back home, that I may have taken for granted, that has come more slowly here in my efforts to rebuild the wheel of my social life from scratch. I want this connection, over something that feels as real as my life here, to be the basis for my relationships in the future, rather than defaulting to the typical question of “what do you do” as the defining element of who someone is. Perhaps this is the mid-service crisis. Perhaps I’m too far into my head with no one to pull me back out? Who knows. Read the book.