Why are all those Novels about a "Search For Belonging?"

Until embarrassingly recently, I would feel confused while reading the blurb of nearly any paperback novel aimed at teenagers, or while watching a surprising amount of movie trailers. Shockingly, I’m not about to vent about how unrealistic they are. This isn’t going to be a long rant about how “no-one listens to teenagers’ radical ideas in real life,” or about how these stories have a weird overprevalence of theatrical love triangles (or maybe people’s lives really are infinitely more juicy and exciting than I assume,) or even about how I find it ever-so-slightly odd that my beloved Barnes and Noble has a designated shelf labeled “New Paranormal Dystopian Teen Romance.” No.

My confusion solely drew from the fact that a surprising amount of these stories gave themselves the (seemingly) self-assigned label of “Coming-Of-Age.” And I hadn’t the foggiest idea of what this meant. Mysterious, eccentric, determined characters seemed to be “Coming of Age” left and right, assuring me that I was clearly missing something. Coming of what age? Reproductive age? Old age? Social-Security-Benefit age? Should I be coming of age? (Granted this is all coming from someone who generally forgets about her birthday until Facebook comes in with a midnight notification.) Now, eventually I finally got over myself and pulled out an encyclopedia. Turns out: “Coming-of-age stories focus on personal growth in the transition from youth to adulthood, and tend to be set in the past, with an emphasis on dialogue and inner monologue.” So I guess they’re all seeking to grow older and grow up a little. As far as life goals go, I guess I can buy that.

So that confusion is gone, but book and movie descriptions continue to make me scratch my head. Usually, a brief mention of the main characters’ awkwardness or nonconformity is followed by some sort of plot summary, and a common tidy ending paints the whole thing as a “Search for Belonging.” Cue an animation of a question mark popping up above my messy bun. A search for what now? This “Belonging” business is in no way limited to books and movies, either.

“I just feel I don’t belong.”

“I need to find somewhere I truly belong.”

I’m sure we’ve all heard those a thousand times.

“Belonging is essential as food and water.”

“Happiness is feeling like you belong.”

I’m sure I can find those quotes in a thousand places.

If this feeling of “Belonging” is supposed to be the goal of every story, then I feel like that kid standing at the empty end of the soccer field who no idea of what’s going on, and is sure he must be doing something wrong. Because I have no idea what “Belonging” means.

So let’s play “Avoid Dictionary.com” together and rack our brains.

One can belong to a specific group, right? Fit the qualifications and do what you need to do to “join,” and there you go. You “Belong.” Some people belong to a religion or a political party or a culture, but I’d venture to say we use that world with a motley of smaller groups more often. Alumni associations, or poetry clubs or fantasy football leagues or co-op boards or corporate basketball teams. “Count the Clubs” is less of a card game and more so the “Extracurriculars” section of a college application.  A high-schooler’s resume might not think Belonging to a social class is sexy, but Belonging to a Jewelry and Beading class apparently is. The highschoolers writing these resumes might be some of those who claim to be searching for Belonging or who read books with protagonists who do the same. And yet, I doubt they’d approve of my offering joining three sports teams, a church, and finally going to “that book club Beth told me about in Dunkin Donuts” to solve the problem. A customized T-Shirt saying “Property of Eastwood High Math Team” doesn’t cut it.

That bubbly upperclassman mentor  told every freshman to join 3 sports teams and two cultural organizations and ooh also Yearbook Committee to help them feel like they “Belong” as quickly as possible - Except also because of all the great leadership positions. Titles that pad resumes more than Always or than that bike helmet I never wear. So, in the novel that isn’t my life, shoving that after-school club meeting into my overcrowded, overly colourful google calendar won’t let me find that Belonging I apparently “need.” So let’s move on.

It really wouldn’t be hard to argue that Belongings could be a goal for life. Granted, Masha’s everyday life consists of devoted pursuit of hot beverages, deals on designer shoes, and those pens that I somehow keep losing. But I’m sure (or atleast I really hope) I’m not alone in keeping a somewhat guilty running mental list of items I hope to own that’ll prove that I’ve “Made It.” That I’m “Living the Good Life.” Belongings that will make me “belong” to The New Rich, or The Cool Kids, or The Bushwich-Dwelling Coffee Connoisseurs or the I Use Instagram But Trust Me I’m Still Spiritual. I WANT the skinniest smartphone or the sexy ripped jeans to belong to me. I have an inexplicable need for fancy stainless-steel coffee makers and photogenic pastel desk accessories. Belongings for Belonging. But those $14 books about teenagers in dystopian societies can’t be about “Stuff,” can they?

You know, maybe I’m reading all this wrong and all we need is to Be Long. Beautifully edited shampoo ads can all but convince me that all I need for self-actualization is shiny hip-length hair. When we venture into our Spam folders, we all somehow get those emails proclaiming ** 3-INCH LENGTHENING** for other...nether regions. Yeah, no, that can’t be what I’m supposed to spend my life searching for.

I may be blonde, overtired, and undercaffienated, but perhaps the source of my confusion with the descriptions of best-sellers not so unfounded. They say “Belonging is As Key to Happiness as Connection.” Valiant protagonists spend months searching for this “Belonging.” But what is it? Do I really want it? I don’t belong to a church or a political party. The idea of belonging to cults doesn’t appeal to me. I can “belong” to a thousand groups and clubs, but they all add meetings to my calendar,  spam my inbox with newsletters, and cause Beth to glare at me in the coffee shop for not joining her Books and Baking society. I don’t want to further commit to living in search of Shiny Cars and Matte Coffee Mugs to take photos next to, feeling like I’m “Living it Up.”

Clearly I’m not destined to be the character of one of those stories, I guess.

Now, I like big white yachts and aesthetically pleasing area rugs as much as the next guy, but I have very few Belongings that I actually Long For. I can think up “iphone charger” and “fuzzy blanket,” but those don’t exactly make for very sexy life aspirations. I do, however, hope to Belong with my Belongings. If I’m going to own a pair of well-worn hiking boots, I want to be a Person Who Has Done Her Share of Trekking. If I’m going to own a house with 4 bathrooms, I want to have enough people over often enough to justify that. The last thing I’d want is to have to strategically plan my visits to the loo for optimal usage of my square footage, or to be that girl whose Lululemon yoga pants have never gone to yoga.

But maybe “Belonging” is to “Be Longed For.” To add something to someone’s life that they would miss if it were gone. Perhaps to have a friend who knows a message from you will always cheer them up on a bad day. To someone else, providing assurance that they’ll always have someone to save their I-Don’t-Get-Physics-And-I-Have-A-Test-Tomorrow arse at 3AM, without grumbling about it, too! Being anything from someone they can turn to for the best life advice to being a comforting silent presence when doing work side-by-side at midnight to being able to make cookies so good that they crave them every year on their birthday. Maybe being that Grandmother who still bothers sending paper letters in her beautiful handwriting. Sure, I had to trek out for stamps to reply every time, but now that I know I won’t be getting any more, I miss them like crazy. I long for them. So I guess she’d found Belonging. Maybe you’re that guy at work that never fails to come up with creative solutions to budgeting crises, or the one who always enters the office smiling (even on rainy Mondays,) or even the one that always remembers to remind people about freaking Daylight Savings the day before. The Irreplaceable get Longed for.

“Her Lifelong Search to be an Extension Cord,” or “Her Craving to be Irreplaceable to Someone” don’t sound like descriptions of a novel that flies off the shelves or the story to a movie that sets box office records. But, as the love-triangle-avoiding protagonist, which in a non-dystopian world of padded resumes and knitting clubs, I’m afraid that’s as close to a “Quest for Belonging” that I’m going to get, since I won't become a Cool Kid or join some Blonde Students' Association anytime soon.