For years my parents' fear was that I would try to drink my age in shots on my 21st birthday, and, like so many others, would never live to drive my own rental car. I never learned exactly how many people die attempting this coming-of-age ritual, but I have heard many times what motivates them to do so.
According to my high school sociology textbook, the problem (other than the simple adolescents plus boredom and expendable income equals trouble"" equation) is that modern society lacks appropriate rites of passage into adulthood.
Whether through ritual circumcision, wrestling a bear or being married off to a wealthy octogenarian at the age of 14, past youths have been helped along toward maturity by various coming-of-age rituals. Without them, the argument goes, people either invent their own rights of passage or wait for some catastrophe to save them the trouble.
Ideally, a rite of passage should prepare you for the challenges of adulthood but be less mercenary than taking a desk job or experiencing credit card debt. People are free to tailor their rituals to regional tastes but for anyone who isn't usually in great physical danger, it seems sensible to go the introspective route (keeping in mind that many means of achieving a vision quest are illegal).
Problem is, rites of passage aren't so easy to come by. Even for males, circumcision is out. So many people are already circumcised as babies and after the first time around, there aren't really many parts left that can be safely removed. Pitting people against dangerous animals raises many ethical issues, as does forced military service, so looking toward the past isn't much help (though I should state that if I were armed with spear and shield, I would consent to battle a giant scorpion).
Popular books and movies don't offer many answers, either. For practicality's sake, you can't require everyone to avenge their father's murder, graduate from the Jedi Academy or ride a giant sandworm across the Tanezrouft.
I wanted to plan my own coming-of-age based on common themes in other rituals, both real and fictional. Self-examination, sacrifice and rejecting one's past all play a part, but the wheels really started turning when I read that some societies once required public officials to walk through mobs of people, unarmed and open to attack. This led to the realization that I can make myself similarly vulnerable and bring closure to my past through a full public confession of my misdeeds.
Owing to space constraints, that won't be possible, so I've narrowed the process down to one particularly embarrassing admission, which is - sigh - I used to like Creed. Like, a lot. What's worse, I thought I was totally bad-ass for listening to Creed. I thought their self-righteous hard rock was the best thing to ever happen to angst-y middle schoolers.
Why is this worth mentioning? Well, I spend a lot of time now reading music news and worshiping Elvis Costello as a god, so the fact that I once thought ""Higher"" was the coolest thing on the airwaves makes me feel about as square as, well, Creed.
From admitting this here I learn two valuable lessons. One is the cost of my mistakes (my dignity and about $30 for the CDs). The second is humility, as there is nothing more humbling than looking into the depths of your past and seeing an awkward 14-year-old rocking out to Creed on an electric guitar that he can't even properly tune.
It's a painful process, to be sure, and you might wonder at the reason for it, since nothing is greater than Arrested Development. However, only when we can admit our past errors and pass into the responsibilities of adulthood are we ready to embrace the future. With arms wide open.
If you battled a giant scorpion and did not achieve closure with your past, you may once have liked Nickelback. Confess your sins to Matt at hunziker@wisc.edu.
