I Lost Passion for My Special Interest
My life used to revolve around politics. Now I can’t force myself to care.
I cannot force myself to care about politics.
It’s a bewildering thing to write. After all, my not-so-secret secret is that I am a trained political scientist. I have a PhD in public policy—which isn’t the same thing as political science, but I started my PhD in a poli sci program and did my core coursework (including methods) there, so my advisors say I’m fine claiming the “political scientist” label. (Yes, I asked!)
More importantly—to me, anyway—is that I have a long background in advocacy. I got started as an activist in high school doing anti-genocide organizing around the crisis in Darfur, Sudan. After a handful of years immersing myself in that fight, I focused on domestic poverty for a stint. Then I pivoted to political corruption and, eventually, to a variety of systemic political reforms, ultimately advocating for proportional representation for the US legislature.
I served on elections and ethics commissions. I held leadership positions on nonprofit boards of directors. I wrote research papers and briefs and gave presentations and hosted fundraisers in support of good causes and candidates. I wrote op-eds in the New York Times. I co-founded a political reform organization, and a few months later, I turned around and helped launch a new democracy initiative at a major university.
Among friends, family, and colleagues, I was defined by my political work.
And then, I just… couldn’t do it anymore.
About a year and a half ago, I found that I couldn’t muster the energy for any of that work. I’m still not totally sure what happened. The best I can tell is that I lost interest—not because politics became unimportant (quite the contrary!), but because something’s importance to the world doesn’t have much to do with its importance to me.
What drew me to politics in the first place was a very specific issue that, when I looked around my community at the time, virtually no one else was focused on: the genocide in Darfur. I saw people suffering unnecessarily and, with the hubris of a fairly sheltered 17-year-old, thought that I might be able to do something about it.
Once I was enmeshed in the political reform world, it was fairly easy to tap into new issues. I was familiar with nonprofit work, especially progressive advocacy work: the conferences people attended, the lingo they used, the way they tended to dress and socialize. It all became familiar, even familial.
When I first heard Larry Lessig speak about money in politics and political corruption in 2012 or so, I again felt a compulsion to act. Again, I was the only one in my community focused on the issue. I was motivated by the issue, yes, but also by some combination of novelty, urgency, and the perception of my own individualism and autonomy—that I was a unique actor whose involvement might shake things up and make progress more possible.
Ten years later, I felt differently. The political struggles that had drawn me into this movement were ongoing and, frankly, still pretty similar to what they’d been when I joined. And that’s okay; change takes time. But the things that lit my fire—the things that made me feel alive and engaged and passionate—just weren’t there anymore.
And Jesus, what a loss that was. How devastating that was… and is, still.
Every day, I still find myself wishing that I felt passion for politics again. I wish that I wanted to work for a political organization. I know that if I could summon the enthusiasm for that work, I could find community again. I could put my PhD to use. I could tell myself that my life was in service of a noble goal that was bigger than me or my family.
Instead, I feel like I’ve lost a good chunk of my identity. Yes, I am a mom, a sibling, a daughter, a wife. Those relationships add boundaries around me, contouring my sense of self. But I used to have a broader identity that also spoke to other facets of me: my moral values, my interests, my intellect, my skills. That identity facilitated connections with other people. We worked together to build stuff—organizations, research, campaigns, yes, but also friendship and positive energy and ideas.
I miss all of that. Profoundly. But try as I might, I can’t seem to force myself to give politics another try. So for now, I am having to sit with the sadness of my lost identity and hope that, eventually, another thing will come along.
Does any of this resonate with you? I’d love to hear your reflections in the comments.
