Satisfaction

I've just spent the past hour scrubbing my floors: a task I've been putting off while completing coursework for my Master's degree, teaching 8 classes, working on my thesis (it's at 72 pages now), and attempting to have some semblence of a social life (that didn't include inviting people to my filthy-floored home, of course).

And, I must say: cleaning my house has almost given me the same satisfaction as an overwhelming academic schedule. Almost.

I enjoy the smell of Murphy's oil on hardwood floors - it brings me a sense of peace brought on by hard work and accomplishment. And, the bigger payout is - I can now finally enjoy a bit of company I've been so ardently keeping away.

More importantly, I love the sense of balance that having a successful academic career AND a clean home provides me.

Balance. So, that's what's been missing all along.

I've been so tunnel-visioned on my academic objectives, I've neglected some of the most core responsibilities to self that are necessary for a balanced spirit. And, I guess I was so overwhelmed by the other 80% of my life's responsibilities, that I lost sight of what healthy balance was - especially in terms of satisfying the inner me.

So, out of balance and with a skewed perception of what the remaining 20% should provide me, these past few months I grabbed at anything that even remotely resembled it: from my diet to my love life - needing basic sustenance when the 80% dominated - looking back, I made some bad choices in a desperate quest for a warm meal and a warm body.

But, now that summer is upon us, and as - by evidence of my clean house - I now have time to analyze and discriminate instead of foolishly grab at pieced meals to fill the stomach and the heart, I will make healthier, more fulfilling choices.

No more Big Macs, and certainly no more narcissistic actors who are just looking to fill the void during periods of boredom.

To think - I was so focused on one objective, I honestly allowed myself to slum it in the world of fast food and fast men when I should have known better.

It's only been 5 days since my last final, though I can honestly say: the vision has been corrected. And, thank goodness. I was able to clearly see his gesture, and link my arm in his to regain a bit of balance.

Here's to a summer of better focus.

The death of Junior Seau

As suspected, the death of Junior Seau has turned into a public service announcement about suicide prevention. Tweets and Facebook posts and headlines stating, "If you're thinking about ending it all - ask for help!" have dominated newsfeeds the last 24 hours, and while I understand the good intentions of those making the plea, it strikes me that saying something so simplistic shows the people making those pleas know nothing about suicide at all.

I have been affected by suicide. Both sides of my family are plagued by mental illness. And, while it's easy to beg: "just ask for help!" as if taking your life was a cavalier decision that could have been avoided by a simple admission (because there are ALWAYS only two sides to every life and death equation), looking at mental illness and suicide in such black and white terms is insufficient.

Some people feel the weight of the world more overwhelmingly than others. And, while it's merely speculation on my part, something tells me that a man known for being generous to a fault, the sole breadwinner for a large and extended family, the financial go-to whenever anyone in San Diego had a new idea for whatever charity, and uncomfortable with his fame but driven by the need to give back (perhaps the byproduct of coming from humble means and catapulting to celebrity status), might have felt that weight much more oppressively than others.

Which leads me to the question I have been asking for years, for much more personal reasons: "What is my role in all of this?" Do we ever listen when someone we love is in pain? Or, do we simply refuse to indulge their pain by refusing to listen? I know firsthand that cries for help are often met with the shallow retort of, "It's not that bad," or "try to look at things positively." My God, I just got off the phone with my dad where we had a conversation that I admitted I'm struggling to keep up with life and feeling mighty low, and when I suggested that maybe I needed the same meds the rest of my family is on, he told me I was "better than that," and "you're not like the rest of them."

I get that negative reinforcement is a great tool for allowing a bit of perspective, but what happens when that negative reinforcement (in this case, choosing to not validate a concern by showing the concerned how wrong they are in an effort to be positive), turns into years of cascading refusal to ever validate the person struggling?

We live in a culture so goddamned obsessed with the "positive mental outlook," that the first sign of a negative emotion - no matter how valid - is balked at, uncomfortably cast aside, and at times - all out rejected simply because of our inability to deal with the yin to the yang. We've retarded ourselves emotionally by only ever indulging positive (and often superficial) emotions to the point that anything other than a sunny disposition makes us broken and bad, or so society says.

But, as there must be the yin to the yang, the shadow to the anima/animus and the id to the superego, you can only have a balanced spirit if you are aware of and dealing with the complex and opposite urges of your soul. I'm not making this stuff up - we've known this since Plato.

But, somewhere along the lines - perpetuated by the facade of positivity - we've forgotten.

It's cheating the man and his humane and humble legacy to flippantly assume he never asked for help, and not dealing with the greater issue: our culture's emotional retardation by way of refusal to ever look negative straight in the eye and say - "Bring it on."

Maybe he did ask for help. And, maybe no one listened. It's time we all start accepting our role in impacting the lives of others.

"You'll lose all of your contacts, ma'am."

So, the 'ol phone finally kicked it tonight. Thank goodness I have insurance, or this would have been a $500 evening.

Sprint was able to replace my phone with a new one, but informed me that since I hadn't backed up to Google, I'd lose all of my contacts and text messages.

Well. Maybe everything does happen for a reason. I'd been dragging my feet on deleting some unnecessary contacts, anyway.

At least now I won't feel tempted to drink and dial.

Man, those emotional hangovers are the worst.