the unexamined life

I'm an addict and I'm ready to come clean. I am completely, totally, utterly, and helplessly addicted to self improvement. The detox I start tomorrow is a case in point. My attempt to adjust my sleep cycle is a case in point (by the by, I have made it out of bed before nine three days running, which, sadly, is a big step forward for me). My veganism, my yoga, my pilates, my sets of exercise DVDs (Winsor Pilates, anyone? How about some Jillian Michaels?), my Oprah Spirit Channel podcasts, my Eckhart Tolle, my gratitude journal, my subscriptions to Real Simple, Women's Health, the happiness project...shall I go on?

For whatever reason, right around when I started graduate school, I decided I had to have a spiritual and physical overhaul. It was as though I woke up and felt any issues I have now in my twenties will remain with me forever unless I work them out in my twenties. Like nail biting. If I'm not stopping in my twenties, will I be a fifty year old with chewed up nails? Clearly this issue must be resolved. Now. Right now. Let's go look at website and enjoy the free counseling on campus to get this matter all taken care of. 

I also decided that I will never again have as much free time as I do now. Busy as my life can get, I can still, on most days, spend a Tuesday at home watching romantic comedies on hulu all day long and the world does not stop turning on its axis. Shocking, I know. And so why I should use all that free time watching Jennifer Aniston fumble through a relationship when I could be out running, or doing squats, or becoming the master of my destiny?

I'm not in anyway saying this is a bad thing. Trying to become a better person is a good goal to have in life, and, overall, I think I am (in specific, small, clearly defined places) a better person for all my efforts at betterment. The trick seems to be finding the balance between self improvement and self destruction. The decision to be better, after all, is based on the premise that there is something to fix or improve upon, and constantly dwelling on all the stuff you want to fix about yourself can become a one-way ticket to couchville.

So how do you find that line? That place where you still have a drive to grow, to live an examined life, and become a person you are proud of without going completely nuts and always feeling disappointed in yourself? Especially in 'the world we live in today' where everybody with a keyboard or videocamera is on a physical or spiritual quest and ever so ready to help you start yours. You can't browse the tv or the web without someone just like you completely reinventing themselves and detailing just how they did it. We seem to be a culture obsessed with self improvement, and I am the target audience. From organizing your closet (which we all know equates to organizing your soul) to running your first marathon (which is the true test of the human spirit). You can do it! We can help! Read: there is something wrong with you and you didn't even know it. But now you do! Hurrah!

The whole dilemma actually reminds me of something notoriousmle said once about exercising, 'Whenever I start going to the gym, I always stop going at some point, so I've decided to no longer start going. Why start the cycle all over again?' I've always found something so lovely about that statement. It never struck me as a defeatist comment but a well reasoned and mature understanding of oneself. Sometimes it's not about stopping a cycle but never starting it to begin with. Maybe becoming a better person is knowing when to start, when to stop, and when to never resume. 

ctl+alt+delete

After a celebratory week of lots of wine and lots of cheese, my body needs a clean start, reboot, and possibly a force quit of a couple applications that are using up all my time and energy.

I've decided that starting Sunday I'm going to follow the vegan detoox detailed in Jan/Feb issue of Body+Soul magazine (it's a Martha mag). I'm not really a detox fan, but this one is actually very reasonable (I tried it out a couple days last week while the miso was out of the house to make sure it was possible). Basically, you eat a lot of brown rice. Like, a whole lot. For breakfast it's oatmeal and green tea, for lunch it's brown rice and a legume of your choosing, and then dinner is brown rice with steamed veggies. You start and end each day with a glass of tepid water with lemon juice. Not bad, right?

I'm waiting until Sunday because, frankly, there is still pecorino in the house and a lovely bottle of wine that I think I will only rightly appreciate this weekend. And me and the miso have some serious celebrating to do.

In addition to the detox I'm trying to reset my sleep schedule. This might just be the hardest thing I've ever done for my own health. I love (I dare say lurve) sleeping in. As someone who takes a while to fall asleep at night, I relish the warmth and comfort of my bed in the morning. Any sleep anxiety from the night before is completely replaced with the warm snugglies of my bed in the morning. Yes, snugglies. My concept of heaven is a warm bed on a cold morning that I never have to leave.

But I hate that I don't start my day until 10. That I rush through the morning. That I get to campus to teach right before my class. That I never get the things done in the morning that I tell myself I will the night before. And I'm also realizing that if I don't start to do some sort of physical activity in the morning that impending wedding dress fitting will make me weep.

So I'm trying to go to bed and wake up at the same time every day. The biggest hurdle to this one will be the dear miso. My dear sweet miso who can stay up until 2 in the morning and still wake up at 7 chipper and ready to feed the cats. The problem is that I am a light faller asleeper and he is an immediate faller asleeper once he does go to bed, which is much later than I do. The slightest little sniffle will rouse me from sleep and I will be grumpy. In fairness, I will be a raging bitch filled with hate I never thought possible. And once awake I will seethe and stress and bemoan the fact that I will never fall back asleep. Did I mention what I catch I am?

Last night I wore a sleep mask and even put in ear plugs, but I still woke up around midnight after having fallen asleep early. I managed to get out of bed at 8:30ish...maybe it was 9 and took a 'brisk walk in the sunshine' as the interweb told me I should to help reset my clock. And that really did help - I was borderline tolerable during breakfast, and I made it to campus with time to actually prepare for class.

So we'll see how it all goes. I'm feeling optimistic about the detox because I'm pretty good about controlling my eating habits, but the new sleep schedule could end up being disasterous for all involved.

Personal Jesus

I saw this Obama image pop up on Google News and couldn't help but think of rooms upon rooms of medieval religious art featuring our lord and savior with the golden halo. Oh, bama, let's hope you live up to your iconography.

the name game

I always just assumed I would take my husband's last name. I never found it sexist, demeaning, or patriarchal that you took the name of the man you married. If anything, I was looking forward to it given my own last name. In fact, I think I intentionally gravitated towards boys with simple last names, Murphy, Price, Wilson, in the hopes of never having to spell my last name again. It all seemed so exciting, getting a new name halfway through life.

But now here I am, a mere six months away from the big day and the smaller issues surrounding the name change are starting to make my mind wander. For example, do I get a new email address? I'm guessing I stick with the same email address, especially since I'm planning on keeping my name 'professionally' (which then requires actually having a profession, and that, my friends, is a whole separate entry), but at some point I'll have to change it, right? Or not?

I always thought taking the mister's name made life simpler, and this seemed all the more true after addressing envelopes for our save the date cards. It was so hard to tell of our married friends who was Mr. and Mrs. who was Mr. and Ms. and who went on which line depending on their situation. My parents' friends were super easy: Mr. and Mrs. Fancy Pants. Done and done.

But for how long do I live a double name double life? I'm guessing my maiden name goes on my diploma but my married name goes on the passport? My students call me Dr. Maiden Name and my dentist calls me Mrs. Married Name? In some ways it sounds nice - keeping my worlds separate and feeling like my career is all mine and my home life is a partnership with the mister. But it also sounds potentially identity-crisis inducing.

My other minor marriage fear is that I am still not entirely clear on how to pronounce my future last name. Not only is it a Greek name, but even within the miso's own family there are alternate pronunciations and even spellings. What is a girl to do? Maybe we can just become name renegades, dub ourselves the Smiths come August, and go merrily on our way, both with new names.

night of the living finn

Ever since our cat got sick and has begun the slow road to recovery, she has taken to sleeping on my pillow. As in, I get a tiny corner and she gets the rest of it. Seeing as how she is sick and all, I don't mind, but it is kind of a pain since it's one of those tempurpedic pillows that has that specific 'mold to your neck and head' shape. Moving down a couple inches and to the right has left me with a kink in my neck.

But here's my bigger concern: when she was really sick, I woke up one night to find her (on my pillow...my whole pillow) not breathing. So I gently wake the miso to let him know that we lost her. He wakes up and carefully picks up her little body to carry her upstairs. And then, kapow! she shoots out a paw and is back in the land of the living. In other words, I'm a little afraid that I now have a zombie cat. And she is sleeping on my pillow not out of a desire to be close to her dear owner who just footed the vet bill, but so that she can eat my brains while I sleep.

Seriously, there is some mischief in those eyes. Brain-eating, undead, mischief.

On the positive side, when the academic job market shrivels up with the rest of the economy, we can get the miso a reality show on television healing animals. ka-ching.

Come to think of it, 'the misadventures of zombie cat' could also be an interesting spin off...or at least that opportunity I've been looking for to get on Oprah.

Legos

These images just made my day.

http://niemann.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/02/02/i-lego-ny/