Lively lively

Today, like yesterday, I will perform a juggling act of three jobs, one masters program, one boyfriend, no longer one hamster, one engaged best friend, one pregnant best friend, one recently-discovered chronic disease, two pseudo-sexual feet, and multiple other idiosyncrasies of life that to the outside observer seem fairly well put in place.

For my part, I am content, even as I yell at myself and complain to others that I need higher expectations in life. I think that in the grand tradition of cognitive dissonance, whatever that term actually means (I don't know after several semesters of studying it), one's life tends to look a bit rosier when it is underhandedly challenged, especially by someone close to the liver. At least that's what happened to me as I sat on the phone talking to someone who, I believe for her own good, was trying to convince me I was missing out on life. The theme of the conversation? - really just the importance, the brilliance, and the sheer bliss of money. Now, I know that I fall into that category of woman who is a people pleaser and who will work in some sort of "helping-job" for the rest of her life, even at the PhD level. I know I have said since my adolescence that I would never ever invest in stocks, and that I didn't want to ever be "too" rich, as in rich enough to throw money away, or rich enough to start worrying about having to philanthropize to get into heaven, though that of course is not ever how one gets there. At any rate, I am basically an anti-money person. Money can buy me things, but things, and well as feelings, thoughts, and other possessions of the heart and mind contributing to my well-being, do not have to come by money. My dreams are not limited by funds, but my dreams, as a side-effect of my work and relentless perseverance, generate funds like a coal plant generates pollution. And even more importantly, I do not trade my time at work for money to survive. I choose to devote my life to productivity directed toward the service of humanity, which society rewards with a paycheck, which I will not invest. So egg-headed, big-headed all of this sounds, but it is not directed at the reader, and is instead intended to come from a more honest me towards a less dominant converser on the other end of that phone line that night. Money is a third party mediator. Money, to me, can be written out of the equation.

And all that points to my happiness? I have been ranting a lot lately - whether in my head or to my family and friends, it's like I am a stove top burning dinner, and a fan needs to be turned on somewhere to dilute the smell and smoke. But I am happy, just pissed off that in the midst of that happiness, the judgemental nature of myself and others is still present. Things are good? Well they could be better! You're in love? But you're not married! You have an amazing job? Then why do you slack?!! It's really more me than anybody else, though I am amazed by the money argument. Still, after the rant above, I am done. I don't want to become a pundit of my own life. I aim to be steady, calm, and epitomize my contentedness.

In other news, I went to my first yoga class. I knew yoga was harder than it looks (think lady sitting in cross-legged harmony with herself and the world chanting "ohmm"), but my hamstrings feel like twinging violin strings today and my neck aches like I slept on it the wrong way. However, I loved the class. I love that it's free, I love that signing up for it forced me to finally retrieve my likewise gratis membership to my school gym.

Life- or self- actualization is thrown out there by us humanistic, psychology enthusiasts quite a lot, but I am not sure how much closer I have actually gotten to putting into action a lifestyle that feels right for me, feels like I am making the most of "me," until this past week. Even though I am tired and cranky, even though I am not volunteering a single bit of my time (I am very big on volunteering equaling out to selfless-giving and all-around morality) and even though I am failing mostly in my half-baked observance of a panentheist's attempt at Ramadan, I feel like the me I should be. Sounds like a Leo Buscaglia book title. But it sounds and is good to me.

I would definitely like to go back-to-school shopping with S today. And to clean our little cozy apartment. And for once to stay in my work clothes, minus the high heels, well into the evening.

Sometimes life just builds up in my stomach and I need a little chance to vomit out all of my frustrations and anxieties. Unhealthy as that may be, the next day is always better.