Star Wars and the Meaning of Life

I talked with a friend yesterday who wondered how I ended up, after two prior academic tenure-track jobs, as “an assistant professor of qualitative research.” She’s not the first to wonder. Doesn’t really matter, she and I agreed—the most important thing is that I like it. I do.

And, if you feel that everything happens for a reason—finding a great job 75 miles from your husband’s hometown, connecting with people in that job and in that hometown that help you feel like you have a place no matter how much of an odd ball you are—then there’s no reason to search for a reason. But I do.

Why, though? It seems that everyday I’m nagged by incessant questions about meaning. Like last night—I found myself asking, “What is the POINT?” Perhaps it was just the ADD meds wearing off. But no, no. I still have these questions. What is the meaning of this –this life, this species, this job, this marriage, this parenthood, this world, this conversation, this blog? Maybe the answer can be boiled down to some t-shirt cliché, like “if you have to ask, you don’t know,” “just do it,” or “it’s a self-actualized person thing, you wouldn’t understand.”

I got up this morning and between 8 and 9am did more than I feel I’ve done all day. I took goods to the Salvation Army, dropped off dry cleaning, paid the rent, deposited boxes at our storage space, got A.ready for preschool, ate breakfast, did laundry and loaded and ran the dishwasher. I also completed a draft of a position announcement for a job search I’ll be chairing if the provost approves it.

And then…well..I ate lunch the vegan way by accident—let me just say BLECCCH! That was the worst cup o’noodles I ever had. I watched our tivo-ed episode of The Wire over my lunch. And then it was like I had a mental blowout. Honestly—I went up and took a nap until almost 3pm. What is that about?

Maybe it was hanging out with Asia and her cousin, minus my S.O. all weekend. Maybe it was the news that a friend who is pregnant may have lost her baby. Or perhaps it was the news that a whacko had killed 6 girls in an Amish schoolhouse.

I made a good recovery though—emailed next semester’s book orders to my admin assistant. Scheduled the car repairs for tomorrow and rescheduled a lunch I was supposed to have tomorrow. I walked to Sunflower for groceries for tonight’s dinner (a good 1.75 miles I suppose). And now I’m writing.

Could be worse. But I am aiming to find a way to stay on track and not get side tracked as much and for as long. There’s the grant writing that I was supposed to be emailing my research partner four hours ago, the emails from students from last week. And the finances. F***!

I made a deal with S.O. that by this weekend I would come up with a plan for this month’s bills so that we could finally get our income tax situation together. I feel like he wants me to fail. I feel like I’m going to fail. I haven’t even entered my receipts from last week, let alone looked at how to set a budget. Admittedly, he has a talent for catching me in grandiose moments. But--I will not succumb to the dark side. What is it that Yoda said to Luke?

Do or do not. There is no try.

Corny little motivational green bastard. He was always my favorite action figure.