"Sea of Tranquility? Is this the Sea of Tranquility?"

If I could carry Eddie Izzard around on my shoulder, akin to a pirate's snarky parrot... I think I would. Functionally, Eddie is my alternative to Valium abuse. But it's not just Eddie, it's all the quirky things I see, or do, or appreciate to keep myself from crumbling. And truly, I think most people aren't that far from ruin, rather we do better or worse jobs at fending it off.

I recently finished Victor Frankl's "Man's Search for Meaning": a reflection on his experiences as a Jewish prisoner at Auschwitz, followed by his development of logotherapy. Frankl proposes that searching for a collective meaning is unnecessary so long as a person is driven by what gives his or her individual life meaning. He notes that we can find our meaning in three ways: "(1) by creating a work or doing a deed; (2) by experiencing something or encountering someone; and (3) by the attitude we take toward unavoidable suffering." Which naturally leads the reader to question, "What gives my life meaning?"

Sometimes I get stuck in "what does it all mean" mode, especially when I've got Eddie on my shoulder and it seems that enjoying myself isn't purposeful enough. But that's the balance, I suppose. I find meaning through my work and the people I encounter, but its an appreciation for the small and silly things that shapes my attitude (unavoidable suffering or otherwise) toward these things. Maybe that's my rationalization for spending an entire day with my watercolor set and two seasons of Arrested Development, but so be it. If not for these guilty pleasures I don't know how successful I would be counseling alcoholics and drug addicts, or moving to a state I swore I'd never step foot in, or fending off impending crumble.