Conferences, Resilience, Perseverance

Wuff! Exhausting conference day.

When I tell non-academics I'm going to a conference, I think they sometimes assume I'm going on vacation. I hear some of the medical professions actually structure conferences this way; it's assumed the event is mostly play and only a little work.

There's some play involved in traveling and seeing friends that you only see at conferences. But work ("the work") pervades the event: listening to papers, responding to papers, gathering and updating your sense of where the field is, watching out for prospective material or people to introduce to students, shopping book or article proposals to editors, and the endless process of explaining what it is you do or what you're working on currently to people (and engaging what they're working on).

And on top of that you're trying to keep up with your regular work. In my case, that's grading and editing. I did editing duties last night. I ducked out of a reception to grade more. Well--I exercised (ran 5K on the treadmill) and then ran down to get some food. This hotel and this part of Arlington are a bit light on readily available eats. I ate some fine Ethiopian food for lunch, and I stole some good pepperoni flatbread from the reception. But man could I use some greens and grains. I miss cereal.

And I'm writing this, my morning pages, write-something-anything blog that I mostly hope people don't read (but welcome and hello if you are reading this!).

My brain, I must say, is mainly done with hard thinking. It's run a 5K of sorts just listening intently to panels and ideas. My socialization batteries, never champions at endurance events, are pretty drained.

People ask how I've been, how it's going. I'm not sure what to say? I've been in much, much darker, rougher places (two weeks ago was a snippet of what that time was like all the time). But the trials and tribulations of some student issues over the last six months have been an unusual drain to life energy.

It also bothers me anew that I'm so prone to really morbid, suicidal ideation. It bothers me, of course, in that I shouldn't be thinking that; no one should. But it bothers me also that it seems such a first world white guy way of being. Reddit is full of only-half-joking memes of suicidal fantasies. The normalization/romanticization of clinical depression is both shocking and annoying. Saying I often feel low-grade anhedonia is a bit like grumbling about how I'll never find a girlfriend. It sucks, but it's not a life-threatening illness. When PA says it's been a rough year, I suspect he means he almost died due to health issues. I have not almost died due to health issues. Many things are going well. It's fine.

PA told me things had been really rough. I touched his arm. "It's OK," he said. "I'm pretty resilient." That started me thinking about how resilience is one of the new watch-words for our students. We worry because this crop of students just seems overall less resilient than past ones.

I'm not sure I'm that resilient. What's gotten me through rough times is more like a grim, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other persistence. I don't need to be happy or love life. Those things are lagniappe. All that is required is that I continue. It's like Zen, but without the peace. Who needs peace? All that's required is that you continue.

And, eventually, some peace and happiness occasionally show up. Ethiopian food with M was lovely. The working group I saw was stimulating. Seeing friends and students is uplifting.

And finishing my writing for today so that I can play a little Zelda (I brought my new Switch) and turn in is good, too.