I am feeling a little weakened this weekend. Not because I overindulged in Thanksgiving festivities, but that I didn't do so enough. When the time came to state something I was thankful for this year, all I could think about was that I had a group project due this Monday, and half the group had gotten a start on theirs already. I was approaching the matter holistically - trying to get a feel for the subject I was undertaking so as to notice more factors and avoid overlooking details.
It was as I told my visiting older sister, whom I adore: Whenever I conjure up my own measurements and work, I don't trust myself as a reliable source. But when I derive a metric from an online (and hopefully more current), I don't feel like I am doing valuable work in the group. I know that I tend to overthink matters, to the point of paralysis on my part. Hank Green of the VlogBrothers on YouTube entitles this frame of mind as "brain crack" - ideas that are addictive to think about, but ultimately never acted upon by the thinker.
I am aware that this double standard to my own work is a pity party parade. I do not want or expect sympathy for this behavior, but want to wield this dissatisfaction as a tool rather than letting it rule me. If my standards for proper decent work are higher than merely "plug n' chug," this skepticism could reap superior results. There remains the risk that this extra analysis might have an opportunity cost - making me sacrifice in other areas. Oh, how time is whittled away by my daily activities and pursuits. I mention it so often as a personal reminder not to lose sight of its importance.
So, I am not operating at 100% the past few days, but I have resumed reading G.K. Chesterton's "Return of Don Quixote." It took a little time, but its presence has served as an excellently entertaining companion in my time of recuperation. I don't understand all of the details of the issues discussed in the novel, but I get the gist of their underlying themes through the attitudes and reactions of the characters within.
I love the librarian character, Michael Herne. He is someone I would like to be, though I currently have a measure of his frustrating disconnect from the present period's ideas and importances. He is a scholar on a particular race of Hittites. It is his field of study and he lives in his mental landscapes and cultural customs. He is awakened to a different calling, when the daughter of the lord who employs his services is in a medieval play written by her friend, and they ask him to play a small part.
He is flustered that it is not in his period, saying that someone else who is an authority in that era should be chosen to play such a role. He takes the historical accuracy of the matter so humbly serious that he fears that if he were to attempt the role, he would act in the manner of a Hittite rather than medieval troubadour. I love the fellow so dearly, though he is one of the hardest to understand in his references.
I read chapter 11 of the book aloud to a camera, it is a fine portion of the book and a specially interesting one for Herne the librarian's character blossoming into a more obvious version of his deeply rooted demeanor. I do not live in a Chesterton novel, but the ideals and earnestness of the players make me wish I could. Their society would certainly raise my intelligence by osmosis.
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