As I write this column in my clean and Febrezed half-room, at my organized and Febrezed desk (facing my folded and very-Febrezed laundry) with my unfortunately still grimy laptop, I'm feeling okay about the catastrophic conditions in which I lived not a day ago. It's not okay that a metaphorical typhoon ravaged my side of the room, and it's not okay that a metaphorical typhoon will ravage it again, but right now it's okay - I guess I'm finally living eye-to-eye.
It seems as though my half-room teeters between an anal-retentive hideout and an absolute cesspool. There's no middle ground like that which my roommate enjoys: perpetual quasi-filth. The lesson here isn't as simple as "do your laundry, duh" (I'm not so idealistic), but it's rather a glimpse into a potentially distracting and detracting lifestyle. That is, the world of extremes.
Admittedly, BASE jumping, street luging and bull fighting all sound miserable to me - a guy who isn't athletically extreme enough to play non-extreme sports. That doesn't mean my inclination toward extremes hasn't manifested itself in other ways. How I organize my room, utilize study breaks and make friends are all influenced by this iffy penchant.
And I'm not even losing my mind. When I asked a few peers, they agreed with me, sharing that their lives are often spent on either side of an on-off light switch. "You can't just put on a little mascara and call it a day," I was told by one anonymous, not-so-genderless friend. Although I know absolutely nothing about the politics of makeup, this makes some intuitive sense to me. Either my friend looks as "good" as she can, or she works as lazily as she can. In other words, I presume, she doesn't work at all, which for the record is totally fine by me. Let's not start any riots here.
Academic, artistic and personal projects oscillated between the two poles as well. Ever heard of perfectionism? What about its consequences: tirelessly striving for unparalleled success in whatever field fortunate enough to behold your tenacity versus bumming about Facebook for evidence of others' accomplishments after your inevitable failure?
A good question at this point might be, "Why would anyone write a column about riots, inevitable failures and neglected memories? This guy is losing his mind." A better question, however, (or dare I say the best one, as it is thematically relevant) might be, "why do we construct extremes for ourselves at all?" I can fathom the appeal of BASE jumping, with its "flow" and its "rush," but I'm afraid living in a I-can't-believe-it's-functional sea of laundry inspires different varieties of flow, along with different varieties of answers.
In my own experience, welcoming extremities seems to be a vestige of particular virtues - such as dedication, commitment or wholeheartedness. Really, any virtue a lousy high school coach might use to empower his players would work.
"Commitment," in my terms, means commitment to the highest quality. "Commitment to the highest quality" means anything less is a disappointment. "Anything less" means just that: anything, a total failure and a near success both.
Now, would I rather ignore my half-room's needs and outright fail any hygienic test, or work, attempting to maintain my hideout's passable conditions, and self-critically "fail" any hygienic test? The quotations make a semantic difference, but maybe not a practical one. Honestly (and a bit shamefully), in the life of a busy college student, the former doesn't sound so bad.
This may very well be why every few weeks my room smells like nothing but grime ... well, grime and Febreze. Maybe it's time to stop ceaselessly striving for perfection, and start striving to live with imperfection: perpetual quasi-filth.
Adam Kaminski is a freshman who has not yet declared a major. He can be reached at Adam.Kaminski@tufts.edu.
