On Boundaries

I've been talking to a friend about the nature of boundaries. Maybe this is a late 20's, early adulthood question for our times that wasn't so much one in previous generations. Or maybe it was, who knows. We were discussing whether or not there's a relationship between a kind of hedonism and depression. Most of us need boundaries of some kind to be able to focus and be productive. Karla has a ton of boundaries, for example, and is able to be hugely productive, being a full-time graduate student, a full-time youth minister, going on tour guiding trips out East, getting ready for marriage. This would bury me, because I don't have the same capacity to set boundaries and be focused. If I write a paper for example, I'll write a little, have a thought, which will lead to another, less relevant thought, look up some poem, write a few lines of my own, stare at the wall contemplating some new thought. Go to the kitchen to refill my hot chocolate. Tell myself to focus, then return to the computer to write another page. Karla, however, can sit and crank out 6 pages straight, because she can mentally focus and block out other distractions. Her thinking is more logical-linear, mine is more contextual-associative. She's good with numbers, I'm good with languages. I thought about my students' low expectations, low performance vs. my Honors students, or students from richer neighborhoods who are pressured and driven to succeed and get into the best colleges. My low performing kids, whether through cultural expectations, genetics, parenting, whatever, have little ability to set boundaries. I have to constantly reinforce boundary. "It's not time to talk, give me that ipod, turn down your music, hand over that PSP, that camera, time to begin, be on time, write down your HW somewhere where you'll find it later." I feel like a drill sergeant some days. But these kids need some sense of boundary to be productive at all. We as people need some sense of boundary to find fulfillment, as well. I'm reading "Love and Will" by Rollo May, in which he addresses the shift in thinking about sexuality in our century to much of our anxiety and depression. This may seem like a fairly conservative conclusion to draw, but for me, at least, it rings true. Without some sort of boundary on desire, it spills in every which direction, and instant gratification leads to a kind of hollowness around it. The friend of mine with whom I've been discussing the issue is a burning man refugee of sorts. During his marriage he felt the world around him was passing him by. People are having all sorts of naughty fun and he wasn't at the party, so to speak. This is a very seductive idea for a lot of workaday people I think. You come home tired with all these worries and pressures. You fill up your gas tank so you can go to work the next day and suddenly you see three young, beautiful women in sequined mini-skirts headed for Shangri-La, it seems, filling up their gas tank for a night of the town. Or, in my friend's case, many people he knew were part of the Burning Man community with more open attitudes toward drugs and sexuality than existed in his marriage and primary community. He romanticized the idea of being in a band, touring, going to bacchanalian Burning Man revelries, being open to new experiences, etc. He fantasized about a world with fewer boundaries. Although it's more complicated than that, these ideas had much to do with the marriage suffering and the subsequent divorce. Now, a year later, he's able to see value in those boundaries he resented. This rings true in other areas as well. Take the Beats for instance, whose works appealed to my inner teenager, when I was a teenager...well, in my early twenties, too. Even now, there's a pang of longing attached to their work. The conventional line is that the Beats thumbed their noses at the mindless conformity of the late 40's and early 50's, through laissez faire lifestyles, pursuit of authentic connection, accompanied by physical, sexual, psychological indulgence of all kinds that was integral in shaping the countercultural 60s. They obliterated boundaries. Let's track for a moment the trajectory of some of the Beats, shall we? Kerouac died an alcoholic living with his mother in his forties. Neal, well, I'm sure someone knows, but by and large he seems to have lost all his friends and lovers. Burroughs shot his wife in the head by accident, spent many years in Mexico and Morrocco molesting children and is hailed as some sort of genius for Naked Lunch, makes an appearance in Drugstore Cowboy. Ginsberg probably made out the best of all of them. I have a fond place in my heart for On The Road, its sense of frenetic energy, its prose, its embrace of Americana, the pursuit of metaphysical freedom, but I'm not sure those gone cats drew the right conclusions about what constitutes a life well lived.