Yes, the term “psychic energy” sounds a little kooky, but it’s just a term, call it “a green giraffe covered in pink butterflies” if that helps.

One great way to replenish psychic energy is to fall in love. Many people (and I’m not pointing any fingers here because I don’t think I need to) begin to solve their psychological problems precisely after they fall in love.

Of course, even the most amazing romantic partner in the universe cannot solve your psychological problems. But s/he can replenish your psychological energy. Love and joy you get from your partner will serve as a sort of fuel that will get you out of the ditch and move you in the direction of solving your issues. The rest will have to be done by yourself.

So if you are lonely, now is the time to place a profile on a dating site. Or use any other method you like to meet people.

And a small story: I was so drained from carrying the weight of my depression and anxiety that I almost decided not to go to that first date with N. I was about to move to another country, there was a lot of packing to do, etc. So I almost became the biggest fool in the world who wouldn’t have even known the extent of her idiocy.

Think about it.

Wall Street Journal has outdone itself:

Progressive Kristallnacht Coming?

Writing from the epicenter of progressive thought, San Francisco, I would call attention to the parallels of fascist Nazi Germany to its war on its “one percent,” namely its Jews, to the progressive war on the American one percent, namely the “rich.”

Don’t people realize that the moment they say that something is like Kristallnacht / the Holocaust / slavery / rape, etc., nobody in their right mind wants to follow their argument about anything ever again?

And it’s easy to dismiss this particular letter as written by an ultra-conservative weirdo. But how many Liberals do exactly the same thing?

This love for melodramatic and offensive comparisons is a truly bipartisan affair.

I only went to the kindergarten about 5 times altogether. Other than these isolated occasions, I was kept at home until the age of 7. Even these few visits, however, have offered me crucial insights. Here is an example. (Long-time readers will recognize the story and will be glad to see the solution).

This will be impossible to believe, but until adolescence I hated food. Just being in the vicinity of food made me want to vomit. There was, however, this variety of sprats canned in tomato sauce which were pretty much the only food I loved.

Kindergarten was torture to me because people there tried making me eat. Once, however, I looked at the plate of food we were offered for lunch and realized I was in luck: among other things, there were my favorite canned sprats.

So I are everything on the plate except the sprats. This uncharacteristic amount of food made me throw up. My grandfather came to take me home.

“This is very strange,” he said. “I bought these sprats and brought them to the kindergarten because I know you like them. Why did you eat everything but them?”

There was, of course, a reason for my strange behavior. As a child, I didn’t feel in control of my life. I especially didn’t feel in control of my enjoyments. Children have to wait for others to sanction and organize their moments of joy. So when I saw these sprats on a plate in front of me, I found a rare opportunity to decide when and how the enjoyment would happen. Eating the sprats would kill that opportunity finally to experience control.

I remembered this story when I was trying to figure out why I kept delaying my work on my research, an activity I enjoy like none other. I would wake up in the morning, anticipating a joyous day filled with research. But first, of course, I had to answer emails, grade homework, plan classes, then answer the emails I received while I planned classes, then resolve the urgent issue a student brought to my attention, then pay bills, have lunch, answer emails, etc.

In the meanwhile, the research was right there and I was just about to start working on it.

And then the day would end.

This went on for years. I was always just about to start this enormously enjoyable activity, which was research, but somehow never really got to start it.

Until I realized: research is sprats! I’m doing the same thing I did at five: delaying enjoyment as a way of ensuring I’m in control of my life. And the real paradox was that I kept robbing myself of control by these efforts.

I complained about this “research as sprats” phenomenon in April of 2011 here on the blog. At that time, I still had no idea how to handle this problem. It is only recently that I finally stopped looking for control in these self-defeating ways.

Asking what is the point of doing research is like asking what is the point of having sex. The activity itself is the point. If you need extra motivation to engage in it, something is wrong.

For research scholars, doing research is the goal and everything else they do is subservient to it. They teach and carry out service obligations because these activities allow them to do research. They don’t carve out time every day to do research. Instead, they carve out time from research to do other things.

I only recently became a real research scholar of the kind I’m describing here, and the feeling is amazing.