I stumbled upon a blog yesterday, that I intend to follow: "The Contrary Farmer" by Gene Logsdon. In past times, I have read some his traditionally published works, which I also stumbled upon but that was during my treks through the stacks of the local library. There were two recent entries, the titles of which caught my eye. I was not disappointed. One was a lighter treatment of a subject, and the other was a much more intimate treatment of its subject. The first is titled "Talking to Animals," and the second is "Secret Crying Places." (Okay. I will readily admit that the latter is very much a guy thing.) The jewel in the piece is the connection that Gene makes between tears of sadness and tears of joy. It may well be true that our ability to experience emotional highs is in direct proportion to our ability to experience the lowest lows. In that context, sadness and grief are but small prices to pay for the ability to experience the other end of the emotional spectrum. It is as if we have to run off the road a little every now and again, off on the gravel shoulder, or even down in the ditch, in order to fully appreciate just how great the ride is when we are on the roadway and especially in the passing lane.

Gene's blog called to mind the process that is currently underway by the American Psychiatric Association to update its diagnostic manual. On the topic of grief, the proposed revision has been criticised for pathologizing normal sadness and grief by permitting a diagnosis of Major Depressive Espisode as soon as two weeks after the death of an important individual in one's life.  At that point, the experience apparently becomes a diagnosable disorder, which merits treatment and within the current context that would most likely entail pharmacological treatment. Another article spoke of the two month limit that employers can "legitimately" establish for bereavement. After that date, the employee may be subject to disciplinary action, if the "problem" persists.

Having lived my life--at least that portion allocated to date--as an introspective melancholiac (I use that term in very much the same manner with which it was employed in medieval physiology.), I feel much more kinship with Mr. Logsdon's insights than I do with the machinations of the American Psychiatric Association.