The general understanding of a fulfilling life, at least among the people I surround myself with, is to fill your time with as many tasks as possible so as not to be alone with your thoughts. They distract themselves with pretty wives and pretty houses that prove no purpose outside of the realm of dinner parties. They will make their cushions inaccessible with pillows all in pursuit of a positive comment from a woman they will never see again and probably wouldn't care if she lived or died. Wouldn't care if she lived or died, but would care about her opinion on furniture; funny, isn't it? Real funny. I would say if anyone cared to ask, that my definition of “fulfillment” would be to jump at any impulse and spend your time doing only the narcissistic fantasies that we all hide. For instance, do you feel the need to explain your disapproval of a woman's dress? Please do so, and with the volume of a drunken man. Entertained with the idea of eating only sugary foods and dressing in only your undergarments? Well, don't let me stop you. I believe that society's ideas of maturity and humility walk hand in hand in ruining every young adult's lives; that few too many children are muddled with shame in indulging in the simple things that they become another one of those women who seek approval from strangers comments on her furniture. (god, if I ever get to the point of boredom in my life in which I resort to a woman’s opinion on my furniture, you've got permission to shoot me, I swear to god.)