My thesis. In the required double-spaced format, that thing is 460 pages long. Too big, in fact.
I'm reading through the introduction again, for the first time in over a year, and I like it. I wouldn't say the organization is the best, but the writing flows - something I really pay attention to in others' writing, and try to emulate. And there are a lot of good ideas in there, from:
me, my experiences and thoughts, but all built on the work of others...
(1) the literature on academic speaking (Karen Tracy has done a lot of work on the goals of a colloquium in a communications department, and how conflicts between individual goals and institutional goals clash),
(2) studies of the culture of high-energy physics (Sharon Traweek),
(3) research on beliefs about intelligence (Carol S. Dweck - praising kids, and I think by extension people, for their hard work vs for their smarts, to achieve a score on an exam makes a HUGE difference in how they approach future tests, goals, challenges. Note: Praising for effort is the one you want to concentrate on. Praising for smarts can make them scared of challenges and of trying too hard),
and a lot of other smaller studies. A personal favorite I'd forgotten about is the idea of whether a great scientist is born or made. The beliefs of an academic community about this issue will drive all aspects of graduate student training.
If a great scientist is born, then the grad admissions process is key, because the point is to find the great minds, the future geniuses, and put enough barriers in place to keep out the ones who aren't supposed to make it. Who doesn't make it into or through graduate school is just a measure of who wasn't meant to be a scientist - it is the individual's fitness or lack thereof to blame.
If a great scientist is made, then it is the training that students get once in the program that counts. Are all the skills that one needs to do great science being taught? To all students? Explicitly? What are the official courses in the department? Are writing and speaking (which can make a big deal in hiring decisions) being explicitly taught and mentored, or is this falling to whoever a student's advisor happens to be. If students don't make it, it is the fault of the program.
Yes, those two options are pretty extreme, and there is likely a mixture of causes of student attrition, but I feel like academic departments and their employees often act much more like great scientists are born, and there is a sense that if they become nicer, or give more mentoring on things like how to ask a good question at a talk, or how to navigate the politics of the field, there is a danger of dumbing down the process. Oh my, who might make it through the gauntlet if we told all students everything explicitly?
So I'm sitting here in the middle, ok beginning, of a huge document I've written and forgotten the details of, trying to pull out some things for tomorrow's workshop. Still not sure where to focus, but there is a lot to think about in the next 24+ hours.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
Entitled to understand
Ok, today this is officially a space for me to think through this workshop. I need some questions to ask my audience, to get us all thinking about these topics.
In interview data gathering, it is always a better idea to ask open-ended, or at least not Yes/No questions. I'm guessing the same applies for a good question to ask a group that you want to get talking. And let's try them out on whoever is reading this right now and can leave a comment:
(1) Name an event or setting in your field where you rarely or never talk/ask questions.
(2) Name an event or setting in which you do ask questions or talk.
Hmm. I've already re-structured both of those questions a few times. This is good practice to figure out exactly what my point is.
(3) Name an event or setting outside of work/school where you are very comfortable talking or asking questions.
So what is my point with these questions? First go leave a comment with your answer for the three, if you please would.
I'm guessing that for the first question, there will be a lot of standard, departmental and conference settings. Which is the problem - there is something in the structure of these events that hinders easy and comfortable participation. This is a good time to add that, in my study, I assume that for the most part, the people attending these events in departments (morning coffees, journal clubs, colloquia) are well meaning. The faculty (at least in my interviews) say they want students to speak up more, and the students say they want to speak up more. And personally, in counselling, I've found this assumption to get me a lot further towards being happy and having healthier relationships, than assuming that someone is evil or trying to make my life hell on purpose. People have their own shit and that shit sometimes hits us in the face on accident, as they are spinning wildly, dealing with their own issues. Like that secretary I probably freaked out a few posts ago. Assuming she was scared instead of evil means I get to drop the issue and stop dwelling on her dark mark on this Earth.
Anyway, I assume everyone is well-intentioned, and that they all do want students to speak up more. Then I'm free to see what is standing in the way. Because there are other events, maybe a great mentor's office hours, or with friends in a study group, where students are speaking about science. And in the absence of even these few patches of hope (for me, there was a GR professor's office hours and studying with my friend A), there is hopefully at least one place in life where each person feels comfortable speaking. With a best friend or spouse, a parent, a stranger on a flight, a child.
I wonder if I should ask for them to list many events where they are uncomfortable speaking, and comfortable speaking? To make discussion more lively? Ooh, I know. Let's start really fun - tell me about the worst event you've ever seen/attended for speaking up.
These are the kinds of stories, part gossip and horror, that can help highlight the extreme version of unhelpful structures. Like the secret journal club, held without a group leader's knowledge, because the official event was so horribly demeaning.
Not only is gossip good to get the discussion flowing, turns out gossip and ridicule are key cultural norm delineators and enforces. What someone makes fun of about another person's behavior (if it is a joke that the group approves of, laughs at) communicates what that group holds to be a breach of proper conduct.
So, I'll start with some version of these 3 questions, have people write them down, we'll list them on a board or overhead, and then I'll talk a bit about research on speaking in academic settings, and we'll finish up by looking at the structures of the speaking-friendly events and see if we can't redesign some of the unfriendly events with that info. For instance, saving intellectual face is an important part of academic speaking, so instead of telling students there is no such thing as a stupid question, you might see how much they are worried about this issue by giving out index cards for people to write their questions on anonymously at a colloquium, and then collecting and asking a few of the speaker. Because we have all probably had a question, been worried it was too stupid to ask, and then seen a more senior member of the audience ask it.
Let me give an example of a place I've felt comfortable speaking up - a dance performance troupe practice. A group of us are going up in front of an audience, and we all need to, want to, look good. If you don't ask your questions, you're not going to get things right. There is a product you are aiming to produce and you'd rather be seen as not knowing something in practice than on stage. People feel entitled to understand in that kind of setting.
Entitled to understand. Crazy notion if you apply it to graduate students in a colloquium audience, eh? This is another aspect of a culture, whether it holds the speaker or the listener as responsible for the listener's understanding. A subset of this is in humor - is the joke teller or the joke hearer responsible for "getting" the joke? This will influence how subtle or explicit a joke is in a given culture. So back to the academic setting, a group of people leave the room after a talk, many of them having not understood most of the talk. Whose fault is this? The answer is somewhat determined by the culture's stance - should the speaker have done a better job explaining or should the listeners have tried harder and known more in order to understand better?
In interview data gathering, it is always a better idea to ask open-ended, or at least not Yes/No questions. I'm guessing the same applies for a good question to ask a group that you want to get talking. And let's try them out on whoever is reading this right now and can leave a comment:
(1) Name an event or setting in your field where you rarely or never talk/ask questions.
(2) Name an event or setting in which you do ask questions or talk.
Hmm. I've already re-structured both of those questions a few times. This is good practice to figure out exactly what my point is.
(3) Name an event or setting outside of work/school where you are very comfortable talking or asking questions.
So what is my point with these questions? First go leave a comment with your answer for the three, if you please would.
I'm guessing that for the first question, there will be a lot of standard, departmental and conference settings. Which is the problem - there is something in the structure of these events that hinders easy and comfortable participation. This is a good time to add that, in my study, I assume that for the most part, the people attending these events in departments (morning coffees, journal clubs, colloquia) are well meaning. The faculty (at least in my interviews) say they want students to speak up more, and the students say they want to speak up more. And personally, in counselling, I've found this assumption to get me a lot further towards being happy and having healthier relationships, than assuming that someone is evil or trying to make my life hell on purpose. People have their own shit and that shit sometimes hits us in the face on accident, as they are spinning wildly, dealing with their own issues. Like that secretary I probably freaked out a few posts ago. Assuming she was scared instead of evil means I get to drop the issue and stop dwelling on her dark mark on this Earth.
Anyway, I assume everyone is well-intentioned, and that they all do want students to speak up more. Then I'm free to see what is standing in the way. Because there are other events, maybe a great mentor's office hours, or with friends in a study group, where students are speaking about science. And in the absence of even these few patches of hope (for me, there was a GR professor's office hours and studying with my friend A), there is hopefully at least one place in life where each person feels comfortable speaking. With a best friend or spouse, a parent, a stranger on a flight, a child.
I wonder if I should ask for them to list many events where they are uncomfortable speaking, and comfortable speaking? To make discussion more lively? Ooh, I know. Let's start really fun - tell me about the worst event you've ever seen/attended for speaking up.
These are the kinds of stories, part gossip and horror, that can help highlight the extreme version of unhelpful structures. Like the secret journal club, held without a group leader's knowledge, because the official event was so horribly demeaning.
Not only is gossip good to get the discussion flowing, turns out gossip and ridicule are key cultural norm delineators and enforces. What someone makes fun of about another person's behavior (if it is a joke that the group approves of, laughs at) communicates what that group holds to be a breach of proper conduct.
So, I'll start with some version of these 3 questions, have people write them down, we'll list them on a board or overhead, and then I'll talk a bit about research on speaking in academic settings, and we'll finish up by looking at the structures of the speaking-friendly events and see if we can't redesign some of the unfriendly events with that info. For instance, saving intellectual face is an important part of academic speaking, so instead of telling students there is no such thing as a stupid question, you might see how much they are worried about this issue by giving out index cards for people to write their questions on anonymously at a colloquium, and then collecting and asking a few of the speaker. Because we have all probably had a question, been worried it was too stupid to ask, and then seen a more senior member of the audience ask it.
Let me give an example of a place I've felt comfortable speaking up - a dance performance troupe practice. A group of us are going up in front of an audience, and we all need to, want to, look good. If you don't ask your questions, you're not going to get things right. There is a product you are aiming to produce and you'd rather be seen as not knowing something in practice than on stage. People feel entitled to understand in that kind of setting.
Entitled to understand. Crazy notion if you apply it to graduate students in a colloquium audience, eh? This is another aspect of a culture, whether it holds the speaker or the listener as responsible for the listener's understanding. A subset of this is in humor - is the joke teller or the joke hearer responsible for "getting" the joke? This will influence how subtle or explicit a joke is in a given culture. So back to the academic setting, a group of people leave the room after a talk, many of them having not understood most of the talk. Whose fault is this? The answer is somewhat determined by the culture's stance - should the speaker have done a better job explaining or should the listeners have tried harder and known more in order to understand better?
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Speaking in academic settings
Roughly, this was what my PhD dissertation was about - speaking. The specifics:
(1) in an astronomy department,
(2) in academic events (not talks for the public),
(3) in events where a grad student could potentially speak (by giving a talk, presenting an idea, or asking a question),
(4) as reported by graduate students and faculty members, when I interviewed them about speaking events.
It was a qualitative study, which means I asked, listened, recorded, transcribed, read and analyzed a whole lot of words. Over and over, as far as reading and analyzing goes.
I started the whole study thinking it would be about gender issues in astronomy, and inspired by a single question, asked in a women's group meeting in an astronomy department.
Q: "Why it is so hard for me to ask a question?"
Soon, my focus shifted to anyone (not just women) asking questions, then speaking in general, to other academics. My way-too-simple answer to above question?
A: "Because it is a hard (complicated) task to ask the right question. Or say the right thing. Or present in the right way."
It is hard for the woman who asked that question, because it is complex. Not because she is defective. It is complex for a number of reasons.
First, because of the ambiguity of vocabulary - asking a question can mean either having a question (as in "I don't get what you just said"), or coming up with a question (a multi-step process that requires a lot of practice and knowledge of the audience as well as the speaker). Everybody who sits in an academic talk audience has questions. Things they didn't understand or see or remember. Having questions is easy. A piece of cake.
Coming up with a question, the kind that takes into account what other members of the audience might also find interesting (be they graduate students who were unlikely to get some subtle point made by a speaking in your field that you wish to clarify politely, by asking a leading question, or other faculty), that maintains or raises your intellectual status within that group or in the speaker's eye (meaning it doesn't reveal you as not knowing something that others think you should, and hopefully shows you to know things others don't), and makes sure the speaker feels good about their talk in the case that no one else is asking a question.....well, I think you get the point. It is complex. There are many variables to take into account. And for an inexperienced person (i.e. graduate student), it is hard enough to learn about the existence, much less the subtle balance, of all these variables.
As with children and parents, graduate students learn academic culture from professors. So they try to imitate them, see what they do and don't approve of, listen carefully to what they make fun of or laud. And as with family, the saying "do as I say, not as I do" falls just as flat in the training and mentoring of graduate students. A professor can say "There's no such thing as a stupid question" until she is blue in the face, but if she also tries to hide her ignorance, and never asks "I didn't get ____ on your slide" questions, it won't help. If a professor calls other researches dumb, or idiots, or makes fun of any type of lack of knowledge, students learn that exposing what they don't know, by means of asking a question, is dangerous. That there is always the risk of asking a question that shows you didn't know something (ironically, how questions are designed), and since not knowing everything is looked down upon in academia, it makes you look stupid.
I have a big problem with this notion of stupid. And more generally of what seems like a very antiquated (and contrary to learning theory) concept of intelligence. In some ways, science academics have a pre-education-101 view of intelligence, as innate, as fixed, as static, as being about remembering everything, about knowing a lot of things, as measurable by what you say or ask, as responsible for professional success (and as evidenced by it). The biggest insult you can deliver in science is to question someone's intelligence. Not how they are dressed, not on their social skills, not how much money they make, not what their ethnic background is, not what they look like. Call someone lazy, but just don't close the door on any possibility of self-redemption by deciding they are stupid. A revered scientist can be disheveled, rude, mean, socially awkward, smelly, wearing month old clothes, barely understandable. But no revered scientist is stupid.
"You're no Einstein."
(To be continued....)
(1) in an astronomy department,
(2) in academic events (not talks for the public),
(3) in events where a grad student could potentially speak (by giving a talk, presenting an idea, or asking a question),
(4) as reported by graduate students and faculty members, when I interviewed them about speaking events.
It was a qualitative study, which means I asked, listened, recorded, transcribed, read and analyzed a whole lot of words. Over and over, as far as reading and analyzing goes.
I started the whole study thinking it would be about gender issues in astronomy, and inspired by a single question, asked in a women's group meeting in an astronomy department.
Q: "Why it is so hard for me to ask a question?"
Soon, my focus shifted to anyone (not just women) asking questions, then speaking in general, to other academics. My way-too-simple answer to above question?
A: "Because it is a hard (complicated) task to ask the right question. Or say the right thing. Or present in the right way."
It is hard for the woman who asked that question, because it is complex. Not because she is defective. It is complex for a number of reasons.
First, because of the ambiguity of vocabulary - asking a question can mean either having a question (as in "I don't get what you just said"), or coming up with a question (a multi-step process that requires a lot of practice and knowledge of the audience as well as the speaker). Everybody who sits in an academic talk audience has questions. Things they didn't understand or see or remember. Having questions is easy. A piece of cake.
Coming up with a question, the kind that takes into account what other members of the audience might also find interesting (be they graduate students who were unlikely to get some subtle point made by a speaking in your field that you wish to clarify politely, by asking a leading question, or other faculty), that maintains or raises your intellectual status within that group or in the speaker's eye (meaning it doesn't reveal you as not knowing something that others think you should, and hopefully shows you to know things others don't), and makes sure the speaker feels good about their talk in the case that no one else is asking a question.....well, I think you get the point. It is complex. There are many variables to take into account. And for an inexperienced person (i.e. graduate student), it is hard enough to learn about the existence, much less the subtle balance, of all these variables.
As with children and parents, graduate students learn academic culture from professors. So they try to imitate them, see what they do and don't approve of, listen carefully to what they make fun of or laud. And as with family, the saying "do as I say, not as I do" falls just as flat in the training and mentoring of graduate students. A professor can say "There's no such thing as a stupid question" until she is blue in the face, but if she also tries to hide her ignorance, and never asks "I didn't get ____ on your slide" questions, it won't help. If a professor calls other researches dumb, or idiots, or makes fun of any type of lack of knowledge, students learn that exposing what they don't know, by means of asking a question, is dangerous. That there is always the risk of asking a question that shows you didn't know something (ironically, how questions are designed), and since not knowing everything is looked down upon in academia, it makes you look stupid.
I have a big problem with this notion of stupid. And more generally of what seems like a very antiquated (and contrary to learning theory) concept of intelligence. In some ways, science academics have a pre-education-101 view of intelligence, as innate, as fixed, as static, as being about remembering everything, about knowing a lot of things, as measurable by what you say or ask, as responsible for professional success (and as evidenced by it). The biggest insult you can deliver in science is to question someone's intelligence. Not how they are dressed, not on their social skills, not how much money they make, not what their ethnic background is, not what they look like. Call someone lazy, but just don't close the door on any possibility of self-redemption by deciding they are stupid. A revered scientist can be disheveled, rude, mean, socially awkward, smelly, wearing month old clothes, barely understandable. But no revered scientist is stupid.
"You're no Einstein."
(To be continued....)
Friday, June 24, 2011
How did you manage to fool everyone into thinking you actually deserve your job?
Yes, I just posted something about 10 hours ago (believe you, me, my brain can tell it didn't get much sleep), but I'm trying to get motivated again to work from home for an hour and what I learned during the last few months of grad school was that writing leads to motivation, not the other way around.
And I'm preparing to do a workshop next week, on the culture of giving talks in academic physics and on the Impostor Syndrome. In my notebook, I have a bunch of keywords written down that look very cool, and they start with high stakes speaking, pass through asking questions and beliefs about intelligence and get all the way over to the Impostor Syndrome by the end. No problem. Apart from the actual content and method of delivery, my workshop is ready.
You think you've made it as far as you have in physics or astronomy (or a host of other careers) because of luck, chance and that those around you have made it there because they actually have what is required - intelligence. You just have to work extra hard so that whatever gatekeeper missed your sorry, lazy, dumb but on those previous tests of competence and right to be employed in science, never finds out he or she made a horrible mistake. You should have been kicked out (preferably while your ex-colleagues joked about your inability to do elliptical integrals in you sleep) long ago.
I know you think I'm mean for writing about you, personally, but actually these are the hallmarks of a person who has what is called Impostor Syndrome. Female grad students have it, but guess what, so do male grad students. And professors. And members of the National Academy of Sciences. Probably Nobel prize winners, too. Not every one of them, but there are people in each of these positions, who you think have it made and way better at this than you, that feel exactly like you do. At least that is what the research says. These feelings of inadequacy go all the way up the ladder. A person who feels this way is often worried that others will find out how "unfit" they really are. And it tends to influence behavior, by making the person try to hide their lack of knowledge - they don't ask questions for fear of being found lacking, they avoid challenging situations, etc.
I've felt this way before. When I was an astronomy graduate student. I had phenomenal undergraduate grades, and awards, and a pretty good physics GRE score. I had great letters of recommendation, and got into a lot of good programs. And I never raised my hand in class or in any kind of talk. Everyone remembered more than I did, knew more than I did, was better at math than I was. It was just a matter of time before I was found out.
The advice I've seen in most places on overcoming Impostor Syndrome focuses on being less critical of yourself, not saying "yes I accomplished that, but..." all the time. And I have to say, that advice didn't do much for me. It didn't help me rethink my role and competence from the inside out. It maybe made me more gracious about compliments, but it didn't make me feel much better. Knowing other people felt the same way, that made me feel better. Less alone. And then doing research on people's feelings about talking in academic settings made me feel much less alone. And after hundreds of hours of thinking and reading research, and going over and over my interview data, and talking with others, it made me look at the culture of academia and how it reinforces the Impostor Syndrome. I'll write about that in another post.
So here is my contribution to the debate - I don't think the goal should be to make people feel less like they got where they were by luck, and to aim to make them feel as smart (however that might happen!) as those they fear around them. I think it is time to highlight that everyone around us got where they were by luck. Sure you have to prepare, you have to work, etc. But you need the right mentor, the right opportunities and the ability to take advantage of them at the right time. I think that those of us with Impostor Syndrome are tapped into a very core characteristic of academic success - to a large extent, it is about luck and not about how smart you are. So yes, you're right, you got where you were by luck. Thing is, so did everyone else.
And I'm preparing to do a workshop next week, on the culture of giving talks in academic physics and on the Impostor Syndrome. In my notebook, I have a bunch of keywords written down that look very cool, and they start with high stakes speaking, pass through asking questions and beliefs about intelligence and get all the way over to the Impostor Syndrome by the end. No problem. Apart from the actual content and method of delivery, my workshop is ready.
You think you've made it as far as you have in physics or astronomy (or a host of other careers) because of luck, chance and that those around you have made it there because they actually have what is required - intelligence. You just have to work extra hard so that whatever gatekeeper missed your sorry, lazy, dumb but on those previous tests of competence and right to be employed in science, never finds out he or she made a horrible mistake. You should have been kicked out (preferably while your ex-colleagues joked about your inability to do elliptical integrals in you sleep) long ago.
I know you think I'm mean for writing about you, personally, but actually these are the hallmarks of a person who has what is called Impostor Syndrome. Female grad students have it, but guess what, so do male grad students. And professors. And members of the National Academy of Sciences. Probably Nobel prize winners, too. Not every one of them, but there are people in each of these positions, who you think have it made and way better at this than you, that feel exactly like you do. At least that is what the research says. These feelings of inadequacy go all the way up the ladder. A person who feels this way is often worried that others will find out how "unfit" they really are. And it tends to influence behavior, by making the person try to hide their lack of knowledge - they don't ask questions for fear of being found lacking, they avoid challenging situations, etc.
I've felt this way before. When I was an astronomy graduate student. I had phenomenal undergraduate grades, and awards, and a pretty good physics GRE score. I had great letters of recommendation, and got into a lot of good programs. And I never raised my hand in class or in any kind of talk. Everyone remembered more than I did, knew more than I did, was better at math than I was. It was just a matter of time before I was found out.
The advice I've seen in most places on overcoming Impostor Syndrome focuses on being less critical of yourself, not saying "yes I accomplished that, but..." all the time. And I have to say, that advice didn't do much for me. It didn't help me rethink my role and competence from the inside out. It maybe made me more gracious about compliments, but it didn't make me feel much better. Knowing other people felt the same way, that made me feel better. Less alone. And then doing research on people's feelings about talking in academic settings made me feel much less alone. And after hundreds of hours of thinking and reading research, and going over and over my interview data, and talking with others, it made me look at the culture of academia and how it reinforces the Impostor Syndrome. I'll write about that in another post.
So here is my contribution to the debate - I don't think the goal should be to make people feel less like they got where they were by luck, and to aim to make them feel as smart (however that might happen!) as those they fear around them. I think it is time to highlight that everyone around us got where they were by luck. Sure you have to prepare, you have to work, etc. But you need the right mentor, the right opportunities and the ability to take advantage of them at the right time. I think that those of us with Impostor Syndrome are tapped into a very core characteristic of academic success - to a large extent, it is about luck and not about how smart you are. So yes, you're right, you got where you were by luck. Thing is, so did everyone else.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Almost tomorrow's post
My laptop clock says 11:56pm. So it must be. By the time I finish writing, it will be tomorrow, so this post will count towards Friday.
Can a bar of dark chocolate really keep me up like this? I should stop experimenting with it. I don't really like the milk chocolate, and tonight, around 8:30pm, I ate a bar of dark. Like, the whole thing.
The city is finally under a dark sky, and the lights of the industrial area peek through the outlines of sunflowers and zucchini plant leaves in the garden. I'm not usually up this late. At least, not after sunset this month.
....
Hmm. Well, dang. That bar was about 3-5 oz of chocolate. Which apparently has 60-100mg of caffeine. Really? As much as brewed coffee or espresso. I guess that settles it, we need both dark and milk chocolate in the house for desserts. And I need to start eating chocolate in place of a coffee drink. Ok, maybe not that last part. So eating the bar of dark chocolate was pretty dumb.
So many things to think about when you can't sleep. Played too much of the Doodle God game, that isn't as logical as I'd like, but keeps sucking me in. You just keep trying to cross different pairs of items to create new ones, and the goal is 248 items, from zombies and superheroes, to seeds and lightbulbs and fish and sky scrapers. And money. And law. And concrete and wood. And you get a new hint to help you out every 2 minutes. Maddening in a slow enough drip that you keep going back.
Ooh, there's A, coughing and crying a bit.
And quiet again. Sweetie pie.
There is also a talk to think about, on my dissertation and on impostor syndrome, to a women physicists group next week. And the book on quantum physics and consciousness that has finally arrived at the consciousness chapter. So if there really isn't much of a self or an "I", where do all these hangups we have (low self-esteem, fear, embarrassment) come from? If the Buddhists have it right about there being no singular, constant self, why all these issues and therapists? If there is no "me" why should I care what someone else thinks of that "me" that doesn't even exist?
Which reminded me of something a counselor once told me regarding worry or sadness. That sometimes, for a chronic worrier like me, the sensation of worry comes before the assignment of that sensation to something. In other words, the body and brain worry first and then a reason is found for that worry. But since they happen so closely together, it feels like the reason comes first, followed by the physical response. I've noticed, now that I'm on a lower dose of antidepressants, that I'm a bit more emotional again. I get more teary more quickly during conflict. And I just feel sad sometimes. And for some reason, this time around, it makes sense what that counselor said - maybe because I'm really watching my moods and tracking when I should be PMS-ing, to try to see if the depression is coming back. I just feel sadness, or hopelessness sometimes. Okay, today a headline about child abuse started that feeling, but somehow I can step back more than before and sense that it isn't always caused by something. Sometimes I just feel sad. Like a hormone thermometer, that fluctuates with some chemical level. Maybe my body is just more sensitive to that kind of thing, and I need to practice not looking for reasons I feel sad.
12:15am, the webpage announces that my draft of this post is autosaved, and I'm going to try to go to sleep again.
Can a bar of dark chocolate really keep me up like this? I should stop experimenting with it. I don't really like the milk chocolate, and tonight, around 8:30pm, I ate a bar of dark. Like, the whole thing.
The city is finally under a dark sky, and the lights of the industrial area peek through the outlines of sunflowers and zucchini plant leaves in the garden. I'm not usually up this late. At least, not after sunset this month.
....
Hmm. Well, dang. That bar was about 3-5 oz of chocolate. Which apparently has 60-100mg of caffeine. Really? As much as brewed coffee or espresso. I guess that settles it, we need both dark and milk chocolate in the house for desserts. And I need to start eating chocolate in place of a coffee drink. Ok, maybe not that last part. So eating the bar of dark chocolate was pretty dumb.
So many things to think about when you can't sleep. Played too much of the Doodle God game, that isn't as logical as I'd like, but keeps sucking me in. You just keep trying to cross different pairs of items to create new ones, and the goal is 248 items, from zombies and superheroes, to seeds and lightbulbs and fish and sky scrapers. And money. And law. And concrete and wood. And you get a new hint to help you out every 2 minutes. Maddening in a slow enough drip that you keep going back.
Ooh, there's A, coughing and crying a bit.
And quiet again. Sweetie pie.
There is also a talk to think about, on my dissertation and on impostor syndrome, to a women physicists group next week. And the book on quantum physics and consciousness that has finally arrived at the consciousness chapter. So if there really isn't much of a self or an "I", where do all these hangups we have (low self-esteem, fear, embarrassment) come from? If the Buddhists have it right about there being no singular, constant self, why all these issues and therapists? If there is no "me" why should I care what someone else thinks of that "me" that doesn't even exist?
Which reminded me of something a counselor once told me regarding worry or sadness. That sometimes, for a chronic worrier like me, the sensation of worry comes before the assignment of that sensation to something. In other words, the body and brain worry first and then a reason is found for that worry. But since they happen so closely together, it feels like the reason comes first, followed by the physical response. I've noticed, now that I'm on a lower dose of antidepressants, that I'm a bit more emotional again. I get more teary more quickly during conflict. And I just feel sad sometimes. And for some reason, this time around, it makes sense what that counselor said - maybe because I'm really watching my moods and tracking when I should be PMS-ing, to try to see if the depression is coming back. I just feel sadness, or hopelessness sometimes. Okay, today a headline about child abuse started that feeling, but somehow I can step back more than before and sense that it isn't always caused by something. Sometimes I just feel sad. Like a hormone thermometer, that fluctuates with some chemical level. Maybe my body is just more sensitive to that kind of thing, and I need to practice not looking for reasons I feel sad.
12:15am, the webpage announces that my draft of this post is autosaved, and I'm going to try to go to sleep again.
To the mountains
This time the dog came with. For 4 days of sniffing and walking and hanging out in the mountains, near St. Moritz. And friends came with, with their kids who helped A have a great time. I ate a lot more hiking food than actually hiking (I meant to hike, really I did), but just being away was nice. The cows in their summer pastures with their bells clinking, the pretty buildings with the corners all embellished, fondue and hot cocoa and Father's Day French Toast made with a pulverized cookie coating. It was all good.
We stayed in Celerina, about a mile away from St. Moritz, much smaller, quainter, quieter, no Chanel or Jimmy Choo shops.
Ok, almost all was good. It seems the Alps open this coming (not last) weekend. All but one chairlift/gondola was closed, as were all the restaurants on the hikes. So leaving that bag of sandwiches on the dining table when we each thought someone else would bring them? Bad idea. Luckily the carrot sticks, apples, chocolate croissants, nuts and raisins made it, and we survived quite happily.
Now we're home again, and this is one of those uninspired, but I really need to start writing again, blog posts. My work life is picking up quite strongly, mostly with meetings with people which beats trying to stay awake working at my computer at home. I'm also looking for a decent (well, it is my first try), aesthetically pleasing RSS feed reader to consolidate all those blogs I stop by at each morning, so it is more like reading the morning paper than like desperately trying to find one more thing to read before being productive. Seems like Reeder for the Mac gets god reviews, and looks much nicer than the Google reader. We'll see.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Some people
I had a meeting at 9am this morning. M was away on business last night, so it was me, the pupper and A today. Luxuriously, A slept until 7:30am. Crap, that means walking the dog, feeding us all, getting to daycare and then getting downtown in 1.5 hours. Not going to go well.
Ok, it went smoothly, at least up to that last item. Granted, I had a bit of an altercation with my sock drawer that seems to have taken pointers from M's sock drawer and started holding only one of each pair of socks. Sure, the tights can't separate both legs without me getting suspicious, but I already had my jeans on, and I wanted a pair of socks, damn it. Then I chose the slower, but less walking uphill option to the daycare. Mistake again. Finally, I missed the direct bus to downtown and had to go by bus then tram.
But wait. Once at the building where the person's office used to be, something made me worry that maybe it was no longer. I didn't even remember how to get to the old office, but my iPhone informed me that at least one person in the group was now in another building, just where I had jumped off the tram. Back up the hill. Ring the bell, confused secretary opens the door. I tell her who I'm looking for (the spouse of the person whose office I'm currently standing in), and she pauses, as if she has no idea who I'm asking about. Really? C'mon. REALLY?
Then she asks suspiciously, "Who ARE you?"
I tell her my name and that I have an appointment with said person. Already I'm 30 minutes late, and the other person coming to the meeting isn't answering her cell phone or my texts asking where the office is.
Then the secretary goes to a map on the wall to tell me the name (at this university, the building names are combinations of 3 letters each, that do NOT spell anything....I hate this system) of the building I want. Uh-huh, which helps not at all, and I know I'm going to need the street address.
I ask, perhaps brusquely, more likely desperately, "But do you have the street address?"
She recoils, arches her eyebrows, PUTS HER HAND UP IN MY FACE, and says something like "Wait!" in an offended voice.
Pow. There goes my whole internal composure. I'm being disciplined for....for what, exactly?
I immediately hate her guts, turn down my desperation and try to play nice to get my info and get out as fast as I can. "Bitch," I think. As I walk out and try to remember her stupid directions (lacking any street address, of course), I swear under my breath. Close to 45 minutes late.
And then, for the first time ever, I try to think through what just happened. I stop myself from assuming I did something wrong or rude or at all, to elicit that behavior from her. She might have just been scared that she didn't know the answer to my street address question, and confronted with a person who she thought was judging her for that, she got defensive. Not my fault. Breathe. Not. My. Fault.
I got to the right building, went down the wrong staircase, and met a janitor who asked what I was looking for. And here it all calmed down inside. He was older, calm, gentle, heard what I wanted and just said, I had to go upstairs and to the next building. In German, but he was calming enough, relaxed, that I had the mental capacity to understand what he was saying. My inner alarm bells were no longer ringing.
I found my meeting, 55 minutes late, but that is beside the point in this story. I apologized, and proceeded to be a productive contributor. Things were okay.
So thank you, Mr. Janitor, for being a calming influence in my chaotic morning. And undoing what Ms. Secretary did for me.
Ok, it went smoothly, at least up to that last item. Granted, I had a bit of an altercation with my sock drawer that seems to have taken pointers from M's sock drawer and started holding only one of each pair of socks. Sure, the tights can't separate both legs without me getting suspicious, but I already had my jeans on, and I wanted a pair of socks, damn it. Then I chose the slower, but less walking uphill option to the daycare. Mistake again. Finally, I missed the direct bus to downtown and had to go by bus then tram.
But wait. Once at the building where the person's office used to be, something made me worry that maybe it was no longer. I didn't even remember how to get to the old office, but my iPhone informed me that at least one person in the group was now in another building, just where I had jumped off the tram. Back up the hill. Ring the bell, confused secretary opens the door. I tell her who I'm looking for (the spouse of the person whose office I'm currently standing in), and she pauses, as if she has no idea who I'm asking about. Really? C'mon. REALLY?
Then she asks suspiciously, "Who ARE you?"
I tell her my name and that I have an appointment with said person. Already I'm 30 minutes late, and the other person coming to the meeting isn't answering her cell phone or my texts asking where the office is.
Then the secretary goes to a map on the wall to tell me the name (at this university, the building names are combinations of 3 letters each, that do NOT spell anything....I hate this system) of the building I want. Uh-huh, which helps not at all, and I know I'm going to need the street address.
I ask, perhaps brusquely, more likely desperately, "But do you have the street address?"
She recoils, arches her eyebrows, PUTS HER HAND UP IN MY FACE, and says something like "Wait!" in an offended voice.
Pow. There goes my whole internal composure. I'm being disciplined for....for what, exactly?
I immediately hate her guts, turn down my desperation and try to play nice to get my info and get out as fast as I can. "Bitch," I think. As I walk out and try to remember her stupid directions (lacking any street address, of course), I swear under my breath. Close to 45 minutes late.
And then, for the first time ever, I try to think through what just happened. I stop myself from assuming I did something wrong or rude or at all, to elicit that behavior from her. She might have just been scared that she didn't know the answer to my street address question, and confronted with a person who she thought was judging her for that, she got defensive. Not my fault. Breathe. Not. My. Fault.
I got to the right building, went down the wrong staircase, and met a janitor who asked what I was looking for. And here it all calmed down inside. He was older, calm, gentle, heard what I wanted and just said, I had to go upstairs and to the next building. In German, but he was calming enough, relaxed, that I had the mental capacity to understand what he was saying. My inner alarm bells were no longer ringing.
I found my meeting, 55 minutes late, but that is beside the point in this story. I apologized, and proceeded to be a productive contributor. Things were okay.
So thank you, Mr. Janitor, for being a calming influence in my chaotic morning. And undoing what Ms. Secretary did for me.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Chocolate
I live in Switzerland. This probably means I should have a lot of opinions, experiences of and suggestions for chocolate. I do like chocolate. In cakes and tortes. In solid bars or spheres. In liquid form.
I have vivid memories of my favorite chocolates.
When I was in Germany in my junior year of high school, the Ritter Sport square bars and Lindt milk chocolates made up a significant part of my diet, which was the opposite of a diet, since I gained my first freshman 15 that year. The food at my school just wasn't as comforting as this stuff.
Then there was the three color chocolate mousse and truffle cake at a sadly long-departed Le Bistro restaurant in Tucson. They would serve you a slice of this thing, only about 3/4 in thick, and at first you'd think you'd been overcharged for dessert. Until you tasted it, had the dark truffle part coat your tongue like velvet, gone to paradise, and then couldn't finish the last 1/4 because of how rich it was.
And in another long-gone restaurant named Spring, in Chicago, there was this after dinner hot chocolate shot that was more like drinking a.... Actually, I have no words for this one. It was light in color, warm, and I think there may have been some thyme in it. It felt like almost nothing going down your throat because it was so smooth but thick - not quite liquid, softer than a pudding. It was glorious. And M and I had hot chocolate served late night at our wedding, at best as a tribute to this drink, because I'm thinking it was only ever meant to exist for a few years in this universe and I was lucky enough to stumble upon it. Never to meet it again.
I remember and search for good chocolate like I do a book or movie.
Now I live in Switzerland. There are large company chocolatiers downtown: Sprungli (the no-export part of the Lindt empire), Teuscher (whose shop windows would give Willy Wonka visual overload), and Laderach (my favorite). There are smaller places, too, like in our village where one of their specialties is, not too appetizingly to me for a gourmet item, chocolate prunes. But I'll have to give it a try some day.
I like my chocolate dark, mostly. Around 60%. And here is what graces our cupboards when they are full of my favorites:
1. Caotina dark chocolate cocoa powder, for mornings when I'm planning to nap after A and M leave
2. Lindt dark truffle bar, from the COOP grocery store, it is the best thing I've found for straight up, eat it plain, dark (no point in getting anything else from Lindt for me). It is sort of the more chocolate, less truffle version of those black wrapper Lindt balls you get in the US.
3. The dark chocolate "bark" from Laderach. This is made in sheets and broken into pieces. The Florentiner has almonds in crunchy caramel. This will always do very very nicely, especially for a gift. Their other barks have all sorts of nuts, or chili, or fruits in them. They have a milk chocolate. You always see tourists stop and salivate at the window before they go in to buy some. We discovered it the day I went into labor.
4. Ritter Sport dark with marzipan, milk with biscuit or milk with corn flakes. We're getting a little less classy now. But these have, on a few occasions, been my lunch when I'm running late to get A from daycare. And they were fine lunches, I remember with fondness.
5. Currently, crispy M&Ms. Yup, we're talking vending machine choices here. I like them chilled in the fridge. Mostly the crispy part is what I find addictive to crunch and it will force me through a whole big bag in a few days. I'm not too proud to admit that. I am a bit upset, though, that there are no plain M&Ms here, because I think they would have been a better option. They only have the crispy or the peanut.
6. Schoggi gipfeli. Swiss German way of saying chocolate croissant. Croissant, filled with chocolate. How can this be a bad thing for all the bakeries to carry? I can't think of any way.
And there you have it. My list.
I have vivid memories of my favorite chocolates.
When I was in Germany in my junior year of high school, the Ritter Sport square bars and Lindt milk chocolates made up a significant part of my diet, which was the opposite of a diet, since I gained my first freshman 15 that year. The food at my school just wasn't as comforting as this stuff.
Then there was the three color chocolate mousse and truffle cake at a sadly long-departed Le Bistro restaurant in Tucson. They would serve you a slice of this thing, only about 3/4 in thick, and at first you'd think you'd been overcharged for dessert. Until you tasted it, had the dark truffle part coat your tongue like velvet, gone to paradise, and then couldn't finish the last 1/4 because of how rich it was.
And in another long-gone restaurant named Spring, in Chicago, there was this after dinner hot chocolate shot that was more like drinking a.... Actually, I have no words for this one. It was light in color, warm, and I think there may have been some thyme in it. It felt like almost nothing going down your throat because it was so smooth but thick - not quite liquid, softer than a pudding. It was glorious. And M and I had hot chocolate served late night at our wedding, at best as a tribute to this drink, because I'm thinking it was only ever meant to exist for a few years in this universe and I was lucky enough to stumble upon it. Never to meet it again.
I remember and search for good chocolate like I do a book or movie.
Now I live in Switzerland. There are large company chocolatiers downtown: Sprungli (the no-export part of the Lindt empire), Teuscher (whose shop windows would give Willy Wonka visual overload), and Laderach (my favorite). There are smaller places, too, like in our village where one of their specialties is, not too appetizingly to me for a gourmet item, chocolate prunes. But I'll have to give it a try some day.
I like my chocolate dark, mostly. Around 60%. And here is what graces our cupboards when they are full of my favorites:
1. Caotina dark chocolate cocoa powder, for mornings when I'm planning to nap after A and M leave
2. Lindt dark truffle bar, from the COOP grocery store, it is the best thing I've found for straight up, eat it plain, dark (no point in getting anything else from Lindt for me). It is sort of the more chocolate, less truffle version of those black wrapper Lindt balls you get in the US.
3. The dark chocolate "bark" from Laderach. This is made in sheets and broken into pieces. The Florentiner has almonds in crunchy caramel. This will always do very very nicely, especially for a gift. Their other barks have all sorts of nuts, or chili, or fruits in them. They have a milk chocolate. You always see tourists stop and salivate at the window before they go in to buy some. We discovered it the day I went into labor.
4. Ritter Sport dark with marzipan, milk with biscuit or milk with corn flakes. We're getting a little less classy now. But these have, on a few occasions, been my lunch when I'm running late to get A from daycare. And they were fine lunches, I remember with fondness.
5. Currently, crispy M&Ms. Yup, we're talking vending machine choices here. I like them chilled in the fridge. Mostly the crispy part is what I find addictive to crunch and it will force me through a whole big bag in a few days. I'm not too proud to admit that. I am a bit upset, though, that there are no plain M&Ms here, because I think they would have been a better option. They only have the crispy or the peanut.
6. Schoggi gipfeli. Swiss German way of saying chocolate croissant. Croissant, filled with chocolate. How can this be a bad thing for all the bakeries to carry? I can't think of any way.
And there you have it. My list.
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