Tag: writing

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The Light Bulb Moments

This is what science is made of: Long stretches of I-have-no-clue-what-this-means, but as you go along with it, you might find a light bulb or two (or more like, a couple burning candles)*.

Sometimes, you will go through literature and concepts which make no sense to you. You will go over them again and again without absorbing anything (like when you have to go over a sentence twice just to confirm that it is (indeed) written in English). Did you perhaps miss a lecture in your classes? Missed a lesson life might have been trying to teach you at some point in the past? Or are you just missing the point here? Were you just not made for this? Did that escalate really quickly**?.

You will feel hopeless and a failure and start debating every life decision you have made leading you to this particular research article. But, in time, you will find this is not entirely true. You will realize (at some point) that all that reading and going through concepts, again and again, was actually going through to your brain in some way. And that you are definitely not as dumb as you had started to think you were (not too many self-esteem points, though – you are still capable of dumbness, just not as much as you had begun to believe).

Somewhere along, you see that it has started to make some sense. That definitely this line that you are reading right now, this would have been complete nonsense a couple journal articles ago.

It doesn’t happen all of a sudden, not (at all) like someone has switched on a light bulb. But the vision slowly clears and you can see a little more. It’s like each new paper you go through, you start to understand everything just a bit better than before (in some kind of a cumulative effect). 

That all that wandering wasn’t getting you lost. That there’s still hope for you (probably).

 

*This definition may differ from scientist to scientist.

**The answer is yes.

 

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Other Stuff

A while back, I came across this post about how science can make you feel stupid.

I shared it, thinking I understood perfectly what it meant and felt like. I actually didn’t then, because now I know what it means and feels like. (And yet, I am not exactly sure how it feels like. Stupid can take so many forms).

When I started off my PhD, I was like any normal person, motivated about starting a new “project” that they are excited about. It’s just like new year, and we all know how that goes:

1) You start off with a long list of resolutions;

2) You start following through on almost all of them immediately;

3) You feel so good that you are following through, and how this year did not turn out like last year (and we all know how that went);

4) You start realizing how by starting everything, you broke all rules of developing new habits, and how this is not sustainable at all (did you really even want all of this?);

5) You start going back to your normal routine, and your resolutions start feeling less important to you now;

6) New year, and you have almost forgotten (almost) how last year went and are ready for a new cycle of highly-motivated-to-back-to-“normal”.

But of course, everybody knows these stages, everyone has new-year moments. And when I started my PhD, I knew I’d face some kind of a slump some of the times. People-on-the-internet told me that the PhD dip is inevitable, and it is not a question of if you will come across it but when you will actually experience it (although they also told me that this phase comes sometime around the second year and I am still in my first, so am I just going through a trailer for the actual movie that will be officially opening in months to come?).

The thing is, despite knowing this, I didn’t really plan for this time (that is another kind of stupid right there). Because, like any normal person motivated about starting a new “project” that they are excited about, I wanted to be laser-focused on my PhD and on things that would take it forward.

So if I needed a break from lab work, I could read or catch up on literature, and if I needed a break from reading, I could take some online course. I did like doing other stuff, but all of that could wait until I had my PhD a little more on routine (a thing, that I am finding out only now, was not as easy as I supposed it was, but that could be for another time).

And this is the importance of comparatively-dumber-sounding other stuff.

Because when you are doing something as crazy as a PhD, where you can go months running around in circles finding your way back to square-one’s, feeling-stupid does become inevitable. And when you see it’s been a while since you last made progress, or learnt something new, or developed a new skill, or added something to you, yourself, as a person, that can be eexxttrreemmeellyy demotivating.

But other stuff can help you here.

Because if you have a little something going on the side, like learning a new skill that may not be completely related to your PhD, it is some progress that you can, at least, show to yourself: So, yes, I still haven’t been able to decide if zinc chloride is better or if I should go for zinc acetate for my solutions, but I have completed six-hundred-and-eighty-five blog posts! That should be a milestone!

So that’s why I have started to think about starting other stuff this new semester. Like taking a language course (I have always wanted to learn another language and now might be a perfect opportunity), or starting to draw (I have some half-developed scripts for a comic on how my PhD stuff is going), or taking up other random workshops and activities where I can just change my environment and see what else is up in the world.

And there is another reason why the other stuff can be so complementary to your PhD: so now when you are moving about progress-less, you can blame it on the other stuff, and how, because of other stuff, you probably have not been able to focus on your PhD.

But the other stuff was your stupid idea, wasn’t it?

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Problem: Solutions

Lately in science, I have been trying to dissolve a  couple of salts in some “solvent” – I have now tried some options, but nothing has really worked so far.

So today, after around 3 weeks of trying to dissolve that salt, I sat down to compile the results of all my mixtures of salts-and-solvents – they could definitely not be called “solutions”.

And that was exactly what was wrong with these, not only scientifically and technically, but also on a literary level: What do I call them when I am writing my report to send to my supervisor?

We, scientists, are supposed to be very specific in terms of technical terms. So I could call them “solutions”, because I was ultimately aiming to make a solution but just was not getting there. But then, they weren’t really solutions, so how could I call them that? If I did, what kind of a scientist would that make me? Would I even be able to sleep at night?

It was a relief I could use the word “suspension” appropriately enough for some of them. That was really so considerate of that particular salt-solvent combination to give me the freedom to use another word.

For all other… Mixtures? Salt-solvent systems?… What do I call them? Or do I just craftily go on writing about them, carefully avoiding sentence structures where I would need to use the you-know-what word?

It’s crazy what people expect of a PhD student: they have to be a scientist in the lab, a writer when writing reports and papers and dissertations, and  an excellent communicator when they are supposed to present their work (and the best sales person if they choose to go into entrepreneurship).

And being a writer at that particular moment of time, how many times could I allow myself to use the word “mixture” over and over again? Or using the same sentence structure for every next line?

I do not know how I managed all that today. I just hope I can sleep at night.

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Blocked

I find writer’s block to be quite a fascinating thing.

It’s really a great reason for an author to be not-writing (read reason as excuse). And the best part is, it is considered a valid one, too. It’s the exact reason I am not writing a blog post every day.

In fact, it’d be pretty great to come up with terminologies for every kind of block that a PhD student might face. Like the “lab-experiment-block” or the “reader’s-block”. Or just plain old “work-block” that could fill in every time we don’t feel like working.

However, I do think even the far-better-evolved excuse of writer’s block would stop working so well for me once I start writing my PhD thesis (like everything else in science that doesn’t work).

Anyway, the other day, I was listening to this podcast “No Such Thing (As Writer’s Block)“. It tells, among other things, the routine of Isaac Asimov, the big sci-fi writer. He got up early morning, sat down and wrote… whether or not he felt like it. Every day.

Writing daily is a little daunting. I have given it a try in the recent past, and well, you can write daily if you want to, but you surely wouldn’t be producing your best work every day. Some days, yes, but not every day. However, statistically speaking, if you write something daily, then you increase your chances of producing something worthy at least some of the days.

Just as doing science daily is a little daunting, and somewhat demotivating if you are not seeing immediate results at least some of the times. But every experiment that you run, adds up, whether it was a failure or moderately successful. The more you put in, the better chances you have of seeing patterns.

Although you can sometimes get lost in “the cloud”, as this professor notes in this rather interesting TED Talk (that you might want to listen to if you are in science, or a problem solver in general).

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Theory and Practice

I look down at my lab journal. It’s been a long, but a good enough day. Got all those glass slides washed and rinsed thoroughly for the experiment I’m planning to start tomorrow. Basically 2 hours of manual labor (there were a lot of slides to wash), but needs to be done, right? So let’s give ourselves a gold star for that (because there’s no telling which way the actual experiment will go as yet, but from my recent failed attempts, doesn’t look like I’ll be getting any kind of star for that work).

So, it’s a little late, but I definitely feel energetic enough. Great! How about finishing that review that you had started?

Yeah, okay, I could do that. In fact, I have been trying to squeeze in a little bit of reading for the past 3-4 weeks, which is just as important as manual labor in science (in fact, more important, as all that “manual labor” is, after all, designed around the literature in your field).

I mean, how hard can it really be, to just take out an hour – an hour – everyday to read up on questions that have been popping in your head for some time now? You still need to develop, like, tons of understanding of your research area – it won’t come to you in your dreams, you know.

Yes, yes, I get it. Just let me get done with this blog post.

I mean, I have been running up and down all day.  One moment, you are just supposed to follow protocol, do things like second nature, that you don’t need to think twice about. Next moment, you should slow down and sit down (reading time!) – and take deep breaths (not in the lab, mind you, too much fumes). Pick up the paper that you left off five weeks ago (you know where you left it off, right?) And then focus… F-O-C-U-S… Focus! But sometimes, no matter if you repeat the mantra in your head in all caps or in italics, you just cannot get in the Zone.

In science, you are supposed to juggle these two very different mindsets on a routine. Now you are in the lab, now you are not. Now you are in the lab again. I think when you do it better, when this shifting between these two “personas” becomes more and more seamless, you become better at your thing (after all, theory and practice are supposed to complement each other).

After brute-forcing myself to read for the past few weeks (it’s been 4 weeks and no reading done), I’m not-so-quickly finding out that I need to get to this problem more smartly. Like may be try reading in the morning instead of at the end of the day, when I mostly just end up finding a new way of telling myself to focus, without actually focusing.

Having figured out the theory, let’s see how this comes out in practice.