A little experiment

I would love to hear what people think about this little animation.





What do you see?
Comment, please!

Anxieties

Walking to work this morning, I ran into an old friend's Mom on the street. As with anyone you have known superficially for many years, we went through the usual formalities of how are you, what are you doing these days. Except that now, with everyone and their mothers (literally!) on Facebook, she knew exactly what I was up to: starting med school soon and all that jazz. So instead, she asked me how my love life was going. Any men around these days? I said not much going on. Maybe she sensed my unease at that point because she seemed to change her mind suddenly about the direction the conversation was headed and instead, began telling me that she knew how hard it was to meet people in this city and besides, look at how successful I am and how I got here all on my own, how she remembers me as a little girl in Hungary and how I moved here and from nothing I have made myself something. Blah blah blah... is it just me or does this sound like she was trying to convince me (or herself perhaps) that it was okay that I wasn't dating anyone, that my other qualities made up for the lack of a husband, a boyfriend? And if so, why do I care? And if not, then why am I reading things into this dialogue?

I am clearly anxious about this. I can try denying it, even to myself, but here it is. Anxiety. Maybe it’s the fact that a lot of my close friends are suddenly getting married. Maybe it’s that I am nearing that decade of life in which being a single woman often has some very negative connotations – there is even a very popular HBO series based on this fact of life, which my life so often resembles. Maybe it’s what I conceive of as social expectations. At a certain point in life, people should get married, buy a house and have children. That’s what people around me are doing. That’s what people in the movies are doing. Sure it doesn’t mean it’s what I must (or should) do, but we all want to fit in – whoever says that’s not true, I don’t believe it – and we don’t want to be judged by others. And I know that people judge, because I do. I don’t want to, but many times I have met older people who had either never married or never had children, and I often thought: are they happy, do they ever wish life turned out differently, was it their choice or circumstances created a less than ideal situation?

I think of my very good friend whose Mom often says about her daughter: her life is on track, she has a great job that she loves and that pays very well, she travels all over the world, she has amazing friends, but there is just one thing missing: a boyfriend. And sadly, I think that’s how she feels as well. And sadly, I sometimes feel like that too. What troubles me the most though is that I am not sure whether that’s because it’s what everyone else around me seems to be doing or whether that’s really how I feel. 

This brings me to the question I have been asking myself (and I suppose everyone does all the time): what is it that I really want? Looking past social conventions, expectations and judgments from others, what would be my ideal choice? The sad thing is that I am not even sure. I am too tangled up in what’s going on around me, I sometimes don’t know what’s going on inside. Here is what I do know: I am an independent and successful woman; the previous statement does not mean that I do not wish to share my life with others; I want intimacy: physically, emotionally and intellectually; I want to love and be loved; and I want to have children at some point.

I guess these last two points are important. When I was younger, I used to think I was in love all the time. How was I supposed to know better? I think as we live more and meet more people and love more and fall out of love more, through this whole process we create our own definitions of love. It’s probably not the same for any two people. For me, it is now clear that love is respecting and caring about a person so much that I would put their happiness over mine. I can see how many times in the past I had been selfish and uncompromising. What I realized over the past few years is that love is not about what I want, and most certainly nothing to do with marriage or about being in a relationship. And yet there is a near obsession in Western and especially American culture with the idea that single people are somehow deficient in something. Then why are so many people in relationships so miserable? Is there too much external pressure? Or internal for that matter? I actually count myself lucky to have experienced something close to what I think love should feel like. But I wonder how many times in one’s life that happens. Regardless, I think that brings me to my point about wanting to have children. Beyond our evolutionary instincts to pass our genes on, I want to feel that kind of selfless love towards another human being. Maybe that desire in itself is selfish. But isn’t it the desire to create life to fulfill one’s own desires what drives our human existence?

But quickly going back to what we want versus the expectations of others. I have been thinking about this a lot because I have been trying to figure it out myself. Perhaps not coincidentally, I am reading a book titled Status Anxiety at the moment. It’s a sort of intellectual self help book: a touch of philosophy, politics, economics and questions like why we care about art. I particularly like the section about how philosophy, over the ages, has dealt with the issue of social anxiety. There is a branch of philosophy championed by Schopenhauer and Chamfort called intelligent misanthropy. One of the ways that approval of others matters to us is psychological: it is very difficult to retain confidence in ourselves if others do not accord us signs of respect. Very basically, what Schopenhauer and Chamfort suggest we should all do is not care about what others think. Of course that’s easier said than done, as most of us have experienced. They also suggest that by doing so, we will end up with few friends. “Once we have resolved only to see those who will treat us morally and virtuously, reasonably and truthfully, without treating conventions, vanities and ceremonials as anything other than props to polite society; when we have taken this resolve (and we have to do so or we will end up foolish, weak or villainous), the result is that we will have to live more or less on our own.”

So what does that all come down to? We are social animals, and even though the human condition is that we are basically on our own in the end, most of us fear loneliness and surround ourselves with people. As a consequence, we are judged by those people and the desire to fit in probably creates most of our anxieties and unhappiness in life. It seems an inescapable trap. As for my own anxieties: some of the things I wish for are somewhat outside of my control. Like meeting a man I would like to spend – if not the rest of my life with – some time with (one who is also available). Sure I can put myself in situations where meeting people would be more likely, but that hasn’t worked out so well for me in the past. And from experience, sometimes it’s better not to even try, because the majority of people out there only think of themselves. I am confident that it is so much better to be a little lonely than to fill the space with just anyone. I do not want to be defined or judged by my success or unsuccess in the world of romantic relationships. Not having a boyfriend, not getting married, not buying a house in the suburbs are not signs of failure. I want to be defined by my actions. I have chosen to pursue a career which is going to involve many more years of schooling, training, long hours, sleepless nights and many tens of thousands of dollars of debt. I have decided to take this on because it is my dream, it is my calling, I am as sure as one can be. How love and children might fit into this plan is rather uncertain. Sure, women these days often have children on their own – we have the luxury to do that even without partners. But when and how that would fit into my life, I have no idea. I sometimes say jokingly that by the time I finish my training and pay back all my student loans, all my eggs will have rotten. It’s actually not funny, but rather scary.

Wow, I can't believe how this chance meeting has put me in such an introspective mood. Perhaps it was an accelerator to get some thoughts that have been bothering me out. After all, the whole point of writing for me is to feel lighter, less anxious, less alone perhaps.

Let me just finish with a quote from Status Anxiety: it says about Flaubert’s Madame Bovary – as a reference to why we love art, read literature, how they can enrich our lives by gaining some understanding of it – that after reading it we feel “a mixture of sadness – at how we are all made to live before we can even begin to know how, at how limited is our understanding of ourselves and others, at how great and catastrophic are the consequences of our actions, and how often pitiless and uncompromising the responses of upstanding members of the community when we err.” I think that about sums up life.

Intouchables

What a delight this movie was! Something very simple and human about it. It made me cry and hysterically laugh at the same time!

No victory

I am reading a new book, actually, it's an old one from Murakami. The protagonist (he has no name) is stuck in a world - The Town - created by the deepest part of his consciousness. I am still having some trouble conceptualizing the whole idea, but it's an interesting one nonetheless. In this world of his, people no longer have 'selves' or 'minds', as defined by "The cognitive system arising from the aggregate memories of the individual's past experiences." In this way, people in The Town have no memories, no internal conflicts, no property, no rank, no money; there is no hate or love, nobody complains, worries, everyone is equal, and there is no growing old, no fear of death. There is a scene in which some people of The Town are digging huge holes in the ground all day, for no apparent reason. It turns out that they do it just for the sake of digging holes, they don't plan on putting anything in those holes. Work for the sake of work, because they enjoy digging holes. They call them very pure holes. Our protagonist's friend says to him at one point to illustrate this: "We have nothing to achieve by our activities, nowhere to get to. Is there not something marvelous about this? We hurt no one and no one gets hurt. No victory, no defeat."

I've been in this strange mood lately. I don't know if it's because of some big life changes coming up, endings and beginnings, evaluating things. Lots of work to get here, lots of energy invested in the future, current work that seems to be going nowhere as time is running out on me and my project. What's the point, I've been wondering? I think we live in a world in which we are always expected to be producing something. Or at least being productive. Especially in a field in which the mantra these days seems to be "publish or perish"! Why are you doing this experiment, how is this going to fit into the paper you are going to write? This seems to be the only thing that matters. At least to my boss. I am afraid to tell him that these past couple of months I have actually really enjoyed doing my work, for the sake of doing my work. Of course it would be nice to get my name on another publication - it never hurts - but to be very honest, I don't care nearly as much as I should. Or should I? What's so wrong about doing something just for the sake of doing it? It's intellectually challenging, even if it's not earth shattering science. It gives me purpose day to day. It has made me excited about research once more. Isn't it marvelous in a way? 

Stylish and powerful

Have you noticed how Obama is campaigning for the women's vote? I am sure his commencement speech at Barnard College (women's college affiliated with Columbia) was no coincidence. Political campaign or not, he gives damn inspirational speeches! On a side-note, he was the commencement speaker at my college the year after I graduated (2 years before he was elected president), we got stuck with John McCain, who gave a terrible and not at all inspirational speech.

He says this will be the century for women! I could not agree more. I like his three advices: get involved, take a seat at the head of the table; be an example, be a mentor; and persevere, nothing worthwhile is easy! Three pretty damn good mantras to live by. Men or women.



And here's another piece of campaign (I am not denying that I like the name they chose for their fictional average American woman):
http://www.barackobama.com/life-of-julia
Wait! Something is missing from Obama's Julia's timeline: she does not get married! Maybe it doesn't seem like a bid deal, but in fact, in this country, I think it's a pretty big deal. Maybe we are heading towards a time when for women to remain single and raise children on their own will no longer be looked at as a less than ideal situation but as a choice.

Michelle's advice: You can be stylish and powerful at the same time.

Sleep no more

WOW, just wow!! I need to write this down before I sleep. Sleep no more. It's an experience. A theatrical experience. I first read about it on a flight to Chicago over Thanksgiving: there was an article in the airline magazine about a new kind of theater pioneered by a group called 'Punchdrunk'. I immediately thought it would be so cool to go, but when I looked up tickets at first, they were sold out months in advance and were not cheap! Since then, I've been hearing about it here and there; its run has been extended multiple times, it's sold out nearly every night. Then, like with most things, it happened kind of serendipitously that I managed to get a discounted ticket so I figured, why the hell not, I better check out what all the fuss has been about!

It really was nothing I have ever experienced before. I guess if you're planning to go see it, stop reading here, although if you were to ask me what it was about, I could not tell you even if my life depended on it. But I'll try to write about some of the strange or cool or exciting things I have seen (experienced I suppose is a better term here). Sleep not more takes place in the fictional McKittrick Hotel all the way on the West side of Manhattan, in Chelsea. To fit the mood of the play perfectly, it was a dark and gloomy day today. I walked over to the 'hotel' from the subway, knowing little about what to expect even though I read reviews and seen pictures and talked to people who have seen it. I went alone, it's not a group experience, everyone said, although now I would say it would have been much better to meet up with some friends after the fact and have an absinthe or two while talking about what the hell we had just seen!! (Yes, they have absinthe!)

So after some formalities, I entered the hotel, and entered almost complete darkness. It took some time for my eyes to adjust. I could not see a thing while I had to check my bag and jacket and was already confused when 'checking in' to the hotel. I just had to say my name, like in a real hotel. In exchange, the man at the reception handed me a room key. I was told to follow the light, of which there was little. Candles placed strategically in corners to direct visitors through a maze of a hallway, up some stairs, occasionally a voice directing me further, the source of which I could not see. A little spooky, yes. I had read that people have compared this to being in a Hitchcock or a Stanley Kubrick movie (especially Eyes Wide Shut as you will see later on). Eventually the winding corridor leads to a bar with gorgeous 1920's decorations, very expensive mixed drinks, shots of absinthe (I did not try) and a small stage for a band. People were lingering, some obviously confident in what they were supposed to be doing (second timers, I suppose). I decided to get a drink, just for the sake of the feeling. I basically inhaled my gin&tonic because suddenly, we were called to action. We had to move through yet another dark corridor where we were all handed white masks - see below - which we were told we absolutely had to keep on for the entire show. Ushered into the elevator by a lovely flapper-dressed lady, we were given more instructions: do not speak, be bold! The bolder you are, the better the experience will be. Ok.

Then the elevator doors opened, and we were all ushered into the 'arena'. 6 floors of stage. Dark rooms, huge spaces, little dungeons, a cemetery, a maze, bathtubs, lots of little clues (which, by the way, helped absolutely nothing in figuring out the story). Oh, did I mention that this was all based on Shakespeare's Macbeth?? Oh, well, I was even prepared! I read the brief synopsis just yesterday and watched part of the 2010 movie with Patrick Stewart playing Macbeth. Did it help? Not at all. The idea is that the action takes place all over the place. Scenes are out of order - well, in a different order for everyone, depending on where you end up going. Right away as I entered the arena, I saw some actors (who do not wear masks, but do wear drop-dead period night gowns, tuxedos, or nothing at all). I have been told to pick an actor and follow him or her. That proved not to be so easy. At first, it was doable: I saw a rather attractive man and stuck with him from room to room as he danced with a pretty woman, tailored some pants, cut verses out of a Bible. I have no idea who he was. There was almost no dialogue at all. Rarely, an actor whispered something and I had to lean real close to try to hear. Then more and more people came - masked on-lookers - and it became more and more difficult to keep up with the actors who occasionally started running, darted through doors which locked behind them, or it was simply too crowded to keep up. 

My overall experience was rather confused. I think I missed some crucial scenes. Like Macbeth murdering King Duncan. I am not sure I ever saw Lady Macbeth. I wondered around different floors, different scenes. There was a lot of dancing, some fighting, lots of drinking. The audience got to be involved at times. Someone next to me was offered a drink in a bar-looking room, he took a swing, it was not poisonous. Sometimes, an actor would grab somebody by the hand and drag them away, or into a room. Sometimes the door would then lock behind them. In a room that was full of jarred candies, an actor motioned with his hand to an audience member to hand him some candies. Twice, I found myself watching a full-on rave orgy. (I think all scenes were repeated maybe 2 or 3 times but I am not sure). Two witches, partially clothed, I figured were the Weird Sisters, one completely naked guy with a bull's head mask and then Macbeth I think. There was loud techno music, an epilepsy-inducing light-show, lots of groping, dancing, blood. The first time around, I wasn't sure what to do after it was over, I was elbowing people out of the way to get a better view at the different anatomical parts of the, um, well, the naked guy! The second time around, I decided to follow him once the scene was over. As a side note, by that point, I was getting a little tiny bit annoyed that I hadn't been able to participate in anything. Nobody offered me a drink, nobody took me by the hand... but then came this scene! Or whatever it was: as I said, I followed the attractive naked man as he ran through the hallways. He eventually unlocked a door (where was he hiding the key?) and went inside what seemed to be a bathroom, complete with a shower. He got in there, still covered in what was supposed to be blood I think, was pretty hysterical - was he supposed to be the third witch?? - washed himself pretty clean, then gestured to the towel hanging nearby. I froze. Fortunately, the person next to me didn't and handed him the towel. He started drying himself, at which point he he pointed to a white shirt hanging on a hook right next to me. I took the shirt, stood there awkwardly as he was still drying himself. I started thinking I should have left his shirt alone, but then suddenly he turned his back (and very nicely shaped butt) towards me and put his arms behind him motioning that he wanted me to put his shirt on. Didn't have to ask twice this time! I helped him into his shirt, which was the only thing he was wearing at that point. He found some underwear in a drawer, the person next to me helped him into his pants, and he handed me his shoes. I was mesmerized, not thinking, watching as he was flailing on the floor, still mostly naked. Then it was my turn to put his shoes on, except that while being distracted by his manliness, I totally blanked on untying the shoes. He gave me an annoyed looked, grabbed his shoes and ran out. 

Eventually, I made it into a huge ballroom, where most of the audience was located at the time, it was a scene of a big feast, some making out and then there was the hanging of a man. Macbeth I suppose. I just read somewhere that this should be the scene one starts with. All the characters are there at the table. Oh well, next time! Because now I really want to go back!

Overall, I can't say that I was very moved by the whole show. Throughout most of the scenes I saw, I felt rather emotionless. I felt like an on-looker, as if I just accidentally happened on a scene on the street. I wasn't touched (not literally, emotionally) by any of the characters I followed. Maybe because they didn't speak, maybe not, but I did not feel myself getting attached to any of them. When coming across a different actor while following someone, I easily abandoned my original target in hope of finding something more interesting to watch. Maybe that was a mistake. Maybe I should have explored more on my own without trying to always follow an actor. I must have missed a bunch of stuff! For example, I did not see the below bathtub scene. And with all of this said, as soon as I was outside, I wanted to go back in, explore more, find more scenes, piece more of the story together. Let's see how I feel about it after some sleep, but right now I just want to get another ticket! (I do realize this is the trick they use to make tons of money, but whatever, I am more intrigued than anything.)

What is motivation?

In five and a half weeks, I will be quitting my job, moving out of my apartment, and most importantly, going on the longest vacation I have had in 7 years. When I bought my plane ticket a few weeks ago and set a last day for myself in the lab, I felt a sense of finality. While ever since graduating last year, I hadn't been very motivated at work, I suddenly felt like this was going to be the last time I "could" do this - do experiments, think like a scientist. Of course that's not true, I am sure that in the future, I will at times return to the bench or at least to basic science and will have the chance - as a choice, not a must-do - to do research again, but at least for some time, this is it. Then there is that thing with me and negative reinforcement. After my boss basically admitted that he wasn't the least bit interested in my project, I wanted to show both him and myself that it was indeed interesting and worth doing. I guess there are people in this world who, if told that they can't do something, they really believe that they cannot; and people who will do anything to prove the doubters wrong. I think that might have a thing or two to do with the fact that I have gotten a PhD in Biology (after my high school Biology teacher laughing at me in front of the whole class after I told her I wanted to study medicine, I must have subconsciously been driven down this path).

So a few weeks ago, I suddenly became quite manic about work. I started several experiments at the same time, spent entire weekends in the lab, stayed late to finish something that could have waited till the next day but I really wanted to know the results of; I even began contemplating results and future experiments on my commutes, occasionally jotting down ideas in my notebook. Simply put, I was motivated again. I would even go as far as saying that I once again became excited about my work in the lab. One night, pretty late, I was walking to the subway with a friend and colleague, and she expressed her surprise at my sudden hard work. I told her I wasn't entirely sure what was going on but that it just felt right. After all, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense: I could spend these last few weeks relaxing, taking days off, organizing things, cleaning up. Instead, I am working like a maniac on this new project that I most likely won't have time to wrap up. She said she understood completely. It's something about scientists. She said she was glad I haven't entirely lost that part of me.

Around the same time that this newfound motivation kicked in, I also felt a new excitement about running. As they say, when it rains it pours. When I become busier I usually become more productive at everything I do. That is why I don't really want to ever stop moving! Since I was working longer hours, I found myself stressing over not being able to carve out time for runs anymore. Days went by without putting on my running shoes. Even a week. Then one weekend I knew I was going to be in the lab all day, I took my running gear with me and decided to try to go between experiments. I discovered several great things about this tactic. First, it gave me something to look forward to and motivate me in the beginning of the day. Second, it made for a nice break in the monotony of a long day. Third, quite unexpectedly, I realized that I missed my old route. For 5 years, I used to start every run on the Upper East Side, on York Ave. It was a nice warmup getting to the park. Having to occasionally stop at red lights made for a good run-walk-stop kind of 1st mile. Now, I start at my apartment and in 3 minutes I am in the park and then there is Harlem hill right on the 1st mile. Not pleasant! Most days, I struggle on the hill and only start feeling better after the long downhill to 102nd street. During one of these old-route during-the-day-break runs, I started thinking that I should try changing my running schedule. I figured that taking more frequent but shorter running breaks might better fit my current schedule. It might also better fit my future med school schedule. After hours of sitting and memorizing all the bones in the body, it might be crucial to go for a 30-minute run to hold on to my sanity. So I decided to try this: instead of trying to run at least a loop around the park (6M or 10K) every time I go out there, I want to do maybe 3-4 miles at a time. To the Reservoir and around it and then back to lab, or home. That way, I can probably go more often (4-5 times/week), the big loop would become more "special" and reserved for weekends when I had more time, and I could maybe even improve my speed a little if I incorporated some tempo and interval runs into the schedule. So this week, I went running 4 times (most weekly runs in probably 6 months), completing the entire loop only once, doing an interval run with 3x4-minute (~800m) sprints (well, felt like sprinting to me at least) and a pretty easy relaxed run today.

I am particularly proud of today's effort. Last night, a friend from the old fencing days in the Midwest was in town. He arrived late and drank very fast. After a few-too-many gin&tonics, a full breakfast at 2am at Tom's, I was up at 9am to make it to a day-time breakfast I foolishly agreed to have at 10am with another friend. After opening my eyes, my next movement was reaching for the bottle of Advil on my dresser. Somehow, I made it to the Upper East Side on time, and after some french toast, 2 eggs and 2 cups of coffee, I felt mostly human again. Another hour lounging in bed, and suddenly I felt guilty about being lazy. Before having time to change my mind, I quickly put on some running clothes and headed out. On my way to the park, which is only 6 blocks, I thought I would not even make it to 110th. It felt like there were heavy weights attached to my legs and arms. It took considerable effort just holding myself up. I felt sluggish and creaky. Finally I was in the park, I stopped to collect myself, stretched a little and headed up the dreaded hill. Ugh, not fun! But I made it - I think a 70 year old man passed me and seemed like he was going twice as fast as me. But I made it. On the downhill, I felt much better, then by the time I turned towards the Reservoir, I was picking up the pace. Phew. Run #4 of the week. Complete. And I felt so much better after I got home. Thank you, endorphins! Then I was ready to take on the day. Some pictures of that - near South Street Seaport: