Walking back from the Stata basement Athena cluster this evening, I saw a girl sitting on the gray concrete floor outside the room, sobbing as another girl stood over her. As I passed them, I heard the second girl say, "It sounds like it's just been a month and a half of 'I just can't take it...'"
This scene reminded me of last year, the Wednesday night after a frustratingly unfruitful three hours in 6.01 lab, when I thought I couldn't handle life because there was still a DiffEq pset that I hadn't started due Friday, and a SEVT grant to write due Friday, plus this time sink of a 6.01 lab and its pset problems, when I was convinced I was the dumbest person at MIT and that Course 6 was the wrong major after all. My despair compounded during the walk back to Burton Conner. When I got back, I stopped at Kelly and Pallavi's room, slumped against the doorframe, and there the tears broke, heedless of my efforts to restrain them. I cried harder than I had in years. A few minutes later, I returned to my room and calmed down a little, hiccuping and blowing my nose into a million tissues, wiping up the pathetic remnants of the flood. Then Ben, a fellow freshman, walked past, heard my sniffles, and poked his head in to ask what was wrong. "Are you failing any classes?" he asked.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
The Secret to Happiness
"The Secret to Happiness: Find something more important than you are and dedicate your life to it." - Dan Dennett
I just watched a TED talk by Dan Dennett, and found this piece of advice profound. [1]
Conversations between Pallavi and me often stray to the question of what we are going to do with our lives. For what are we working so hard now, sacrificing sleep, fun, and maybe a few years of our lives? We're eager to find the thing to justify our current madness, something we will wake up every day wanting to do, something we won't mind even when we no longer have summer vacations.
As much as I like Course 6 right now, I think I would eventually be bored as a software engineer. To be honest, I would rather write essays than computer programs. I see Professor Raman, who got his B.S. from MIT and M.S. from Berkeley in Electrical Engineering, then got his Ph.D in English Literature and became a literature professor at MIT, and understand where he's coming from. But computer science promises a steadier career, and besides, I am not training to be a writer and there are probably many out there better than me who struggle for jobs. I enjoy Computer Science, but it's not enough. I can't do a job that predominantly requires sitting by myself, coding in a cubicle. I am too much of an extrovert. I get my joy from meeting people, affecting people, making new connections.
Lately, I've been thinking about international development as a career focus. It is a cause more important than me. Though I would be satisfied by writing an iPhone app used by a thousand people, I would be more satisfied by bringing drinking water to a village of fifty that had none. Though I hate flying, I do want to see the world, and I'm eying the Peace Corps as an immediate post-graduation plan. My plans are all a few years down the line, and I know more than anyone how rapidly they change: a three-year schedule I wrote over winter break became obsolete two weeks into January. But it's still an important question to consider. A meaningful goal now gives me reason to continue my work.
[1] The rest of Dennett's talk is pretty amazing. (If it wasn't, his rather stylistically unpolished talk would have lost audience member's attention, and likely would not have garnered the hundred thousand views on Youtube. Instead, every time he speaks, he says something worth listening to.) He presents a view of ideas as "living" Darwinian entities, and proposes we consider their existence in a neutral way, much as we consider the existence of harmful viruses neutrally (we think they are bad, and find cures for them, but accept them scientifically as part of life).
I just watched a TED talk by Dan Dennett, and found this piece of advice profound. [1]
Conversations between Pallavi and me often stray to the question of what we are going to do with our lives. For what are we working so hard now, sacrificing sleep, fun, and maybe a few years of our lives? We're eager to find the thing to justify our current madness, something we will wake up every day wanting to do, something we won't mind even when we no longer have summer vacations.
As much as I like Course 6 right now, I think I would eventually be bored as a software engineer. To be honest, I would rather write essays than computer programs. I see Professor Raman, who got his B.S. from MIT and M.S. from Berkeley in Electrical Engineering, then got his Ph.D in English Literature and became a literature professor at MIT, and understand where he's coming from. But computer science promises a steadier career, and besides, I am not training to be a writer and there are probably many out there better than me who struggle for jobs. I enjoy Computer Science, but it's not enough. I can't do a job that predominantly requires sitting by myself, coding in a cubicle. I am too much of an extrovert. I get my joy from meeting people, affecting people, making new connections.
Lately, I've been thinking about international development as a career focus. It is a cause more important than me. Though I would be satisfied by writing an iPhone app used by a thousand people, I would be more satisfied by bringing drinking water to a village of fifty that had none. Though I hate flying, I do want to see the world, and I'm eying the Peace Corps as an immediate post-graduation plan. My plans are all a few years down the line, and I know more than anyone how rapidly they change: a three-year schedule I wrote over winter break became obsolete two weeks into January. But it's still an important question to consider. A meaningful goal now gives me reason to continue my work.
[1] The rest of Dennett's talk is pretty amazing. (If it wasn't, his rather stylistically unpolished talk would have lost audience member's attention, and likely would not have garnered the hundred thousand views on Youtube. Instead, every time he speaks, he says something worth listening to.) He presents a view of ideas as "living" Darwinian entities, and proposes we consider their existence in a neutral way, much as we consider the existence of harmful viruses neutrally (we think they are bad, and find cures for them, but accept them scientifically as part of life).
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Halfway
Monday.
As the dark hours of night whittle away to the pale hours of morning, I remain in Mathura's room at McCormick trying to create a working Sudoku solver for 6.005. At times I am so tired I don't know what I'm typing, and am surprised, in momentary bursts of lucidity, by what is on the screen. An hour-and-a-half into an attempt to implement a different approach to converge with Mathura (she claimed to be one elusive print method away), during which I drift from semi-tired to head-bobbing-neck-jerking sleepy, I notice that at some point I'd started revising the wrong file, and realize I don't trust a thing I've done. I go back to check everything. Around eight-thirty, Anjali arrives after hooking up with Keith (he's still in her bed) and tries to help Mathura in a way that I cannot (my mind is soup), and I scrap the work and return to my old code. I think, I should have just spent those hours improving my own code. Beside me Mathura has gone from frustrated to angry to hysterical, has called her mother and cried into the phone about the injustice in the fruitlessness of over forty hours of work, about the injustice that certain others had allegedly finished in two or five hours, about the test she has not studied for, and there is nothing I can do but feel sorry for her, for she has been not sleeping for even longer than me over the past days. I do not panic. I am tired but resigned. I plug away, and watch the clock. Soon it is time for my 9:30 political science class, and I debate going. I go. I arrive late. I cannot keep my eyes open. I cannot focus. I try to take notes, I try very hard, but I cannot remember more than two words at a time. The teacher is talking at his normal speed, he is talking too fast. I sink back in my chair and drop my head and let my heavy lids fall. Occasionally I try to wake up and take notes. I know everyone can see that I'm sleeping, it's a small class, especially when the girl sitting next to me repeatedly responds to questions, and especially the TA can see me, the professor can see me, the cute Kappa Sigma guy across the room (who probably think I'm a stalker after I tried to be too helpful in 7.03 freshman fall) can see me. When the class is over, I have no idea what the lesson was about. I see that my notes are useless illegible chicken scratching.
Tuesday.
I'm in E14-244, a conference room in the New Media Lab, for the monthly MMP program review meeting, the one that all the big names show up to. I feel pretty out of place, among giants; my seat is appropriately off to the side away from the table, which is too full. At the front of the room Gerry Sussman is defending his propagator network adamantly, angrily. His face is red, his words nonstop rapid-fire bullets. He is tearing apart Neil Gershenfeld, who is questioning the usefulness of his work. The more questions Neil asks, the more upset Gerry gets. The more upset Gerry gets, the slower he gets through his slides, the more questions Neil asks. They remind me of an unhappy couple - one is too impatient to hear the other out before opening his mouth, the other's honor cannot sustain a momentary criticism so that he must immediately defend himself and attack the critic. They remind me of my parents - the big difference being that Neil remains calm, displaying only slight perturbation in his voice as Gerry gets more and more excited. He is being attacked, sometimes shown wrong, in front of his illustrious peers. Yet he remains calm in the face of fire and brimstone, and continues to question. In this moment I admire him more for his self-control and self-assurance, even though Sussman is smarter. The rest of the room remains silent for the most part, spectating the fight, half-afraid speaking will lead to being swept into the cyclone.
The meeting, scheduled for two hours, is still not over at 4 'o clock because of Gerry's presentation. No one leaves yet, so I stay and watch the clock anxiously. The meeting ends in another half hour, and I dash out to comment my tortuously slow-running Sudoku solver code before the 5 'o clock deadline, and to write a print method.
As the dark hours of night whittle away to the pale hours of morning, I remain in Mathura's room at McCormick trying to create a working Sudoku solver for 6.005. At times I am so tired I don't know what I'm typing, and am surprised, in momentary bursts of lucidity, by what is on the screen. An hour-and-a-half into an attempt to implement a different approach to converge with Mathura (she claimed to be one elusive print method away), during which I drift from semi-tired to head-bobbing-neck-jerking sleepy, I notice that at some point I'd started revising the wrong file, and realize I don't trust a thing I've done. I go back to check everything. Around eight-thirty, Anjali arrives after hooking up with Keith (he's still in her bed) and tries to help Mathura in a way that I cannot (my mind is soup), and I scrap the work and return to my old code. I think, I should have just spent those hours improving my own code. Beside me Mathura has gone from frustrated to angry to hysterical, has called her mother and cried into the phone about the injustice in the fruitlessness of over forty hours of work, about the injustice that certain others had allegedly finished in two or five hours, about the test she has not studied for, and there is nothing I can do but feel sorry for her, for she has been not sleeping for even longer than me over the past days. I do not panic. I am tired but resigned. I plug away, and watch the clock. Soon it is time for my 9:30 political science class, and I debate going. I go. I arrive late. I cannot keep my eyes open. I cannot focus. I try to take notes, I try very hard, but I cannot remember more than two words at a time. The teacher is talking at his normal speed, he is talking too fast. I sink back in my chair and drop my head and let my heavy lids fall. Occasionally I try to wake up and take notes. I know everyone can see that I'm sleeping, it's a small class, especially when the girl sitting next to me repeatedly responds to questions, and especially the TA can see me, the professor can see me, the cute Kappa Sigma guy across the room (who probably think I'm a stalker after I tried to be too helpful in 7.03 freshman fall) can see me. When the class is over, I have no idea what the lesson was about. I see that my notes are useless illegible chicken scratching.
Tuesday.
I'm in E14-244, a conference room in the New Media Lab, for the monthly MMP program review meeting, the one that all the big names show up to. I feel pretty out of place, among giants; my seat is appropriately off to the side away from the table, which is too full. At the front of the room Gerry Sussman is defending his propagator network adamantly, angrily. His face is red, his words nonstop rapid-fire bullets. He is tearing apart Neil Gershenfeld, who is questioning the usefulness of his work. The more questions Neil asks, the more upset Gerry gets. The more upset Gerry gets, the slower he gets through his slides, the more questions Neil asks. They remind me of an unhappy couple - one is too impatient to hear the other out before opening his mouth, the other's honor cannot sustain a momentary criticism so that he must immediately defend himself and attack the critic. They remind me of my parents - the big difference being that Neil remains calm, displaying only slight perturbation in his voice as Gerry gets more and more excited. He is being attacked, sometimes shown wrong, in front of his illustrious peers. Yet he remains calm in the face of fire and brimstone, and continues to question. In this moment I admire him more for his self-control and self-assurance, even though Sussman is smarter. The rest of the room remains silent for the most part, spectating the fight, half-afraid speaking will lead to being swept into the cyclone.
The meeting, scheduled for two hours, is still not over at 4 'o clock because of Gerry's presentation. No one leaves yet, so I stay and watch the clock anxiously. The meeting ends in another half hour, and I dash out to comment my tortuously slow-running Sudoku solver code before the 5 'o clock deadline, and to write a print method.
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