Aging, Compassion, Existence, Philosophy, Time, Wisdom, Writing

Time – I wish I had more!

I wish I had more time in the day. As I get older, I feel that I have less and less time to do the things I want to do. Is this happening to you?

A part of me thinks this is because I’m making choices to do things that take up much more of my attention, such as my research in the lab, blogging, and trying to eat healthy (preparing your own food takes lots of time).

Ah, the joys of responsible living. Well, I guess the follow-up question would be what would I like to spend my time if I had more of it?

Well, for starters, I would like to read a novel. I haven’t read a fiction novel in months. That’s kind of sad for someone like me who is an avid reader. I love to read. If I had more time, I’d also love to get more exercise and be outside to enjoy the weather.

Maybe all of this lamenting these past few weeks are symptoms that I need to stop and smell the roses (i.e., go on vacation). Stop working for a bit.

I’ve been in a kind of information overload in the research. I’m spinning off in a new direction for my projects, and it requires so much energy to carry this thing off the ground, i.e., collecting data, running experiments, preparing for grants, that I’m feeling the need to relax, just a bit.

… I do sleep well, which is awesome!

There’s the sense that time is speeding up in my life. Going faster and faster, maybe like water down a drain, or air up into a tornado. I think for some people this would be frightening, very, but I’m simply fine with it. I guess it’s normal and I’m enjoying the journey! We know where it ends for the most part. 

Advertisements
Standard
Academia, Philosophy, Relationships, Thinking, Writing

Writing: A Scientific Instrument

Let’s bounce a ball. 

I write to get the concepts in my head into a single place. As such, I think writing is one of the most powerful tools I’ve employed in the years I’ve been a scientist. The physical and mental process of associating ideas together naturally and inevitably produces new concepts.

Free writing, as I’m trying now, engages the creative side; the imagination. And for the purpose of empirical research, at least for me, provides new avenues for me to explore.

There are relationships in the real world. Relationships from the top of the food pyramid chain-link all the way down to the microscopic level. Organisms, as complex as a human being or even a bacterium fail in isolation. Being alone does not compute in the mathematical formula for survival.

Here’s a twitch. Words fail in a vacuum. A single word has meaning, but it’s true appears only within the context of its usage. In my daily routine, I try to take notes, as random as they arrive through my thoughts. In a way, I hope through this “play” I will discover something new that my mind has buried within itself.

Within the imagination, sometimes and perhaps rarely, therein lies a gem of information that could not have been gathered in any other way, except through a heated discussion with your colleagues, or through quiet contemplation with pen and paper.

Writing is process for building valuable relationships. It is cliche to say writing is a journey. Writing is more complex than a simple journey, and paradoxically much simpler.

Let’s take this into the realm of science research. There are links between mechanisms that underlie disease. Cancer at some biological point is related to heart disease, for example. If such a putative link exists, then it follows that learning about one problem can teach us about other diseases.

Science is a big place. The knowledge accumulated over centuries, though piecemeal, actually amounts to an infinite number of possibilities when it comes to understanding how our physical world works.

A question exists. I write to discover it. Somehow, I feel (as corny as this sounds) that words and language holds a key unifying piece of knowledge. This key would solve all diseases because that singular meaningful knowledge would provide information to teach us about all the other diseases over and over again–like the shattering of glass that starts from a single impact. What is the first cause for the impact?

If we knew the first cause, then we could dissect all the other problems because they are built upon actual relationships. I suppose writing is a scientific instrument, because it is a process through examining, using, and expressing relationships–both within us and with our World.


The ball rolls off the table….

Standard
Existence, Humor, Philosophy, Problems to Solve, Prose, Thinking, Writing

Is this burn out?

I awoke to the hollow clang of an empty gas tank.

Too much. Can’t focus. 

This feeling of just-let-me-sleep-more always catches me off guard. I don’t expect it when it hits me. I suppose it’s nice that I can write it down here. Not a complaint, but a mere exhalation of life onto a page.

I like how I can find metaphors from everything around me to describe my experiences. I’m climbing a hill, or crawling through a dark underground hole–and you know what I’m talking about. I’m burned-out and slogging along through the mud trying to finish the simple daily tasks beset in front of me, that only yesterday seemed trivial.

Funny thing is, I know tomorrow or even 5 minutes from now, I’ll have the fire again. I don’t know where it comes from: inspiration. An intake of air that propels you forward through the day, the minutes and seconds of experience.

So I patiently wait for it, inspiring oxygen (the non-metaphorical kind), and doing what needs to be done through habit. The emotion and drive behind it, a simple twitch of muscle.

I’m an academic….maybe it’s mental fatigue. If I dig through my ear canals, I may find soot and ash. I drove this car fast and hard. Time to park this vehicle I drive in my head on a parking lot in a fancy exotic place. My bed sounds nice.

But really, I suppose it’s not burn-out. I’m stable on solid ground. I just want to do something different. So many of the same tasks ahead of me. Done that, been there. Tedium. I’ve lost the thrill.

Yet, I know, I’ve heard some wisdom on this:

“Let the thrill go — let it die away — go on through that period of death into the quieter interest and happiness that follow — and you will find you are living in a world of new thrills all the time.” C.S. Lewis wrote.

 

Standard
Existence, Faith, Philosophy, Thinking, Writing

Imagine Imperfection

In a perfect world, super heroes would be useless. As I drove home the other night, that was what I was thinking. I know I’m getting a bit deeper and blunt(er) than I had anticipated for this blog, but hey, why not? Monday blues I ‘pose.

Truly, why do we create fake characters like Superman or Ironman? What is it with these fictional characters that will never exist in real life. And if you believe that these people in comic books and movies can or will exist someday in our universe then you have more faith than I do.

Crazy is another matter.

Anyway, I digress. This is my simple ramble about how we “waste” our time dreaming and pondering how great or inspirational it would be to either meet some of these fake heroes, or be them in some form or another.

I’m sure there are exceptional people who don’t get any thrill from these stories of characters with supernatural powers. But, deep down I think there is a collective and universal hope that somewhere there is something bigger, if this is the correct word, that can really change our perception of our current existence.

A collective hope for bigger.

I’m not sure we could reach this height without our imagination

Standard
Academia, Existence, Faith, Grants, Neurological Disorders, Philosophy, Politics, Problems to Solve, Storm, Thinking, Wisdom, Writing

Ambition

It’s a hard job, being a scientist. This is not a complaint, but a mere observation in the spirit of scientific fashion. It is hard.

I’ve been in different jobs. At this moment, from this vantage point, the biggest difference I see between working in a lab in academia versus the world of commercial business is the competition, the struggle.

In commercial business, the main impetus appears strongest from the outside. Your boss, your client, your project demand your very best. And if you satisfy your boss, your client, and do a good job on your project, then you will most likely do well in your job.

On the other hand, in academic scholarship, the main impetus appears from within. While there are certain external forces that vie for your utmost effort and attention, it is within you that the most demanding pressure manifests.

In this world, there are no deadlines to meet, no benchmarks or milestones except the ones you make for yourself. Hence, if you do not self-motivate yourself, you could float around in the nether until you’re either fired or find yourself in a dead end, low-paying position (relative to your peers 10 years your junior) with no way out because you’re too old.

Now ambition says that relaxing and enjoying your life is a waste of time. Well, I suppose a glimpse into this world of academic science would help people understand how things are done in the scientific world.

There is that internal drive that must be tempered. That internal beast that says you must produce otherwise you’re a failure. I’m sure everyone who has wanted to do well in their career has at one point experienced this monster. I battle this thing so that I can get good sleep at night, enjoy time with my loved ones, and do what I like as a human being.

There is nothing worse than a worker with no soul.

© All rights reserved by Childish Dream

Standard
Academia, Existence, Missions, Philosophy, Problems to Solve, Prose, Storm, Thinking, Wisdom

A Day Off

I’ve slowed down my blogging to focus on priorities in my work schedule. I’m preparing to write a grant and rearing to dive into a new project. Also had a few projects end nicely with publishable results. So in all, April has been a perfect storm of activity.

I sit right in the middle of the eye of it right now.

Calm, but swirly, if I can call it that. That’s how I feel. Whew. Someone once said to me that “…in life, you’re either coming out of a storm, in a storm, or about to enter a storm.”

Brilliant. A bit cynical, but ingenious and true. So, I think I’m somewhere in the exiting part of it.

That in itself deserves a kind of celebration, a day off, and thank goodness I really did get a cold yesterday–had an extra, extra excuse to take a day off. A day off to think, to ponder, to reflect, to gather myself up again; gain those steely eyes and the rock solid determination to slap the next project in the face and find out what’s going on in this nasty disease we call neuropathic pain and spasticity.

My day off… I think I’ll take another one tomorrow. It’s Good Friday, for realz.

Standard
Compassion, Existence, Faith, Philosophy, Prose, Thinking, Wisdom, Writing

A Reflected Creator

Another day in the life of a neuroscientist. I’m sick with a cold. A viral infection that’s on extended vacation inside my body. How often do we get an illness and not realize that these battles within us are life-or-death.

Life for us, death for the pathogen.

This physical realm we live in is full of dangers and mortal threats. Our resilience as flesh and blood is only our ability to cope with these threats. The cells in our bodies regenerate. The immune system adapts to new invaders.

It’s war.

Then, there’s the psychological warfare with have within ourselves (ugh). This unrestrained need to survive and build ourselves up with emotional walls of stone and mortar. We are rocks unto ourselves with the single goal of making sure we aren’t ground into sand.

If all this strife is true, constant and never-ending, then kindly wake me up because this world sucks in reality.

No wonder I dream. No surprise I love stories and movies and all manner of created fictions. These fantastic tales and higher purposes we look up to are amazing and required for us to feel safe and secure.

As I am hungry, I search for food. If I am thirsty, I find drink. If I am sad, I find a friend. All physical realities that can be reached.

But what if the object I’m searching for is a fiction, an imagined thing? Am I in a fruitless search?

I suppose the only way I could find it, is to create my heart’s content. I’ll sculpt it out of clay. I’ll paint it with wonderful colors; azure, crimson, and sunshine yellows. Flesh tones and brown inks. I’ll make it beautiful and love it because I made it to fill up my longing for the simple desire to create.

My heart and mind is that of a creator. Ironically, this gives me joy.

Standard