Complement

My PhD thesis is nearing completion. I’m excited and stressed. I’m fairly certain I am developing carpal tunnel syndrome and have initiated steps to combat it. It seems like forever ago that I was in San Francisco running up and down hills, making observations, and relaxing. Since then I’ve been to Boston twice, Michigan, Canada, Britain, and Scotland, but San Francisco was somehow the most relaxing–despite the fact that I was overwhelmed by a terrible cough.

At a conference in the UK, during the conference dinner, a speech was made wherein the attendees were asked to stand if they were at their first conference in this fifth in a series of conferences. I was at my third so I remained sitting. Then those who were under twenty-eight were asked to stand, again, I remained seated. Then those who had been to three or more and were over forty were asked to stand. Seated again. There were no more calls for attendees to stand. Does that put me in limbo? In the gaps of Venn Diagram of those who are worthy of being called out. The complement of the union of all that matters… mah ha ha.

Regardless… ugh, wrist… regardless, I feel as though I seem to often reside within these gaps.

Diametrically Opposed

Some will conclude that the title of this post concerns the contents of the post, they will claim it is self-evident, but for me it seldom is so black and white, in truth, I know precisely what I am referring too and it will never be conferrable in such an imprecise medium and from such an inherently flawed mind. The title is an explicit reference relevant at only a particular space and time. Only I will know this explicit reference… everyone else will have to speculate.

I am thinking about Art and Science. What traits do they share? What traits distinguish them? I think, in my simplistic view and in as few words as possible, that considering what constitutes each will reveal the answers to these questions:

• What constitutes Science? — observation, hypothesis, test (repeat).
• What constitutes Art? — observation, hypothesis, express (try not to repeat).

What do you think?

Additional ruminations that expound the issue:

• the best Science is: clear, strict, beautiful (mathematically), time-tested
• the best Art is: ambiguous, forgiving, beautiful (subjectively), time-tested

Mathematics is a tool, maybe even a medium.

That’s that, but now let’s wade into how my mind works:

I originally set down these considerations when considering the marriage of Religion and Politics in our contemporary America. I was thinking about the danger of such a close relationship, how alienating it can be for those with different beliefs, views, etc., and I started, in my mind, a revolt against the marriage. I launched into eloquent speeches, in my imaginary world, mind you, about the importances of the separation of church and state, the historical precedent that describes the descents such endeavors can lead to, and, as I am wont to do, I took this fancy to the nth degree by postulating what my detractors might say against me. Despite the obvious and empty claims of un-Americanism, they attacked my support of the marriage of Art and Science, and used it to take apart my arguments for the divorce of Religion and Politics. It was effective and I was normalized and defeated. Naturally, this lead me to reconsider my imaginary support for the marriage of Art and Science, so I started thinking about Art and Science.

Sinking Feelings

I attended two talks today, the first was astronomy, specifically the evolution of stellar clusters in galaxies, the second was on the brain, specifically the mental control of the experience of pain using functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI).

I walked out on the first because of a plot that showed a tight correlation between the number of clusters in a given mass range and the mass range. The correlation was super tight, perfect even. This almost never happens. I suspect that the correlation is the result of double dipping, that is, an earlier plot showed calculations determined from independently measured observables, but I think the calculation mixed the two variables, making all the values on that plot suspect. But those values are the origin of the tightly correlated plot, so of course it would be perfect. I may be wrong, but it was enough to leave.

There was nothing new in the second talk and I was mildly bored but interested enough to see it through to the end, almost. A few parts gave me the same sinking feeling I had at the Mind’08 conference in NYC a few years back. This sinking feeling originates from the prospect of producing designer drugs that will allow you to alter your brain chemistry for advantageous ends. Ultimately, what will we create? Advantages for those who can afford it, leading to an ever-increasing income disparity, but this time a class revolution won’t be possible because the masses are pacified by a fluoride-like additive in the water supply.

You might say, “whoa, paranoid much?” But consider information provided by today’s speaker. He showed the health care costs associated with various diseases (these include addiction, anxiety, depression, etc., i.e. the ying to the yang of happiness, part and parcel of what it is to be human) and the costs were astronomical. Hence, a widespread cure is economically motivated.

To some extent we are already at this point of a pacified population. Dopamine rushes from the instant gratification provided by social networking and mind-numbing activities made ubiquitous by handheld devices. It renders one ineffective and incapable of deep concentration and meaningful conversations. These are aspects of a healthy democracy. I find myself slipping into these comfortable traps. I need to make more technology-free days. Neo-Luddite?

I just baked some vegan banana muffins and they are mmm…

Unconsciously Self-Curated Assemblage

None of this is original and it is probably full of fallacies. It is just something I was thinking about on the drive home.

I believe that people cannot change. But I also believe that our current states of being are comprised of an assemblage of traits, habits, and mannerisms picked up from those around us over time. That is, we are a superposition of the components of this assemblage. Which seems to negate my first statement. But I can get around this by arguing that the assemblage is not stochastic but carefully dictated by our underlying, unconscious motives and dispositions, which do not change since–by definition of unconscious–we are unaware of them. Hence we are unable to change the underlying selection and we are an unconsciously self-curated assemblage of traits, habits, and mannerisms picked up over time.

As a bit of anecdotal evidence I relate a very superficial example. Once, in Texas, on a sultry summer day, while riding in the car of my then-girlfriend, she pulled up next to a jeep. It was one of those jeeps without doors, so we could see clearly into the car and, crucial for this example, we could see the driver’s feet. The driver, an attractive girl, was driving with her left foot poised high against a support on her door frame so that her left knee was almost up against her chest. It was an unusual position for a driver, but looked comfortable. Neither my girlfriend nor myself spoke of it or noticed that the other had paid any attention to it. Then about five minutes later my girlfriend poised her left foot in a similar fashion. I noticed but did not breach the subject and she went on as if she’d been doing this for years. And just like that, she acquired a new habit, one of which she’s done ever since.

It is something to think about, how such a fleeting moment can have a lasting impact. But it is not so unusual. Many of my most persistent and fond memories were made from the most random, peripheral, and ephemeral experiences.

But that was just a superficial example. In reality, I believe we gather most of these traits from those closest to us. Those with whom we spend the most time. This is somewhat necessary since the true habits and traits only manifest themselves when one lets their guard down, which takes familiarity, noticing these requires even more. It requires one to stop thinking about themselves and start thinking of the other, which is typically a long stretch of time in a relationship. Mannerisms, on the other hand, are an unstoppable, omnipresent force but maybe the most malleable?

I wonder what the role of mirror neurons is here? Those neurons that simulate an action within when you observe the action outside. Perhaps it spurs the assumption of a habit. As if our mind tries it before we physically try it, and if our mind likes it, we actually try it. Rewards.

I’ve been thinking about what I might have taken from others. I am making a list of these things and I think that somehow this list will point to a part of me I am unaware of. Currently, the list is woefully incomplete, but I will expand it over time.

In the left column is an alphabetical list of some friends and family members, in the right column are some traits, habits, and mannerisms, and in my mind (out of respect and caution) are a series of lines connecting some items between the two columns. These lists are not one to one nor onto (only the mathematicians will understand that) and, again, woefully incomplete.

Generations

A few moments ago, driving home from a late night at the office, I had a moment of clairvoyance. The drive summoned the moment. How long since I’ve been on an empty 2AM highway with a slight chill in the air? Everything was darkened by the clear, dark blue and moonless sky. My path, my sights, my mind all freed from the sick and pallid orange hue cast by reflected light pollution.

I drove and, for the first time in a long time, felt unencumbered by my commitments. I thought, “why don’t I just pick up my laptop and drive off into the night towards either DC or MI, knock on a friend’s door, and work there for a week or so?” I should be so imposing and uninvited. I haven’t been spontaneous in months.

On the drive, I thought about something I said recently. A friendly barista was asking me what I wanted to do (i.e. with my life, when I grow up, so to speak). I originally mistook the implication and said, “exactly what I am doing now.” But when she told me her desire, I recanted my own, and said if I could do anything, I would like to be a travel writer and photographer.

I expounded: There is no time I feel more like myself than when I am traveling. A stranger in a strange land. There is nothing more liberating than the unknown and discovering the pulse of a new place. I realize that this notion spans all aspects of my life.

Hiking, for instance. Though I’ve been hoping for winter to abate and summer to begin so I can hit the trails, the reality is that a little bit of dread creeps into my thoughts. I think about trails that I know like the back of my hand. Foliage and shrubbery that shouldn’t be recognizable because it changes season to season, but it will not surprise me: “Here is where I find blackberries in a few weeks, here some wild strawberries, over there is some switchgrass, look at these branches, I love how they intertwine here, and the bark, look at how it seems to suggests the force of gravity, how it looks dismant–oh, did you hear that? A wren.” That is how it will unfold… but who am I talking to?

I imagine myself from atop, crossing my former paths, trying to blaze new ones, only to be disappointed when I come upon my foot prints. So I look closer, microscopic. Bugs, leaves, spiderwebs, pollen. Nature astounds me with her ability to make copies, each generation looking the same as the former, and the next. Here are veins on a leaf I’ve already found interesting.

Music was a salvation, but it has been some time since I’ve found anything new that has moved me. Even the latest releases from my favorites have disappointed me. Nothing is like it was the first time I had it. That is to be expected, no doubt, but I am not even close to having tried everything, and yet… ennui.

This is entirely be my fault. I did, after all, begin a descent into a path of solitary confinement a few years ago. To see how deep I could go. To force myself off the crutch of another. And even with the occasional stirring in my heart, he comfort of the confines of my mind always tempted me away. But maybe I’ve hit the limits of my abilities to keep myself entertained. A fact made apparent by the lack of blogging, the half-assed attempts at small talk, deliberately shutting up when I could say this, or that.

Another friendly barista said something poignant to me the other day. “What’s the point of making good food if you are the only one who tastes it?” What’s the point of living a somewhat examined life if I am only one who realizes it? Perhaps I should be more open. More outright. Less discreet. I realize that for the last year, I forgotten most of the books I read, not because they were boring, but because I didn’t share my ideas about them. I didn’t reiterate plot points to a friendly ear, I didn’t recall the story which, in the process, reinforces the memory.

Which brings me back to the drive and my moment of clairvoyance and the fact that I feel like myself only when I am a stranger in a strange land. I take that to a possible conclusion… senility, dementia, dotage. And I am reminded of my grandfather who, for no apparent reason, would get in his car, drive long distances, only to forget during the drive to where he was going. Or my father talking at length about nothing in particular. And my mom picking up and dropping trains of thoughts like Union Station. The reality of my inevitability has already manifested, has it not?