Challenge 7: Study

#122. What would you like to study? Describe your academic interests.

I recently watched a Discovery Science program about the most fascinating experiment: Researchers had test subjects rank how funny cartoons were; they wanted to see if the subjects' brains could be tricked into thinking something was funny or not. And they proved that, yes, the brain can be tricked. Here's how they did it: All of the subjects had to read cartoons and then check responses while holding pens in their mouths; half of them held the pens between their teeth, and the other half with their lips. In effect, the people holding pens between their teeth unknowingly forced their face into a smile; they found the cartoons funnier and ranked them higher than the other group, who had forced their mouths into a frown. In other words, this experiment shows that how people respond to outside stimuli depends, in part, on whether or not they are already smiling.

I am interested in studying why this is true, and what the implications of this may be.

For years, I have "known" that the brain can be tricked, or that the brain can trick the rest of the body. For example, I have observed in myself the following: When I feel cold or flu symptoms coming on, how I respond determines whether or not I actually get sick. If I stay positive and think, "I cannot and will not get sick" (maybe because the weekend is approaching and I have awesome plans), I end up not getting sick. If, on the other hand, I think, "Darn it, I'm going to be sick, I just know it," I end up bedridden the next day. This is not a fluke, I don't think. General health -- I'm talking about day-to-day stuff, not necessarily major diseases -- can be influenced by a person's attitude and outlook. (And maybe I'm writing this now to remind myself, as I've been hit by flu symptoms in recent days, and I need to fight biology with psychology.)

We've all heard "mind over matter" and that "laughter is the best medicine." I think it's true, and I want to study the power of laughter, not just in medicine but in other fields as well. I read once that students who laugh during a lesson learn more than those that do not. So, when I taught ESL in Japan, I tried to make my students laugh. I tried to be funny. (It was quite easy; just act like a fool and they'll laugh; it's much more difficult in a high school classroom.) I'm pretty sure they had a good time, but I don't actually know if they learned more than if I had been serious. This is what I want to study.

The fields of neuroscience and social psychology are expanding, and superstar scientists like David Eagleman and Dan Gilbert are reaching out to the masses with best-selling books on what goes on in the brain. I am unsure which exact branch of science I wish to study, but I would one day like to join the ranks of Eagleman and Gilbert with some new information on how and why laughter affects the brain the way it does.

Challenge 6: Hiking

#117: Hiking to Understanding

Team sports in the park, cycling along Lake Michigan, weekend white-water rafting trips in Wisconsin: I've always been an outdoorsy person. So when the opportunity arose to go on a week-long trek into the Himalayan range with a group of tenth graders, I signed up. It led to some major understandings:

• What's the secret? Drink lots of water. On the first day, I didn't listen to our guide, and this resulted in fatigue and sore muscles. The next day, I drank at least five liters and felt fine.
• Mountain stream water is cool, refreshing, and completely tasteless, unlike whatever that is that comes out of the faucet back home.
• If the school offers a trek called "the sprained ankle hike," it will involve 10 km of walking over rocky terrain and an elevation increase of at least 1,500 feet per day.
• Students who sign up for the "sprained ankle hike" will complain about walking. At least one will sprain her ankle.
• It gets cold quickly after sunset. Your wool hat will help, but not you; usually, it'll warm up a student who lost his hat.
  
• Do not let anyone tie a shoe while wearing a pack. It's funny watching someone stumble backwards while trying to get up. It's less funny when that person gets hurt and then you have to carry the pack.
  
• Walking sticks help. Well, at least they make you look cool.
• Tenth graders think the word "stick" is hilarious.
• It's impossible to teach teenagers to bury their toilet paper. Some prefer to throw it into the trees.
• It's tough to help others when you're so out of shape that you can't breathe.
• Camping in a field covered in cow dung makes you feel dirty.
• Sleeping on the cold, hard ground is possible if you're tired enough; ever being comfortable is impossible.
• No shower for a week, or jump in the freezing mountain river? Sometimes, a choice is not really a choice.
• Crawl out of the semi-warm sleeping bag in the middle of the night, or try to hold the bathroom break until the morning? Treks seem to be full of lose-lose choices.
• I guess I don't really need a beer after a long, hard day. But there's a huge difference between need and want.
• Ultimately, wants are more important than needs.
• I don't need to ever go on a trek again. I don't think I want to, either.
• I love nature, but I guess I prefer the city.

Challenge 5: Direction

#113. Talk about how a person can change his direction.

"Life is a highway, I wanna ride it / All night long. / If you're going my way, I wanna ride it, / All night long." -- Rascal Flats

My very first vehicle was a Big Wheel, which has been the "King of the Sidewalk for 40 years," according to the manufacturer. The Big Wheel is a plastic tricycle that rides low to the ground, with pedals attached to the oversized front wheel. My friends and I would spend hours on our Big Wheels, racing around the block onto another street of less familiar houses. The coolest feature -- used expertly by advanced riders -- was the hand brake on one of the rear wheels: going at top speed, you would pull up on the brake and the entire machine would go into a 180-degree spin. Changing direction was easy and fun, and we'd do it whenever the mood struck.

My friends and I soon graduated to the world of bicycles. Suddenly, the Big Wheel was too childish, and a proper dirt bike -- with large handgrips and colorful handlebar padding -- was on everyone's front porch, ready for adventure. We'd jump over those curbs that previously held us back, weave around parked cars, and tear up and down the hills in the nearby park. Those not cool enough to have a proper bike, or too slow to keep up, were left behind. Everyone could go in the same direction, and keeping up only meant pedaling harder. Making a hard turn meant pushing back on the pedals and going into a slide.

A few years later, a few of us got more serious about cycling. We got the larger frames and multiple gears of the 10-speed. We'd head out on weekend mornings to the lakefront or the forest preserve, where long, winding paths awaited. We'd race. We'd be gone for hours. We didn't wear helmets. At top speed, turning was a hazard. Sure, weaving around slower riders was easy -- just turn the handlebars slightly and lean -- but a complete turnaround was almost impossible without first coming to an almost complete stop.

And such is life: You join a pack, leave some people behind. Changing direction becomes hazardous, so you go with the flow.

My first car was the family Buick Regal. Big, comfortable, roomy, it could seat six at most, as we'd cruise the streets after dark or drive to school in the mornings. Certain former friends got left behind. Others got their own cars. Driving around town, changing directions was often a pain. With so many one-way streets, a turnaround required a trip around a block or two. The U- and Y-turns, which we had learned in drivers education class, were impossible or forbidden on most city streets.

At some point after high school, most of us moved on to a two-seat sports car -- or we may as well have. Life was a fast-moving highway, to be shared with one special person. Not enough room to share this life with others, not enough time to slow down and enjoy the scenery. The passenger seat, however, was not always occupied by the same person. Changing direction simply meant pulling off the highway at the next exit.

I don't know how the next part happened. But I have finally found myself driving an 18-wheel semi-trailer truck. Getting this thing to go full speed takes time and effort -- zero to 60 in ten minutes, it seems. At my side is my partner-for-life. In the trailer are our families and friends; we're responsible for safely getting the whole load to our destination. We're on a crowded, slow-moving highway. A complete change of direction seems impossible -- not that I can imagine wanting to. Even changing lanes takes coordination and patience. Better is to keep moving forward, to keep riding on the highway all night long.

Challenge 4: X

#135: Find x. (U of Chicago)

This is a revision of something I scribbled in 2008 while proctoring a two-hour advanced mathematics final exam.


Mathematically Impossible

Even if you examine the remainder

in a question of division,

when multiplying rational roots,

some results remain irrational.

If you get to the end of the equation,

examining all possible angles,

following parallel points and lines,

certain answers refuse to equate.

And when constants amount to nothing,

all functions become dysfunctional;

when greater becomes less than,

all probabilities lose their possibilities.

Some multiple-choice problems

follow neither logic nor formula,

and there can be no correction

for this subtraction.

So even if you think you know the how and y,

having double-checked the evidence,

it remains forever indefinite

why she's your x

and not your infinite one.

OK, OK, just so you don't think I was being cheesy or sentimental that day, I also wrote this (as you can imagine, proctoring an exam can be quite boring):

Snot Good

The boy sniffling a lot,
Blowing into tissue a lot,
Looking and sounding like he's about to die
a lot,
Isn't wearing socks.

Challenge 3: Place

#59: Discuss how a specific place can be used to help illustrate your personality.

Every day, I walk my dog to Mt. Hermon Flat. It's quite easy to find (although, really, I hope you won't bother): Walk out the back door of Oakville Terrace and through our backyard; turn left (don't forget to close the gate so the cows won't come in) and walk up the road for about 40 meters; make a sharp right past the gate that announces the "Winterline Centre [sic] for the Arts" and make your way up the steep and rocky path; and as you reach the top, look around you: behind you is Mt. Hermon, an old missionary home/former student dormitory/current staff apartment (don't worry, the residents can't see you from there, and they are rarely outside anyway so you won't see or hear them either); below to the right you might see, through the trees, our house, smoke drifting out the chimney; ahead of you is a rectangular open space about 15 meters wide and 40 meters long; to the left is a wooded valley, some hills, and off in the distance, peaking through the morning gloaming, are the peaks of the Himalaya. The deodar trees above sway gently in the breeze. Further up is the clear sky, punctuated by one star hanging on. In the grass near the edge that overlooks the mountain range is a small clay cup and saucer -- the cup has some flower petals inside and the saucer some sugar and a coin. Try not to disturb these. Someone has been here recently to do a puja ceremony to the local deity. The deity, by the way, must be around you, surrounding you, overwhelming you, but don't expect to see a small altar or flashing neon lights.

You might think that "Flat" is an odd name for this place. There isn't much flat space. If you walk ahead, the ground rolls around you; you take three steps up a small embankment and are surrounded by new trees and scrub; you skip over a boulder and watch your footing on the narrow gravel path, or you may tumble down a very steep khud, down the steep ravine.

There is so much for the dog to investigate. His tail curls high above him and his nose rarely leaves the ground as he scampers from tree to rock to fallen wood rose. What does he sense? What was here last night? Certainly no humans; this is one place that is relatively free of footprints and litter. Perhaps a leopard? You've never seen one, but you hear stories. Perhaps jackals? There were two on the path in front of the house last week. The dog freezes, paw up, pointing, before charging into the brush. An explosion of feathers startles you; three mountain quail take flight as the dog yelps in excitement. Or perhaps it's distress; he so desperately wants to catch one. You can't help it, you laugh.

You can pause here on Mt. Hermon Flat, watch the mountains absorb the morning light, reflect on the possibilities of life and beauty. It's a solitary spot, yet it's so close to home. Whistle to the dog and the neighbors can hear.

I hope you don't ever visit. I don't want you to spoil it. But I do want to share this place with you. I want you to experience the beauty and tranquility. Perhaps tonight? You don't want to miss seeing the clouds around the mountains burst into color -- from white to pink to many shades of red to gray. It lasts a few minutes. Don't bother bringing a camera; you can't capture this. Any of it.

Challenge 2: Invention

18. What invention would the world be better off without, and why? (Kalamazoo)

It has never been easy being a leader. Look through the pages of history, and you will see that every great leader has been second-guessed and vilified by critics and opposition parties, by his own people as well as foreign powers. But the great leaders have endured, have held on to steer their nations through the rough waters of troubled times. Through intimidation, suppression, as well as sheer willpower and overwhelming force, the great leaders have always successfully crushed the voice of dissent.

Until the invention of social media.

When I look at my brothers in our neighboring states – Hosni Mubarak in Egypt, Moammar Gaddafi in Libya, Zine El Abidine Ben Ali in Tunisia – I cannot help but think that they would still be in their respective (and rightful) seats of power if it had not been for Facebook and Twitter. According to Voice of America, organizers of protests in these autocratic strongholds have used these social media tools to mobilize supporters. And therein lies my concern – or should I say, the concern of every strongman living and ruling today in the Middle East: Leaders of these uprisings have used “the power of social media as a tool for political change.” For this, they are thankful; because of this, the great political families of Morocco and Algeria, Syria and Yemen, must live in fear or in hiding.

When one sees how these modern hippies and revolutionaries have reached out to the masses and have given courage to the voiceless, one can see that the world would be better off without Facebook and Twitter.

However, now that it is here, how can one person – alone in his palace of gold – completely eliminate this evil known as social media? Perhaps it is impossible. Instead, tactics must be employed. It is possible, I am told, to shut down the Internet during peak demonstrations, cutting off protesters' access to online resources. As the great Chinese leaders have censored online content and slowed down Internet connections, so too can we. One may also use fire to fight this fire: I say, use Facebook user accounts to shadow and capture members of the opposition. If activists want to use this new tool “to accelerate political and social change,” the rightful authoritarian regimes should use the same tools to stifle that change.

The West intends to spread that spirit of democracy in the Middle East. We must do what we can to stifle it, or our next Facebook status update may as well be :`(

Challenge 1: Advice

#3: What is the best advice you ever received? Why? And did you follow it?

During my senior year at university, one of my professors took me aside after class one day and said, “I really don’t think you’ll make a good teacher.” I was an English education major at the time, and she taught one of my education classes, so these words were somewhat hurtful. She didn’t let me off lightly, either. “You will never understand when students struggle with writing,” she said and suggested that I turn to other pursuits. My immediate response was that I would prove her wrong. I created this grand plan in my mind: I would be named teacher-of-the-year sometime soon, and I would send the original certificate to her.

The next year, midway through my student teaching semester, I realized that my professor had been right. I did not understand students, and I did not know the first thing about teaching. “She was right, she was right, she was right,” I kept repeating as the weeks piled up and my lesson plans only got worse. When the semester mercifully ended I declared, “I will never step foot inside a classroom again.” The advice had been spot on and I would follow it.

I landed a job at a newspaper and won some awards there. I did not send those certificates to anyone. I moved to another state and found a job with another newspaper. I would be a journalist for life, I figured. It wasn’t always easy, there was always something to learn, but journalism was exhilarating; my colleagues and I thought we could change the world, one word at a time.

Then, for some reason, I decided to move overseas. I didn’t care where or what I’d do, I just wanted out of the United States for a while; I guess I didn’t want to be one of those Americans who doesn’t know anything about the rest of the world, and I didn’t want to wait until later in life to travel, to really experience other cultures and places. And so I packed my bags and landed in Japan, where my only job possibility was as a teacher of English as a second language.

I didn’t consider this really teaching: I sat in a small cubicle with one to four students of varying ages and spoke with them. Sure, I corrected their errors and sometimes made suggestions for improvement, but there were no lesson plans to write or papers to grade. Eventually, a handful of students told me I was the best teacher they ever had, and they asked for homework. I started planning.

Three years later I returned to Chicago. Jobless, I thought I’d try substitute teaching for a while. I ended up at a school that I quickly learned to love and found myself begging the principal for a job teaching English. She had none to offer but suggested I take over temporarily for an algebra teacher who had quit suddenly. So I taught math for almost an entire semester. And that’s when I learned how to teach. I had to struggle along with my students.

Journalism gave me a few years of experience and maturity. Japan gave me confidence. And algebra gave me insight into my students. I don’t think I’ll ever win teacher-of-the-year, but these days I’m a competent teacher, thanks in part to the kick in the pants from that professor many years ago.