4 years later: Why write this blog?

My blog is 4 years old today!

My first post was called Why write this blog? I was a fourth year undergrad, less than a week from graduation. Now I’m a fourth year PhD student, and uh… more than a week from graduation. Are the reasons I began blogging the same as the reasons I continue to blog?

Why I started blogging 4 years ago

I love to write, but writing in an online forum, where anyone could be sitting at their computer reading my thoughts, has always made me feel too exposed and vulnerable. Time to get over that, especially since I hope to go into academia, where putting myself “out there” will be a key to success.

There’s a funny paradox: on the one hand I want people to read what I write, but on the other, it can be paralyzing to actually think about people reading it when I’m trying to get words out. I deal with this by imagining that only a few people will read. I imagine someone who’s my quintessential audience. Usually, that’s my mom (you’re reading, right, mom?!). She’s educated and curious, but she’s not a cognitive scientist. She’s my ideal reader. So I imagine my mom reading, and no one else, and I just go with it.

It’s still hard to express your thoughts when you think smart people are listening and might criticize them. It took me a long time to be able to do this in person — in group meetings and talks — and I have no idea if my blog helped me with that. Throughout grad school, my relationship with criticism has evolved. Criticism is almost always an opportunity for improving your work, and actually has very little to do with me as a person. When I think of it that way, criticism is something to seek out, not to avoid.

I want to keep learning, reading, and thinking about thinking, and I think the best way to do this is to collaborate as much as possible. I’ve loved having frequent opportunities during college for cog sci dialogues with so many people, and I don’t want to give those dialogues up.

Occasionally people engage with my posts in the comments or on social media, and it’s great to have those conversations. But realistically, this blog is a

It’s  not the ideal platform for dialogue that I had hoped, but that’s ok.

I want to be a better reader, writer, and thinker, and this link convinced me that a blog is probably a good way to achieve that goal. In it, Maria Konnikova writes:

“What am I doing but honing my ability to think, research, analyze, and write—the core skills required to complete a dissertation? And I’m doing so, I would argue, in a far more effective fashion than I would ever be able to do were I to keep to a more traditional academia-only route.”

Spot on.

Why I still blog today

When I started blogging, I couldn’t entirely anticipate what my blogging experience would actually be like. Four years later, I may have even more reasons to blog than I did when I started.

My blog is somewhat of a lab. I can try things out – like a vlog, an infographic, or that megaphone graphic above. Do they make my posts more engaging? I don’t know, but I’m testing them out. If they flop, no harm done. I experiment with different topics, and I can use metrics that show me numbers of page views and how those readers got to my site for a rough idea of what resonates with people and how they’re finding my blog.

My blog also acts as an archive. It documents events like conferences and workshops I’ve attended, getting married, and the 2016 Presidential election, all through the lens of language and thought. My past posts help me recommend a book to a friend or find a paper I know I liked but can’t remember why. And it gives me ample opportunities for laughing at my past self. Like did it occur to me that acknowledging my college graduation by writing a post about euthenics at Vassar was maybe a bit perverse??

And I blog because it’s fun. It’s challenging, and it’s creative, and I make the rules. Some of my motivations might be unique, but it turns out I’m not alone in blogging “for the love of words.” In a recent post on her blog, From the Lab Bench, Paige Jarreau compares science bloggers’ reasons for blogging to Orwell’s “four great motives for writing.”

I’m a long-range thinker, but I don’t think I would have predicted when I clicked the “PUBLISH” button for the first time that I’d be clicking it for many of the same reasons four years later.

Is my research me-search?

I recently listened to the inaugural episode of a new academic psychology podcast called The Black Goat (the podcast is great, by the way!). During the show, the hosts (Sanjay Srivastava, Alexa Tullett, and Simine Vazire) answered a question from an anonymous letter-writer who commented: I’ve been wondering how important it is to feel personally invested in what you study, like if it needs to be related to a part of you or your life that you care deeply about. The question was: should my research be me-search?

Me-search… I’d never heard of that term before. From the question and the hosts’ discussion, it seems that me-search is research driven by the researcher’s identity. It’s research that reflects something about the person doing it. Maybe it’s something you feel personally invested in for some reason beyond the typical reasons people are invested in their work: intellectual curiosity and because research progress means career progress.

On the one hand, it seems like it would be beneficial to be deeply passionate about the topic you research. That passion is more likely to lead to long-term motivation, which is crucial for academic research. Plus one for me-search.

But on the other hand, being personally invested in your research can be dangerous. If you really want a specific outcome, there’s a good chance you’ll get that outcome – whether that outcome actually reflects the state of the world or not. This doesn’t need to be intentional misconduct, either. For example, confirmation bias (which has been enjoying quite a bit of media spotlight lately) takes place when we (unintentionally) discount evidence that contradicts our prior belief, trust evidence that supports it, and even interpret neutral evidence as supporting that initial belief we held. (For more info, I have some past posts (1) (2)  that describe confirmation bias in more detail.) Minus one for me-search?

The hosts didn’t come to a conclusion, but instead weighed pros and cons of me-search, suggesting to me that moderate me-search (something you feel connected to, but maybe not on a life-or-death level) might be a happy medium.

So I asked myself: is my work me-search? It does incorporate things I love: I’ve always been fascinated with humans — observing them, describing them, analyzing how they work. I grew up with younger sisters who were identical twins, and they made great study subjects — I took ample advantage of this situation.

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This is me with the world’s most fascinating study subjects

I’ve also always been interested in language. My hobbies have always been reading and writing, and I was practically salivating when I got to take my first foreign language class (French) in high school. Humans and language are my jamz.

I study how language, especially metaphor, shapes the way we think. This work definitely incorporates, and probably stems from, some things I love, but is it my identity? Not really. More obvious examples of me-search might be bench science that could contribute to a cure for a disease someone I love has. Or researching the personality traits of people who grew up with younger siblings who were identical twins (because that would be a fascinating line of research — at least to me!). But I don’t do those things. Even though I do believe that language shapes the way we think and perceive the world, and of course I want my findings to be interesting because research careers require interesting findings, I don’t have any identity-driven motivation to find any particular outcomes.

But after working on a line of work for years (only 4, in my case), how can it not be a part of you?

I’ve created a variety of different me-search definitions for myself, and the one I use at any given moment influences whether I think my current work is me-search.

I’m curious about other researchers’ ideas of me-search: do you think your work should be classified this way, and do you think it’s more of an advantage or a disadvantage to think of your work as me-search?

We marched for science

I’m a homebody. Most Saturday mornings are complete with tea, reading blogs or fiction, and getting in a good workout. This Saturday was different, and I’m glad it was.

The March for Science has been in the works for a few months. During that time, people have debated whether it will exacerbate political divides and whether scientists should be political activists; plans grew for satellite marches in over 600 cities around the world; and so many people mobilized to attend a march or support scientific causes.

I prepared by reading and thinking a lot about the role of science in society and potential consequences of marches and science-driven activism. My tentative conclusion from that reflection period was I’m in. I crocheted hats, designed a poster, and chose my wardrobe.

It was a cool experience to be in a place with tons of people all driven there by a common belief that science is crucial and a common priority to express that belief. It was fun to see creative signs, to come together with others in my department, and to hear some of the organized talks (especially those given by the middle school science fair winners – their projects sounded amazing!). But what blew my mind the most was the fact that people all around the world, from so many backgrounds, with different beliefs, opinions, and ideas, united around a cause that’s so much bigger than any individual person or country.

Let’s keep this going.

I wish I could carry 20 posters at the March for Science

This Saturday, science-lovers in over 400 cities around the globe will be marching for science. I’ll be marching in San Diego with friends and colleagues (and many strangers). This march takes a lot of planning — of course at the macro level, orchestrating an international (or even local) event is massive — but also at a much more micro level, for the people involved.

My first stage of planning was to read and think a lot about the march — the goals of marchers, the message it might send, and its downstream consequences. I worry that it will be perceived by some as a coastal elite and liberal rally against Trump — and for some marchers, it probably will be that, but I see it as an opportunity for us to celebrate science and affirm that it’s important in our lives. I also know the March for Science (DC) organization has experienced a lot of internal mayhem, and many of the original organizers are no longer with the group because of disagreements with the way the organization has proceeded. This march is not a cure-all. It will probably offend people (unintentionally, I hope), and we should actively work to avoid offense, but I am optimistic that the benefits of coming together for science can outweigh the inevitable negative aspects.

So I’ve decided it’s an event I want to be a part of. Next step: planning logistics.

I have an important wardrobe decision to make. I own so many great science t-shirts, but I have to choose one for the march. I’ll also wear one of the science hats I’ve crocheted (I’ve made 38 so far, so hopefully I come across lots of hatless marchers). I haven’t yet hammered out these wardrobe details.

 

I also have to decide my primary message for the march: What will I put on the poster that I carry? I’ve organized an event for people in my department to make posters together tomorrow afternoon, and I decided I should do some research to provide people with inspiration. What kinds of messages will be most productive? The San Diego march team created a helpful guide for poster messages. A quick Google search provided so many clever and seemingly effective poster possibilities that I’m nearly overwhelmed. Here are a few of my favorite messages (I’ve remade my own visuals with the help of Canva but borrowed the messages from around the Internet).

 

Stay tuned to find out my eventual wardrobe and sign decisions. There are so many great possibilities, and I’m looking forward to seeing the many ways that marchers express their love and commitment to science.

 

 

 

 

Cognition at Work: A Celebration of CogSci Designed & Executed by Undergrads

This past weekend I was invited to present at UCSD’s Cognitive Science Student Association‘s annual conference. The undergraduate CSSA leaders pulled off a polished and fascinating conference, focusing on the role of cognitive science in all kinds of work, from design, to mental health, to academic research.

In the first half of the workshop I gave, they asked me to talk about my journey to cognitive science: how did I discover I wanted to pursue CogSci, how did I end up at UCSD, and what might lie ahead? This is a fun story to tell. It includes growing up in a tiny Massachusetts town with fascinating identical twin sisters and supportive parents. It also includes my undergraduate years at Vassar College, where I accidentally found Cognitive Science and took classes that truly nurtured my intellectual side and inspired me to learn more. I discovered UCSD’s unique Cognitive Science program and was dead set on getting in — and somehow I did. I’ve been having a blast researching the relationship between language and the mind, working with brilliant people, and exploring other intellectual interests. I talked about the essential skills for doing a PhD, and in response to the question: “what next?” I was honest: I don’t know! But I expect it’ll be exciting. Here are the slides from that portion of the workshop.

The second half of the workshop was focused on my Cognitive Science research. The two Research Assistants who have helped me collect data on the projects I wanted to share (David and Yahan) also helped me give the talk. I’m SO proud of the work they put into this project and the presentation, and I’m confident they inspired other undergrads in the audience. David and Yahan showed them that undergraduates can do great research AND communicate about it (which can be just as hard as the research itself!).

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David, Yahan, and I show our work.

Here’s a more legible version of our poster.

I left the conference feeling energized, and I hope many of the attendees did as well. It was a unique conference since most attendees were not there to promote their own work (since they were mainly undergrads). Of course there’s nothing wrong with academic conferences where promoting one’s work is a goal, but at this conference, attendees’ primary objectives were to learn, be inspired, and think about CogSci outside their classes. To me, it was a celebration of CogSci, and a great reminder of why I work in this really cool field at this really cool university.

What does it REALLY mean to do cognitive science research?

This week I responded to this question with the help from Richard Gao, a fellow UCSD Cog Sci blogger. We discussed what cognitive science research looks like for us — the kinds of questions we work on and the methods we use to address them. The post also gives readers a broader sample of research included under the cog sci umbrella and the overarching ideas that unite such diverse research topics.

Check out this post on The Q!


Featured Image: Wikimedia Commons

Only one eye on the prize

From my journal, November 2015, my third year in grad school:

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That gray silhouette is my mom. I call her most days, but sometimes we text instead. We probably spend half our time talking about daily life — yoga, work, what we’re cooking for dinner — and the other half of our time talking about our thoughts. My thoughts are often future-oriented. For example, I talk about trips that are scheduled for 6 months out as if they’re tomorrow because the future just always feels so imminent. I also talk a lot about my professional future, even though I’m not even sure what my professional goals are. I’m constantly asking myself (internally and aloud), what I can do to secure that all-fulfilling (and elusive) job that’ll allow me to positively impact the world, stay challenged, and help pay the bills for a comfortable home in a stimulating city.

My mom listens so much (thanks, Mom!). She validates my ideas, suggests other things to consider, and maybe most importantly, reminds me that the present is pretty great too. Goals are crucial, and we attain them by having our “eye on the prize.” But luckily we have two eyes. Our biological eyes may not be able to focus on two different things, but our metaphorical ones can. We can keep one eye on the prize while focusing the other on the present. When I do that, I remember that this current stage of my life — 4th year of my PhD, exploring different ways that metaphor shapes thought, in a mind-blowing Cognitive Science department in America’s Finest City — is pretty darn amazing.

For a while, this was the prize that I kept my eye on. When I was an undergrad at Vassar, as I started to learn more about language and cognitive science and more about research, I set my eye on graduate school, and soon after set my eye on THIS graduate school. I wanted to be accepted so much that I cried. Then I was accepted. I came to UCSD and started grad school. In typical human fashion, as the former prize became the present, I looked forward again to the next prize. Even though that next prize is still foggy in my mind, I know there must be a prize there, and I know I want to position myself as best as possible to attain it. So one eye will stay there. But as for the other…

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Ocean Beach Pier, San Diego, CA. Photos By Clark. CC BY-NC

Cross-Country Love: Our Academic-Army Marriage

I live in San Diego. My husband Steven lives in San Antonio. We’ve been a long-distance couple since I began grad school (and he began working as on officer in the US Army). San Diego-San Antonio is actually the closest we’ve ever been to each other: it took at least two flights plus a few hours in the car to see each other when he lived in Kansas, and visits were not possible when he was deployed in Kuwait. We’re grateful that a non-stop flight can take us from one city to the other, but it’s far from ideal.

We were even more grateful that I was able to arrange my teaching and research so I could spend two months in San Antonio recently.

We’d been married for over a year, and the two months we recently spent together were our first opportunity to live together. It wasn’t a test of whether we’re truly compatible (we are, we always have been), and it wasn’t a vacation. We did real life (albeit a different real life than we’re used to), and we did it while living under the same roof. It was wonderful.

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Here we’re at San Antonio’s Riverwalk, decked out for Christmas.

In the mornings, I made his breakfast while waiting for my own tea to brew. In the evenings, he tucked me in as tightly as possible, a practice we began referring to as Burrito Rose. We went to the gym together and made jigsaw puzzles. I cooked most dinners, he cleaned most dishes. We spied on neighbors, I gave him haircuts, he did our laundry. We settled into a precious rhythm, and the two months were wonderful for the person at my core.

For my academic mind, though, they left something to be desired. As I expected, working remotely and Skyping into the necessary meetings was a little boring. But this was a small price to pay for the freedom of working from a location that strengthened my relationship with Steven. The time in San Antonio helped me realize how much I prioritize freedom to work on what I want, when I want, where I want, but I also really value working with other smart people. Having little imposed structure to my workdays and fewer obligations to fulfill than normal allowed me time and space to reflect on my values and how they’ll factor into priorities for my career, or at least for my next career step. I asked myself, do I really like research that much? But how much does this submersion in relatively isolated research reflect what a research career would be like? How important is geography to me? How much money is important to me? How much free time do I need? Should I just graduate and move on with my life? Or should I shirk the subconscious sense that external signs of “progress” are to be constantly striven for?

I’m so grateful that I could continue to work while spending two months with Steven. We probably benefitted more than we had anticipated, and I proved to myself that I can be productive while working remotely. I’ll be back there soon, and someday home will actually be the same place for both of us.

Reframing the war on science

America’s kind of tense right now. Leading up to and following the November 2016 election, there’s a lot of talk of “the two Americas” and “the Divided States of America.” Americans are divided on a lot of issues, including scientific topics like vaccine safety and global warming. To many, it’s surprising that we disagree about these things because according to scientists who research these topics, there are no debates at all: vaccines do not cause autism and humans are responsible for global warming

At the same time, the current administration in the US has sent numerous messages that they devalue science (for example, by censoring scientists at organizations like the USA and EPA and establishing a Committee on Vaccine Safety). Actions like these seem to be only fueling the divided science beliefs.

In response, many people have declared that we’re in a war on science: This idea is expressed in headlines like Facts are the reason science is losing the current war on reason, How the Anti-Vaxxers are Winning, and documentary titles like The Vaccine War. (There are so many pieces that talk about the war on science).

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Scientific American

I’m a PhD student in Cognitive Science, a firm believer in the scientific method and basing beliefs and actions on evidence. I highly value scientific funding, vaccinations, and measures that reduce the effects of climate change. As Americans, we have freedom of speech, and we should exercise that freedom to speak up when scientific knowledge and interests are being trampled on. I agree with the ideas expressed in blog posts like The War on Facts is a War on Democracy and I’m a Scientist. This is what I’ll Fight for and many of the ideas that continuously populate threads on Twitter like #defendscience and #resist. But I’m much less enthusiastic about the widespread use of a war metaphor to get those ideas across.

Here’s why.

Metaphors shape thought

The metaphors we use to describe complex social problems actually shape the way we think about them. For example, when crime was described as a beast ravaging a town, people tended to suggest harsh law enforcement policies — similar to how they’d likely react to a literal beast ravaging their town. On the other hand, when that same crime was described as a virus, people suggested fewer harsh enforcement policies. Instead, they turned their focus to curing the town of problems that may underlie the crime, like improving education and welfare services.

People make inferences in line with the metaphors used to describe complex issues, so it’s important to reflect on what the war on science implies. It does have some helpful implications. Wars are serious, and often require urgent action. These are probably the messages that those who perpetuate the war on science want us to infer, even if not consciously.

But the war also suggests that there are enemies and casualties. There are two sides locked in combat, and neither will back down until they win (or they’re decimated). I like this quote from A Gentleman in Moscow, a novel I just happened to be reading while working on this post: After all, in the midst of armed conflicts, facts are bound to be just as susceptible to injury as ships and men, if not more so. In other words, we sometimes do stupid things in wars. We shirk thoughtfulness and conscientiousness, and instead we just fight. As I see it, our current political situation (for lack of a better word) needs all the thoughtfulness and conscientiousness we can give it.  

I recently expressed my concern in a conversation on Twitter:

The war metaphor challenges those who are not already on the “side” of science. It tells them they’re the enemy. When people feel that they’re being attacked, even idealistically, they’re likely to strengthen their stance and gear up to fight back. No matter how many scientists tweet about science or participate in the March for Science on Earth Day, people who have found themselves on the “anti-science” side of this war are not going to decide all of a sudden that climate change must be real after all or that they should rush their kids to the pediatrician for overdue vaccines (especially if we tell them we’re marching to fight the war on science!). People who have already been labeled as the enemy of science may as well go out and buy a new gas guzzler and decide that their kids are just fine without vaccines.

Others have already pointed out that actions like the science march are already in jeopardy of isolating anti-science proponents as opponents (for example see  Daniel Engber’s piece for Slate and Robert Young’s in the New York Times). Using war metaphors has the potential to only hammer that point home.

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This just doesn’t seem productive. Image: Battle by Thomas Hawk. CC BY-NC 2.0

Alternative frames?

If we want to stop thinking about ourselves as engaged in a war on science, we need an alternative. Proponents of and believers in science are experiencing a sort of struggle, but it doesn’t have to be a fight between the left and right, Democrats and Republicans, Coastal Elite and Middle America. Maybe we can reframe the situation as a challenge that unites all humans. Science communicators want to share how important it is to address climate change and to have children vaccinated for the good of all people. We can all be on the same side, working to better the world we live in, and it’s important that we convey that message in our communications.

Referring to the movie Hidden Figures, NPR blogger Marcelo Gleiser points out that if there is a central lesson in the movie, it is that united we win; that what makes America great is not segregation and intolerance, but openness and inclusiveness.

I considered the possibility that guiding people to trust empirical evidence and the scientific process might be better framed as a puzzle — a challenge, no doubt, but at least everyone’s working toward a common goal.

Marisa makes a really important point. The peacekeeper in me would love a frame that emphasizes hey, guys! We’re all in this together!, but that ship may have already sailed. At this point, it’s important not to downplay the gravity of discrediting and distrusting science. This is not a game.

 

I’ve had quite a few conversations on the war on science, but I still don’t have a one-size-fits-all framing suggestion for talking about America’s disconnect in belief in science. But when we’re considering talking about this issue as a war, it’ll be helpful to step back and assess our goals and the potential consequences of the words we use.

Right now, there are deep social and political divides in American society — and though it’s crucial to stand up for what we believe in (especially science and facts!), we should be careful about taking up arms in a war on science that might deepen those divides. 

I welcome other comments on the framing of the war on science. Do you find the war helpful? Why? Are there other frames we could use to avoid deepening ideological divides?


Featured image: United States USA Flag by Mike Mozart. CC BY 2.0

A grad student’s perspective on piecing together a stellar research team

This week I wrote for Quartzy’s blog, The Q, which focuses on “Life, Science, and Stories for Labs.” I hope I hit on all three with my post on cultivating a stellar research team. As a PhD student, I’m far from the position of putting together an entire lab research team, but my research does require that I assemble a microcosm of a larger lab group. The Research Assistants I work with are invaluable contributors to my research, so I’ve put a lot of thought into what’s important for a research team and what I can do to ensure we stay stellar.

Interested to hear thoughts on what other people find important for their research teams, and best practices for creating the ideal ethos for your team.

Here’s the post!