Excuses, excuses
My rotation adviser bears a very strong resemblance to my karate master.
The resemblance is not physical but attitudinal.
Once upon a time there was a duality to me that I cannot today fully explain. On one hand I was extremely introspective and self-critical. On the other, if I couldn't do something, I always had a reason. Most likely I'd still try to learn the skill, but I would also always have a reason that I couldn't already do the thing.
I had multiple teachers in grade school point this out, but I was never prepared to accept the criticism back then. "Stop making excuses," Mrs. Bartol would growl at me. It's not that the words went in one ear and out the other; I simply didn't understand what they meant, and it troubled me.
Then I met Master Khan. I was terrified of him. As I held a stance, I'd notice him checking my positioning and form, and my entire body would start shaking like it was touched by Jesus. I would never make excuses to him. I was too afraid to do such a thing. But his instructors weren't off limits.
Somehow, I learned. I began to realize that it didn't help me to explain why I couldn't do the thing, and that it bothered people. I learned to kick the excuses back down every time my mouth began to open, swallowing the words before they could be uttered. It was not easy; those words were ice cubes, too large to fit easily down my throat.
It got easier. In time, I was the instructor, telling my students not to make excuses. "You don't have time, or you haven't made time?" What a wonderful skill to have, the skill of not speaking when there is no appropriate response. (I could still be better at it. I'm always practicing.)
Today I had a meeting with Andy, my adviser. He's quite brilliant, and it's often difficult to keep up with his fast pace. Still, I've tried very hard throughout this rotation to always have answers for every conceivable question.
Today I didn't have all the answers. It seemed at first that he was angry, that he was going to let me have it. He seemed to expect--in lieu of the answers--some sort of explanation as to why I didn't have them. I didn't give one. 't would've been an excuse, after all.
Actually, several ran through my head. I'm barely holding myself together this week. I'm having flashbacks. I visited Max's grave last week. I just didn't have time. I haven't eaten all day, my blood sugar is low. When one stops making excuses, I reflected, it finally becomes clear that none of them really apply--and those that do apply don't help.
What I had at first read as anger faded. Maybe it was never anger, maybe I just don't know him well enough yet. He ended up spending an hour going over the details with me, which was very generous of him.
The other students in my lab like to joke about shooting people. Not for real, nothing threatening. Just, "Why doesn't someone shoot me already?" and such things.
Today, one of them said something like, "Wouldn't it suck so badly if you got your Ph.D. only to get killed?" They all thought this was hilarious. "Yeah, I'd totally haunt the person who did it," someone threw in.
What do you say to that? The truth? It would horrify them and they'd forget it in a couple of days. People aren't equipped to deal with that sort of thing.
The resemblance is not physical but attitudinal.
Once upon a time there was a duality to me that I cannot today fully explain. On one hand I was extremely introspective and self-critical. On the other, if I couldn't do something, I always had a reason. Most likely I'd still try to learn the skill, but I would also always have a reason that I couldn't already do the thing.
I had multiple teachers in grade school point this out, but I was never prepared to accept the criticism back then. "Stop making excuses," Mrs. Bartol would growl at me. It's not that the words went in one ear and out the other; I simply didn't understand what they meant, and it troubled me.
Then I met Master Khan. I was terrified of him. As I held a stance, I'd notice him checking my positioning and form, and my entire body would start shaking like it was touched by Jesus. I would never make excuses to him. I was too afraid to do such a thing. But his instructors weren't off limits.
Somehow, I learned. I began to realize that it didn't help me to explain why I couldn't do the thing, and that it bothered people. I learned to kick the excuses back down every time my mouth began to open, swallowing the words before they could be uttered. It was not easy; those words were ice cubes, too large to fit easily down my throat.
It got easier. In time, I was the instructor, telling my students not to make excuses. "You don't have time, or you haven't made time?" What a wonderful skill to have, the skill of not speaking when there is no appropriate response. (I could still be better at it. I'm always practicing.)
Today I had a meeting with Andy, my adviser. He's quite brilliant, and it's often difficult to keep up with his fast pace. Still, I've tried very hard throughout this rotation to always have answers for every conceivable question.
Today I didn't have all the answers. It seemed at first that he was angry, that he was going to let me have it. He seemed to expect--in lieu of the answers--some sort of explanation as to why I didn't have them. I didn't give one. 't would've been an excuse, after all.
Actually, several ran through my head. I'm barely holding myself together this week. I'm having flashbacks. I visited Max's grave last week. I just didn't have time. I haven't eaten all day, my blood sugar is low. When one stops making excuses, I reflected, it finally becomes clear that none of them really apply--and those that do apply don't help.
What I had at first read as anger faded. Maybe it was never anger, maybe I just don't know him well enough yet. He ended up spending an hour going over the details with me, which was very generous of him.
The other students in my lab like to joke about shooting people. Not for real, nothing threatening. Just, "Why doesn't someone shoot me already?" and such things.
Today, one of them said something like, "Wouldn't it suck so badly if you got your Ph.D. only to get killed?" They all thought this was hilarious. "Yeah, I'd totally haunt the person who did it," someone threw in.
What do you say to that? The truth? It would horrify them and they'd forget it in a couple of days. People aren't equipped to deal with that sort of thing.