Haifa Diaries pt. 3

July 11, 2012

9:15 -- The Clown's Silhouette
14:00 -- Preparation for Clown Invasion
18:00 -- Clown Invasion of the Neveh Yosef Community Center

So, I wrote a lot about this day after it happened, but it is all a bit scrambled and unclear, so I'd rather start by writing about it now, in real time, a couple weeks after the actual events.

In the morning we had a workshop all about costume, the clown silhouette and the relationship between character and clothing. I have always always always been obsessed with costume, with clothing in general, especially one of a kind, handmade, unique pieces. (Side note: I think that is actually a big reason why I have to go back to Portland... I miss Red Light and Scrap too much, haha). I've dreamt of the day when I finally have enough space to really tackle my sewing with a vengeance, and perhaps get brave enough to try and make clothing. But I digress.

The workshop was really excellent, and the first time we all got into costume as a group. The workshop leader, a street clown for over 20 years and one of the first Dream Doctors was really a clown to aspire to be... he'd been doing it so long the lines between him and his clown were completely blurred. But you could see the love he had for his work, and his costume was as big a part of it as anything. He encouraged us to make our own costumes, as well as have a story for every single piece. And also, don't be afraid to try new costumes, build different outfits, but at the same time try and keep some base element always with you, so from anywhere, your silhouette is still recognizable.

I love costumes. Love love love them. I loved seeing everyone in costume for the first time, because especially with those who have been working a long time (and have a very developed silhouette), their costume can instantly tell you a whole lot about their personality. It's another kind of vulnerability I think, because one of the reasons a clown dresses the way it does is to stand out, to be noticed, and in many ways appear ridiculous and be ridiculed. 

~~~

SO. That leaves me to the second part of this post, The Clown Invasion. 

That evening, after a session of brainstorming, we all hopped on a bus and were taken to a theatre festival in a community center in eastern Haifa. Our job was simple. We were to disembark, and mingle among the people, explore the building, etc etc, and just do what we do: clown around! The only thing we weren't allowed to do was enter any of the performances that were going on, since we would inevitably draw attention and ruin the work various theatre groups had been working on for so long. Rightfully so. 

It was one of those experiences where you basically had to just dive headfirst and don't give yourself time for second thoughts. Upon arrival we were immediately greeted by throngs of people watching a dance group outside the building, music blaring, traffic everywhere. But I quickly learned that's just Israel for you. My first at length encounter was with two little girls who could only say 3 words in English, "Come on!" and "Cookie!". We played for a while, blowing bubbles and chasing with my feather flower, and then they started to lead me somewhere. Man, these girls were on a mission. Every time I paused they both would scream "Come on!" and would grab my hands and pull. Soon they had dragged me all the way to the other side of the lot where we met (I hadn't even entered the main building yet), and I saw that they seemed to be leading me through the exit of the festival, insisting that there were cookies on the other side. I decided it was time to move on. 

So I entered the building, having no clue where I was going or what I would do, or where any of the other 30 clowns were that I had originally arrived with. I spotted an elevator and squeezed in, using the silence as an opportunity to blow up some balloons and let the air out in farts. I think I could have stayed on the elevator, going up and down and up and down for the whole hour and keep myself entertained. But I got out and wandered some more, meeting another clown and playing for a while, then going off exploring the building. 

This was absolutely the strangest and most confusing building I had ever been in. It was on a slope, and the entrance was actually on the 5th floor via a sky bridge, and the stairwells didn't just go up, but through hallways. There were random corridors and the elevator took you higher than the entrance floor, needless to say I never knew where I was. I rounded a corner and found myself in a room where 6 or 7 preteen boys were hanging out with another clown. As soon as they saw me put my bag down, full of spinning plates, a diabolo, juggling balls and scarves, they went nuts and rushed me, emptying it out in excitement and commencing loud and rambunctious play. The other clown left and I found myself alone with these kids, and for about 10 or 15 minutes it was all fun. I periodically had to remind them not to use the spinning plate sticks as swords, and one boy in the corner was very energetic with my bubbles, so much that most of the soap was being sloshed on the floor before he could blow. I did feel a bit overwhelmed by the energy these boys had, and this was my first time clowning alone, but I took a breath and kept up the friendly energy and they were all really determined to learn to use my toys correctly. 

Then at some point, after I had been with them for what felt like an hour but was probably about 10 minutes, something happened and the mood in the room changed. Two of the boys started exchanging very strong words. Then one boy started to hit the other. First he punched him hard in the arm. The a hard kick in the back. I had already raised my voice at that point to break it up but they were oblivious to me. Then the boy gave another hard punch in the shoulder. At that point I grabbed him and led him away as gently as I could, not wanting to provoke any more violence from him. The boy that got hit slipped into the elevator first chance he got, not crying, but I think they are used to that sort of thing. It all happened so fast, but I felt totally blindsighted. After that happened, I was ready to move on from this group. So I packed it all up and slipped away, blowing a kiss as they professed their love to me and trying not to think about what had just happened. 

I went up the stairs and down a hallway and saw before me a room filled with people. That was my way out. I took a breath, and swoosh, opened the doors. There were way too many people in the room, at least 50 or more. I knew immediately I would have to focus my attention on just small groups at a time. Had some funny interactions with a boy scout and army recruiter, and a group of kids, some small and some older with my spinning plates and scarves. There was a sweet girl who immediately understood the point of the flower as a tickling stick, and she chased me for quite some time around the room, delighted to try and catch me. A small boy with big eyes watch with a grin as I performed my scarf in the ear trick. The boy scout gave me a balloon flower and then I gave it to another girl, he was sad and I did everything in my power to make it up to him. Another clown encouraged me to join the army and the boy scouts by kissing the back of their business cards as a signature. Handfuls of children came and went trying my spinning plates. The same little girl who tickled me found my scarves and we played dress-up with her brother, draping ourselves and pretending to be royalty. I stayed in this room until all the clowns were alerted that our hour was up and we met in a basement room for water, sandwiches and a roundtable discussion. 

But it wasn't till I came in, sat down, and took a breath that I realized how upset I was over witnessing the violence between the two boys. I wanted to talk about it, but I felt it bubbling up inside me and I knew that if I opened my mouth that I would break down. So I sat in silence and listened to the others complain and gush about their experiences. Everyone had something to say. To some it was completely pointless, because this wasn't like medical clowning, and was more like street theatre we would normally be paid for. I tried to breathe, and process it in my own mind. There were a lot of factors that made it particularly stressful for me. It was the first time I had clowned alone, and the unfamiliar building was like a labyrinth. And when I was in that room, I was Delilah but I was also the only adult in the room, and the paradox scrambled my little brain. There was a moment when I didn't even feel safe, knowing that this violence was in the room and feeling helpless to prevent it, because at first they did not listen to me. So yeah, I was scared. And the fear didn't reveal itself in all it's glory till we were sitting in that circle. I wanted to say "Hey, I had a weird experience. I have never worked alone and found myself with all these boys, and then there was a moment of violence and I had a moment of panic, being a clown and yet also being the responsible adult. Has anyone else encountered violence while clowning? How do you handle that?" But I wouldn't have been able to say that if I had raised my hand. The dam was cracking and I wanted more than anything not to cry in front of 30 clowns. It wasn't because I was ashamed of crying, because I knew I was in a supportive place. But I think at the time, empathy from 30 people would have been too much to handle. 

But this story ends happily. After the circle broke up, I approached one of my friends, she was the first clown I had met and felt like family to me. I opened up to her about the experience and as I predicted it took me like 10 minutes to get the whole story out because of the tears. I cried, she sympathized, and I felt loved, supported, and much better about it all. It was a moment of acceptance for me that yes, I am a beginner clown and there are many situations I have yet to encounter while performing or clowning. I didn't want pity, but I needed empathy from someone more experienced that my strong reaction was understandable. 

Thinking about all of it in retrospect, I know it wasn't that big of a deal. Boys beat each other up. In the end I am grateful for the experience because it brought up some important questions for me, and highlighted all the craziness that comes with the job of clowning. What does a clown do when we witness things that don't exist in a clown's world, like violence, racism or sexism? When is it okay to break character or take off the nose? What happens when you're the only adult in the room but also the clown, who in many ways is as innocent as a child? I had to face all of these questions head on, and thankfully the situation wasn't particularly dangerous or harmful for anyone. It was actually obvious, I knew I had to intervene physically since they were ignoring me otherwise. But in that moment right when the mood shifted, I had lost all the power and control in the room as the adult and that was disturbing. 

In the end, about 75% of that experience was all good. In fact, 100% of my interactions were positive and friendly, since none of the violence was directed towards me, I just happened to be there when it occurred. But that was really a defining moment for me, and from a psychological standpoint my strong reaction was really curious to dissect later on. My heart is on my sleeve, and when I clown I am like a sponge, absorbing every emotion around me, feeding off the energy of the crowd. I didn't give myself any time to process in the moment so when it all came flooding back later it was about ten times as strong, added onto the chaos (although entirely fun) of the last room I was in, where everywhere I turned there was the potential for a moment shared with a stranger. All in all, an unforgettable experience. 

The night ended with my roommate and I getting sloshed and drinking our troubles away. It was the best ending of a very very eventful day. Oh yes, and when we walked into our apartment, a piece of our kitchen ceiling had fallen down. But that is for the next entry. 

Haifa Diaries pt. 2

July 9th, 2012


10:00 : Human First, Red Nose Second
14:00 : The Medical Clown in a Therapeutic Relationship: Meeting the Patient and Family
16:00 : Movement for Medical Clowns

"Today was a great day. In workshop I finally got the chance to get up in front of everyone, and get some feedback and praise for just being exactly myself. We learned a little step, partnered up, and our direction was to do nothing. Don't be a character, don't ham it up. My heart was in my throat, but to my delight, my energy was described later in exactly the ways that I try to embody Delilah. Sweet, delightful, girly, innocent. I can't wait to get into costume, I think Delilah will really just feed off of the love from everyone. 


For a few short moments in movement class, I began to forget to worry about what other people were thinking, and just really got into exploring my body and creating a story. I don't really know what the story was, a sad little puppet in a box trying to get out, perhaps. Discovering her own hands, arms, legs, and marveling at the moment of a single digit. The object of the exercise was to pick body parts, gently letting them guide the rest of the body up, and then back down, but alway vertically. I picked a corner and really just tried to stay in my own headspace. 


I am happy. Bruises are starting to appear on my pointy limbs. This is the best decision I have made, that feels right deep in my heart. I always had a feeling and high hopes that 23 would be a great year, and being able to come here and do this has made Germany so much more important to me. Panic Circus will just be the sprinkles on this Israel Icing that is on the Germany Cake!"


Real Time thoughts:

Our first week was the best week of the seminar. I think it had a lot to do with the extended workshops that lasted a few days, and it gave us a chance to really form personal relationships with the instructors, as well as take it slow in the classes and really spend time on the details -- because it is all about the details, friends.

The first thing I really learned about "medical clowning" specifically is that it exists all over the world, and it is not a full time job. Every time a participant talked about their schedule, 4 or 5 days a week was always pushing it. I suppose it makes sense when you think about it, because you are really exerting an incredible amount of energy in a small period of time, as well as absorbing all the emotional baggage of any person you might happen to interact with in the hospital.

Medical Clowning is a job full of paradoxes. It is very serious work... but we strive to make a place like the hospital a little less serious. We may play as if we are against the rules and regulations of the hospital staff, and yet we secretly have the same goals that they do. Above everything else, a strong and trusting relationship between the hospital staff and the clown is key. What the first class taught me  is that we are good enough, delightful enough, as simply ourselves. Making that connection with people and that bond that can blossom into play or even just a release of tension, is something you can do without a costume, without props, with nothing but your own person, and an openness in the heart. That is really the beginning of Medical Clowning, and it was surprisingly difficult because hand in hand with that openness is the vulnerability of rejection.

Haifa Diaries pt. 1

My next few posts are going to be the entries I wrote while in Israel. Starting 20 days ago on July 7th, my second night. 

July 7, 2012

The fridge here is the loudest fridge I have ever encountered in a home. It drowns out the silence of the empty flat, but replaces it with a feeling of melancholy and loneliness. This apartment is totally empty but for the sound of that fridge humming away, so loud that bumble bees might mistake it for a hive. At this moment, the fridge mirrors my own heart, humming, working, but empty on the inside. I guess I am one of those worriers when it comes to travel. Starting the 24 hours before I need to be at the airport till the moment I arrive at my destination and am able to drop my bags and take that first deep breath, I worry. And I think it gets worse when I travel alone. Especially now, traveling to a place I have never been and know nothing about, to do something I have never done with people I have never met. Can you tell I am a little melancholy tonight? 

First impressions of Israel. It is warm, and every single house apartment and building is white, or at least used to be white. The poverty and the wealth are side by side... On one side of the street is a swanky restaurant and immediately on the other is a a food stand reminiscent of Mexican food stands... Styrofoam cups and paper plates.  And it is hilly. Oh my is it ever hilly. When traveling through the city on a shared taxi, it was almost like a roller coaster ride, because besides being hilly, Haifa seems to have very few straight streets. The University where the seminar will be taking place is on a mountain looking over the city and the port, so I am expecting some great views. 

But the people are very nice, all of them. It has really been a comfort. Although men seem to think that one conversation with you gives them the right to ask for your phone number. But I guess it helps when you have no phone, haha! (Although it is unfortunate that I am the only person with my name... And finding me on Facebook is easy as pie). Last night after dropping my things off, I wandered over to the little restaurant across the street from the swanky one... after a day of travel I didn't feel particularly "swanky", and I got this yummy flaky pastry filled with potatoes and mushrooms, with spicy pickles and an egg on the side. There was one kid behind the counter, and after I finished my food we chatted a bit since I was feeling lonely. I told him I was there for two weeks for a medical clowning seminar. He told me he was leaving for the army in two weeks. 

Even though there is no Internet at my apartment, I found some at the coffee shop by my flat, so I am content. I found salt, and I won't starve, so that is good too. Today was really lovely, My semi-host, Shir, brought me and another seminar clown to see the Bahai gardens, the most famous landmark and pride of Haifa, rightfully so. Holy gardens that travel down a steep slope with a beautiful temple in the middle, it's lawns stick out in a sharp contrast to the metropolitan areas around it. Then she brought us to her parents home for a traditional Shabbat lunch, wheat and beans with date honey, potatoes and sweet potatoes with date honey, so yummy! Also rice, veggies, and fresh cold plums, grapes and nectarines for dessert, so yum! Her 17 year old sister, Mai, was sweet, opinionated and talkative. Also going to the army soon, in 2 months. But it was really wonderful to be around a family and to have a family meal, that hasn't happened in a long time for me. 

Tomorrow the seminar starts, and I meet my roommate. eehsk!! Also, at some point, I will tell you all what this seminar is actually all about! 

Dr. Delilah!

Today everything changed.

I should have written this blog post this morning, when I was bouncing off the walls and spastically hugging my coworkers who had no idea what was going on with me. I was WAY too excited then, and unfortunately all I had for breakfast was coffee. But I will no longer let the suspense linger! I have wonderful, fantastical, magical news!

In July, I will be going to Israel for two weeks to participate in a Medical Clowning Summer Seminar! For those of you who are wondering what exactly medical clowning entails, just think Patch Adams. The seminar will take place in Haifa, and is modeled after a three year BA program that the University of Haifa offers. As far as I know, this is the only degree program of it's kind, and it was created in part to help legitimize medical clowning as a therapeutic tool and practice in hospitals. I heard about the seminar from a family friend, and after a couple nights of wondering whether I was actually good enough to even consider applying, I leapt... and got accepted.

I am still reeling! Medical clowning is something I have been intrigued by ever since I started reading about it a few months ago, but I always thought that if I ever did pursue it, it would be some time in the future when I had a few more years experience as a clown under my belt. It takes such an amazing amount of strength, I still wonder whether I have that strength.

Anyone who has gotten me talking about circus knows that I am a huge advocate for the incredible healing powers circus arts and clowning can bring. I love teaching it because the smile that kids get on their faces when they finally spin a plate or ride a unicycle. The JOY and excitement when their parents see them perform a feat of incredible skill! It takes so much patience of the self, acceptance, confidence,  these are the real lessons we are teaching. I remember when I first met one of my very dear clown friends, I asked him why he got into circus work. He told me, "Because it's magic", and I laughed. But he was totally serious. Seriously, serious, magic. Fast forward to today, and I find myself saying the same thing when people ask me why I do it. It really is a kind of magic, to look at a kid and say hey, I am going to teach you this skill that looks physically impossible, and if you trust me and trust yourself, you can do anything!

Gosh I am turning into such a hippie...

Participating in this seminar does mean however, that I will have to cancel my plans to go to Austria and participate in the World Body Painting Festival. They start on the same weekend, and it's sad because I was looking forward to that... but in the end I know this is the right decision to make.

This is one of those times when I know I am going FAR outside of my comfort zone, doing something that is bound to be full of experiences that will be taxing on my heart and body, but also incredibly rewarding. I'll be meeting lots of other clowns, some of whom have worked in hospitals, some who haven't. More updates and musings to come! The flight is booked!

PLAN (sort of)

Two weekends ago I experienced one of my most difficult weekends here. Granted, it was entirely my fault, but do you ever just wake up on a Saturday and know instantly that it is not going to be a productive weekend? Well, it was like that for me. There have been a couple weekends now where I have sort of fallen into this hole… and I refuse to crawl out till Monday morning when I have to.

It’s been almost a month since I have written, and I’ve been avoiding it, because for a while I felt like I had to wait to write until I had sorted through all my feelings and made definitive decisions. Then I could write the end-all-be-all of blog posts where I proclaim to all of you on my mental and emotional progress and I reveal the all-mighty PLAN, all shiny and exciting.

Hello, my name is Sylvia Walter, and I am a procrastinator. I have been since I was young, and I have always tried to rise above it, but to no avail. Sometimes it’s like this internal battle with myself, my mind and my body are opposed to one another. My mind says, “Go out Sylvia! Frolic in the sun! Make the most of every day!”, but my body is lethargic, my limbs heavy, my heart… is just not in it. I don’t know why I act that way… I used to boast that in high school, I procrastinated to the point where every English paper I ever wrote was started the night before it was due. Even the 15 page saga on Plato’s “The Republic”. I was actually kind of proud of that. I never wrote a terrible paper. (tests are another story though…). I still remember the caffeine experience I had the morning after my first all-nighter in college. I had a double latte and spent the morning sitting in the hallway of the theatre starting out the window, my skin crawling and my nerves shot.

But this isn’t about that.

This past month I have been rolling over again and again trying to come to a decision whether or not I will stay here in Germany the full year or come back early. I have loved all my work in the lab, I couldn’t be luckier to be in such a supportive environment, but I don’t believe that clinical neurobiology research is the field I will continue in. The bottom line I guess, is that I have this feeling in my gut, or heart, whichever you prefer, and that is that. I have nothing negative to say about lab work and research because I have always had an intense admiration and idolization for those who do it, devote their lives to it, and are good at it. But what I have come to realize is I just don’t have the personality for it. And in all honesty I wish I did, because there was always a part of me that wanted to follow in footsteps of my parents, who both blazed a very appealing career path in science. And since I was the only child that appeared remotely interested in science, there were times that I felt it was up to me. This feeling was entirely self-generated, and I know that my parents never put pressure on me one way or the other. They have always said, and will continue to say that they just want me to be happy in whatever I do… (and prepared). And I absolutely love them for that, because it turns out that what I am happiest doing is kind of weird.

So long story short, I know that I want to continue seriously with circus, with teaching and with kids. However I can combine the three, I want to experiment and shape it till I find the perfect balance. That still seems a bit vague, but that is as close to THE PLAN as I feel comfortable getting to at this point.

Over the past two weeks, I have had heated arguments with every member of my family when we start to talk about my future. But the problem was that I was the one that was bursting into tears, flushing hot in the face and frankly, feeling attacked and criticized. My flare for drama was rearing its head every time someone in my family commented on THE PLAN. At first I thought the reason I was getting so upset was because of what they were saying, whether it be a wary opinion or some sage advice, but then after going through the same emotional roller coaster with all three of them, and feeling the depression increase after each conversation, I began to think that I was most upset by the fact that I was getting so upset, repeatedly.

It reminds me of when I would do something bad when I was a kid and my mother would send me on a time -out in her room. I would sit on her bed, in tears and indignant for all of one minute before the guilt overwhelmed me and I would run to her crying, apologetic, and bury my head in her stomach.

So right now I am at the part where I want to run and apologize for the way I acted.

Let’s get one thing straight though. My family backs me 100% when I say I want to run off and join the circus. And I have always known that, and everything they say to me about my PLAN has always been to help me further it along somehow. The problem comes (and when I start to get emotional and upset), is when I get critiqued on the actual planning and implementation of the plan. It is my procrastination, bubbling up inside me like a boiling kettle and lashing out when I feel like I’m being negatively judged on my process. It’s like I am fully aware that I have the procrastination monster inside me, but if you dare bring it up, I will respond with a howl of all the reasons why I am NOT a procrastinator.

~~~

I wrote this blog post last week, when the feelings were still fresh and I still had a lot of frustrations. I stopped here because I wasn’t really sure how to end it. I think the point of this post was mostly just to write out the words that were going around in my head. It’s super confusing when you argue with someone knowing they are actually on your side, it makes no sense and when it happened to me three-fold it really rocked my world. Everything with my family has since been resolved, but I still feel unsure of how to proceed with THE PLAN. But everyday something small gets done. And slowly, with baby steps, I am finding my way. *phew*

Hurray for the First of May!

Happy May day everyone! I snapped this in a park right by my flat where I spent my day laying in the grass, juggling, and playing with my new diabolo! I think it perfectly encompasses the feeling that the first of May should bring. Frolicking in the grass and sun without any underwear on! There were a ton of children and I regretted not bringing my other juggling equipment for them to play with. But they were all quite entertained with one another :)

So! Lots of events have transpired since I last wrote. A lot of my days have been boring and mundane, but many have also been great! Those days almost always involved juggling, children, or circus!

This last weekend, I was invited by a family friend to travel to Frankfurt for the day to participate in a protest. The city has made plans to build an underground museum under this park... which would require the destruction of all of it's beautiful trees! The community has decided to take action and it has been over a year now of monthly events in the park to encourage it's use and discourage the plans for building. It has been a success so far, and I was eager to get to the park and participate. I was also eager to get back into my Delilah costume... because I haven't seen her in so long, I honestly didn't know if she was still there deep inside me..... Like an alien..... Just kidding :)

But I surprised myself Sunday morning, because when I woke to get ready for my first solo gig EVER... my heart was all aflutter with fear, and sadness. This was not the feeling I was used to when getting ready for a gig. There were no other clowns to jazz up with, no Bus of Fun. I was looking forward to playing still, of course, but the great big realization of having to be the clown that takes care of absolutely everything reared it's ugly head. Eep! BUT, the show must go on! I had made an investment... literally and metaphorically. My bag was full of some shiny new toys (1 diabolo, 2 spinning plates, 3 juggling scarves and 9 juggling balls, yipee!). And off I went to the train station.

                   Anyone who has been to a country that has long distance trains will agree -- there is something about train traveling that has no equivalent. It has the romantic quality, the gentle rocking of the train as it passes field after field, little towns in the hillside and tiny train stations. The ride to Frankfurt is only an hour, but long enough to sit back and contemplate life... one feels at peace with the world and everything is simple and clear. Unlike flying, you're still grounded... you feel the earth as you travel and the distance is so much more tangible. I remember when I was in France for the first time, my favorite part of the whole trip was a train ride we took where a father and his young son got on and played the accordion while we zoomed along the tracks. I felt like I was in a fairy tale and was literally transported to the magical land of my imagination and inspiration. I will never forget that ride. But I digress. 

Fast forward to the park. All in all, it was a great day of play. I donned the Delilah dress, felt sheepish for about 10 minutes since I had no other clown comrades, but then sucked it up and played anyway! Met some awesome people and played games with a handful of children. It was a small event but I was a very small clown with not very many toys so it was actually quite perfect. Many of the kids were super little, so we made flags with the scarves and spinning plate sticks, played catch with the juggling balls, and wore the spinning plates as hats. It felt good to be in my element again, but I also realized that there are some key words I need to learn in German in order to engage in some actual teaching. All the key sentences I know in English are quite useless when it comes to the kids.

The first of May also has another special meaning to me. In the circus world, a clown's debut show is also known as their First of May. A German friend asked me why, the literal explanation just doesn't seem to make sense. So I said, a new clown in the ring brings a promise of happiness and joy that also comes with the beginning of Spring. Just like Spring, a clown brings laughter, smiles, warmth and inspiration!

As the day wound down, two little sisters who had been there all day with me got on their bikes to depart with their parents. The mother leaned down to tell her two year old to say goodbye. She waved her little hand, and then all of a sudden brought it to her mouth and blew me a fat kiss goodbye! I caught it, placed it safely in my heart, and blew one right back.

And that, my friends, made the whole experience worth it, and I carried that kiss all the way home.

PS. New Delilah shoes! They were sad boring black and white when I bought them....  :o)

Secrets of Science

Ever since I was little, I’ve always been proud to say my parents were scientists. In elementary school they would come into my class and do experiments, little ones like putting our hands in Petri dishes and watching the bacteria that grew, (I still remember the kid who had the most germs, his reputation in elementary school was forever changed after that). I think I had access to a particularly nerdy childhood having chemists for parents, because my dad kept all sorts of weird chemicals in the basement and access to even stranger things in the lab. On our birthdays there would be dry ice in the punch, and my dad would go around and pour the vapor over each of us. I don’t know how many people can accurately describe the feeling of dry ice vapor poured over their heads but my sister and I have a certain expertise in that area. The feeling is very much like what I think a Dementors kiss is like… Cold… it gives you the shivers like a ghost is caressing your face, but with weight, and the weight disappears before it reaches your shoulders. Strange.

In middle school, my dad came and gave a presentation on the biology of the cell to my class, describing the organelles and their functions. My science teacher, Mr. Cunningham, was a hard man to please and notorious for standing in the hallways during passing period and yelling “Get outta my hallway!” to any juvenile running late. He had a slight southern twang to his voice and I vividly remember the day he described addiction to us and described his family history of alcoholism and his own addiction to caffeine. We were all terrified of him. But he loved my parents and thus he loved me, and paid particular attention to me, expecting just a little bit more. I wish I could go back and see him again now that I’m a grown-up. I wonder if he would still be as tall and scary as I remember.

One day in high school, I remember coming home after chemistry class and telling my dad how we experimented with magnesium and lit it aflame. He asked how much and I said it was just a little bit, and we had to wear dark goggles or maybe it was lit under some cover, I don’t really remember now. But my dad didn’t think I had gotten the experience necessary to really appreciate magnesium’s qualities. So he proceeded to take me in the garden and pour a MASSIVE pile of magnesium on the stones. He then lit that and if you have ever seen magnesium burn it is white hot and bright like stars, absolutely beautiful, and awesome on a massive scale. I know my dad was trying to show me the things about science that first sparked his own interest.... pyrotechnics and the awesomeness that was basic chemistry.

We did other things too, one of my favorite was purifying unprocessed silver in the basement and making awesome silver bars (I felt like a pirate). Unfortunately we couldn’t do a lot of that because the fumes were a bit much and the ventilation in the basement wasn’t very good. You might be wondering, how did we get unprocessed silver? I’ll leave that up to your imagination right now, but I still feel like I have only an inkling of exactly how much treasure my dad has in our basement. (Funnily enough, unprocessed silver looks just like dirt. Really really heavy dirt.)

So… what about my obsession with science? Clearly my parents have always loved it, always done it and always will do it. But I wonder now how it rubbed off on me.

Anyone who knows me, knows that when some social or emotional situation occurs in my life, that takes priority. Whether it be friendships or love affairs, I have a self-narrative that reads like a novel, people are like chapters as they come and go in my life and have a huge effect on me. When I was younger my parents and my sister called it drama, and now that I’m older… well I guess it might still be drama but I’ve just learned how to handle myself better. The nice thing about studying people is that you get really good and communicating with them… most of the time.

But the point is, I think it comes as no surprise that I became interested in psychology because I do believe without a doubt that we are social creatures and the people we meet, or don’t meet, are going to define who we are. We think of ourselves in the context of others around us. And when they aren’t there, then their memory defines us. Many consider psychology a “soft science” because the mind isn’t something we can define, it is simply too complicated. We can’t get much further than theory, there is a clear lack of hard facts. But is that necessarily such a bad thing? I remember reading a wonderful quote in college:

“"If the human brain were so simple that we could understand it, we would be so simple that we couldn't."

-- Emerson M. Pugh

I love this quote. I think it is a perfect oxymoron. There is some amazing research going on in the world, let me tell you, but at the same time we are still just scratching the surface. And the beautiful thing about science is that there will always always ALWAYS be something left to discover, and something left a mystery.

I love psychology because it confirms what I have always known and felt about myself – I am complicated. My mind is a wonderful maze and I will never be defined. Humans are irrational, the ultimate biological anomaly simply because we woke up one day and considered the future, the past, and the self.

If I love psychology because of it’s ambiguity, then why am I here in Germany in a lab trying my luck at some hard science? The answer is, because I love the brain. The brain is amazing, and the human brain is simply a miracle. As my father would say, Mother Nature has made it very difficult for us to discover her secrets to life. We are like detectives, following the clues and usually stumbling unexpectedly on an answer we weren’t expecting. But we are learning, bit by bit, what it means to be human. Research is just an obsession for those who want answers. And even if we do discover every gene, and define every region of the brain and even count every neuron, the mystery and miracle of the human condition will still exist.  I don’t think we’ll ever be able to fully understand what it means to be human and I think that is exactly the point. We have to keep searching, keep experiencing and digging for clues because with every new experience we have the opportunity to understand a bit more about the self. What is most important in life (in my opinion) , is to always have the desire to discover. The curiosity. Whether it be discovering the world, the self, or the secrets of science. And I think I’ll try all three.