The last few weeks have been a whirlwind during which I slept between 4-6 hours a night (no exaggeration) and somehow did not need to mainline coffee. I blame adrenaline. Last week felt like five straight days of goodbyes, see you laters, and last times. It was both easier and harder than I imagined it would be.
On Saturday morning, I had a lovely, quiet breakfast with the family that has hosted me so generously for the last six months and then loaded up my car and was on my way. My mom was nice enough to sign up for a two day road trip to keep me company. :-) Our drive took us out of TX and through LA, MS, and part of AL on 10E. We stayed overnight in Mobile, AL and then headed north to Atlanta on 65 and 85. It was surprisingly leisurely, which had been my goal in planning it out, and we were blessed with roughly zero traffic and decent weather.
It was important to me that I drive out of TX (a first for my car, which has, shockingly, never left the state before!). That first leg of the trip was sad and exciting in equal parts. Bittersweet. I was leaving home and going home. Mostly though, I spent it thinking about how deeply grateful I am to all the amazing people in my life. I often feel like I have a lot of homes in a lot of places and none of that would be possible without all the people who make those places home. I am especially thankful for the people who have given me family by inviting me into theirs. I doubt that there is any greater gift.
Serious stuff aside though, leaving Texas was a big deal and I needed to make sure I was well prepared. Because, I can't believe I'm saying this, some things might actually be better in Texas. Not all things (looking at you husband), but some things. So I moved to Georgia well stocked up on Whataburger spicy ketchup, HEB tortillas, and Platinum yeast (that last one isn't a TX thing but I haven't yet figured out where it is sold in GA). I planned a Whataburger stop in Louisiana and gleefully introduced my mom to the chain. I also brought a growler of BJ's root beer with me (again, not strictly TX but not in GA either). Husband hoped I would bring some wood for smoking, especially mesquite, but I ran out of room in the car. We'll just have to plan another road trip for that. I once brought my Publix brand staples up to Michigan and now I'm bringing my HEB staples to Georgia. At least I'll be set for a while as I settle in.
And that, somewhat anticlimactically, concludes my final post for Fifteen Hundred Miles South. It's hard to believe that I spent as much time "leaving" Texas, 18 months counted from when we first knew we would be moving, as I did "living" in Texas, counted from when I arrived to when we knew we were leaving.
I started my original blog, Eleven Hundred Miles North, when I moved away from Georgia. Now that I've moved back, I am debating whether or not to continue. I'm leaning toward starting a new blog and keeping it going but I'll spend some time thinking about it (and about whether I'll have enough to write about). I don't quite want to open it up to a vote but if you feel strongly one way or another, feel free to let me know. For now, thanks for reading!
Thursday, August 9, 2018
Tuesday, July 24, 2018
Final Countdown
I'm sitting in Hartsfield-Jackson again. I'm juggling my own proposals for funding and my student's papers, abstracts, and theses. (My own papers are somehow very secondary right now.) There's an older couple sitting across from me sharing a newspaper. The entire idea of having the time to read a newspaper (at all, let alone in a leisurely, chatty fashion with my spouse) is beyond me. I can't imagine what it feels like to not have ten different things to do right now and another fifty or so to do as soon as possible. My husband assures me that people who don't work for universities or research centers have some concept of leaving work (and not taking it with them). I don't know what that must feel like either. We're going on "vacation" this week and I have a minimum of two to four hours of work planned for every single day of it. I guess I could work the whole time but that would sort of defeat the point of taking time off wouldn't it?
The pace of work I am currently juggling is a bit frantic even for me. I usually at least try to not let work take over my life. Right at this moment though, it's not optional. In a little under two weeks, I will work my last day at the University of Houston, pack up what's left of my stuff, and drive to Georgia. There are things that absolutely have to be done before then but it's official- I'm moving.
The next reasonable question that anyone who knows me asks is "oh that's great! where did you finally find a job?" I didn't. After 18 long months of holding out on moving in order to find a job, I'm moving without one. The alternate title for this blog post was "Right isn't Easy" and that's an important part of what is going on with me right now.
I made the decision to move job-less a few months ago and it's been an emotional roller coaster every day since then. I've been haltingly asked so many times "you don't seem very happy with this decision?" There's no easy answer. Some days I can't wait to move. Other days I am absolutely crushed to be leaving a job that I genuinely love, where I work with people that I am happy to work with. It's a little like eating vegetables though- they don't always make you happy but they're definitely better for you. I didn't make this choice to make myself happy (or my husband happy for that matter), I made it for my own mental, emotional, and physical well-being. Unfortunately, the right thing is often really hard.
For someone who always has a plan for everything, not knowing what will come next is an incredible challenge. I'll probably look back someday in the future and think "oh, that was the plan all along, whether I knew it or not." In the meantime though, there's a lot of semi-aimless wandering happening and I'm ready to be done with it.
The pace of work I am currently juggling is a bit frantic even for me. I usually at least try to not let work take over my life. Right at this moment though, it's not optional. In a little under two weeks, I will work my last day at the University of Houston, pack up what's left of my stuff, and drive to Georgia. There are things that absolutely have to be done before then but it's official- I'm moving.
The next reasonable question that anyone who knows me asks is "oh that's great! where did you finally find a job?" I didn't. After 18 long months of holding out on moving in order to find a job, I'm moving without one. The alternate title for this blog post was "Right isn't Easy" and that's an important part of what is going on with me right now.
I made the decision to move job-less a few months ago and it's been an emotional roller coaster every day since then. I've been haltingly asked so many times "you don't seem very happy with this decision?" There's no easy answer. Some days I can't wait to move. Other days I am absolutely crushed to be leaving a job that I genuinely love, where I work with people that I am happy to work with. It's a little like eating vegetables though- they don't always make you happy but they're definitely better for you. I didn't make this choice to make myself happy (or my husband happy for that matter), I made it for my own mental, emotional, and physical well-being. Unfortunately, the right thing is often really hard.
For someone who always has a plan for everything, not knowing what will come next is an incredible challenge. I'll probably look back someday in the future and think "oh, that was the plan all along, whether I knew it or not." In the meantime though, there's a lot of semi-aimless wandering happening and I'm ready to be done with it.
Friday, July 6, 2018
The Reunion Blog
I still cringe a little to say it but this year marked my tenth anniversary of graduating from Colgate University. It feels like I blinked and ten years somehow passed in the space of that moment. As my husband and I flew into Syracuse, NY, I thought back to my last flight into SYR in the spring of 2008 after visiting Georgia Tech for the first time. Ten years later, I could still easily recall the palpable relief of almost being home at Colgate again. In fact, I would have happily stayed put in Hamilton, NY indefinitely because I couldn't imagine anywhere else in the world feeling as much like home as that small town did.
Ten years has changed a lot in that regard. Colgate still felt astonishingly familiar though (despite my indignation at some of the changes on campus). The only thing that felt out of place walking around campus with friends was that none of us were carrying backpacks or worrying about exams or assignments. I thought I would have more feelings returning to campus after so long but, instead, everything felt normal and great. In large part, I think that is due to the fact that I am still close to everyone that I was close to as I graduated. I talk to most of these friends frequently and catch up meaningfully with the friends that I cannot talk to as often. So much has changed in ten years but so much has also remained the same and that is an incredible gift.
Ten years has changed a lot in that regard. Colgate still felt astonishingly familiar though (despite my indignation at some of the changes on campus). The only thing that felt out of place walking around campus with friends was that none of us were carrying backpacks or worrying about exams or assignments. I thought I would have more feelings returning to campus after so long but, instead, everything felt normal and great. In large part, I think that is due to the fact that I am still close to everyone that I was close to as I graduated. I talk to most of these friends frequently and catch up meaningfully with the friends that I cannot talk to as often. So much has changed in ten years but so much has also remained the same and that is an incredible gift.
Sunday, June 17, 2018
Full Circle
This year marks ten years since I graduated from Colgate University with my Bachelor’s degree. Being a reunion year, I have thought more than usual about the decisions that led me from who and where I was then to who and where I am now. Chief among those decisions is my choice to go to Georgia Tech for graduate school rather than one of the other programs that offered me a place. It was a hard choice and I was deeply skeptical of moving to Atlanta. Another offer, from Boston University, was incredibly tempting. It would have kept me in the Northeast, where I was comfortable and things were familiar. I got along famously with the professor at BU who I would be working with and with some of the other faculty members. So how did I end up at Georgia Tech instead?
Most graduate schools invite accepted Master’s and Doctoral students to visit, meet with faculty and students, and get an in-person feel for the graduate program. It’s an important thing to do; the graduate program you are in will shape the next few years of your life (and possibly much more than that) and will have a supersized effect on your happiness and well-being. My visit to Boston University went really well all except for the moment when an older professor mentioned that female students didn’t have a place in graduate school. I don’t remember his name or even his exact words a decade later but I remember wondering if I could ever put myself through years in a program where I would undoubtedly have to take classes from someone who believed I shouldn’t be there not because I was personally unqualified but because of my gender.
I never had the heart to tell the young, female professor I would have been researching with why I really turned the program down.
While a graduate student at Georgia Tech, I spent many of my semesters as a Teaching Assistant (TA) for undergraduate lab classes. This entailed attending lectures, holding office hours, teaching lab sections, and grading papers. As a first year TA, I remember looking up to the older TA’s who had so much more experience and were so much less stressed about it than I was. Then, a few years later - though it felt quite sudden, I was the older TA. In the middle of a lecture on nuclear decay, the professor made a joke that I had been hearing since my first year.
”Do you know what degree girl’s go to college to get?”
”Mrs!”
Don’t ask me how he wrapped that up into the lecture material. He managed to include that little gem about twice a semester though. It wasn’t the only such comment he made either. Everyone taking his classes knew that he thought relatively little of women in college. I rolled my eyes and went back to watching the lecture. I had so neatly written off the comment that I had heard so many times before at that point that I was confused when one of the first year TA’s came up to me after class to ask how I could stand ”it.”
“Haven’t you been TA-ing for him for years?” she asked me. “How can you stand him being so disrespectful?” The real answer was “Yes but I like getting paid and just want to graduate already.” I’m sure I said something else in reality though. The new TA asked to be switched to another class and was accommodated. I simultaneously admired her and thought it was a bit of a futile move – she was just replaced with a different female TA. The next time the professor made a sexist comment, something super witty about women belonging in the kitchen, it was harder to shake off. What I had previously accepted as normal started to feel embarrassing.
I had bigger fish to fry though. I was a fifth year and months away from graduating. I continued my teaching job. I graduated. I only occasionally thought back on the professor and his commentary on women.
Very recently, I was on a conference call with a group of researchers. Someone’s name was mentioned that I did not recognize and I did some searching to find out who they were and what they were working on. Alongside professional search results was an article in Science that mentioned the researcher. Naturally curious, I opened it and was pretty shocked to find myself reading about a professor at Boston University that was brought up on sexual harassment charges years after the fact because graduate students had been unwilling to jeopardize their careers. I’ve included a link to the article at the bottom of this post though I will warn that I found it to be pretty upsetting.
I can’t know now whether the professor in the article is the same one who once made a comment to me that heavily influenced my choice of where to go to graduate school. There is a good chance that it is though. I can’t help but think that I dodged a bullet. I've struggled with how to conclude this post. Should things like this happen? No. Will they continue to happen? Probably yes. Do I feel like I am better at handling criticism and inappropriate comments following my time in graduate school? Yes. Will everyone else feel the same? Nope.
http://www.sciencemag.org/news/2017/10/disturbing-allegations-sexual-harassment-antarctica-leveled-noted-scientist
Most graduate schools invite accepted Master’s and Doctoral students to visit, meet with faculty and students, and get an in-person feel for the graduate program. It’s an important thing to do; the graduate program you are in will shape the next few years of your life (and possibly much more than that) and will have a supersized effect on your happiness and well-being. My visit to Boston University went really well all except for the moment when an older professor mentioned that female students didn’t have a place in graduate school. I don’t remember his name or even his exact words a decade later but I remember wondering if I could ever put myself through years in a program where I would undoubtedly have to take classes from someone who believed I shouldn’t be there not because I was personally unqualified but because of my gender.
I never had the heart to tell the young, female professor I would have been researching with why I really turned the program down.
While a graduate student at Georgia Tech, I spent many of my semesters as a Teaching Assistant (TA) for undergraduate lab classes. This entailed attending lectures, holding office hours, teaching lab sections, and grading papers. As a first year TA, I remember looking up to the older TA’s who had so much more experience and were so much less stressed about it than I was. Then, a few years later - though it felt quite sudden, I was the older TA. In the middle of a lecture on nuclear decay, the professor made a joke that I had been hearing since my first year.
”Do you know what degree girl’s go to college to get?”
”Mrs!”
Don’t ask me how he wrapped that up into the lecture material. He managed to include that little gem about twice a semester though. It wasn’t the only such comment he made either. Everyone taking his classes knew that he thought relatively little of women in college. I rolled my eyes and went back to watching the lecture. I had so neatly written off the comment that I had heard so many times before at that point that I was confused when one of the first year TA’s came up to me after class to ask how I could stand ”it.”
“Haven’t you been TA-ing for him for years?” she asked me. “How can you stand him being so disrespectful?” The real answer was “Yes but I like getting paid and just want to graduate already.” I’m sure I said something else in reality though. The new TA asked to be switched to another class and was accommodated. I simultaneously admired her and thought it was a bit of a futile move – she was just replaced with a different female TA. The next time the professor made a sexist comment, something super witty about women belonging in the kitchen, it was harder to shake off. What I had previously accepted as normal started to feel embarrassing.
I had bigger fish to fry though. I was a fifth year and months away from graduating. I continued my teaching job. I graduated. I only occasionally thought back on the professor and his commentary on women.
Very recently, I was on a conference call with a group of researchers. Someone’s name was mentioned that I did not recognize and I did some searching to find out who they were and what they were working on. Alongside professional search results was an article in Science that mentioned the researcher. Naturally curious, I opened it and was pretty shocked to find myself reading about a professor at Boston University that was brought up on sexual harassment charges years after the fact because graduate students had been unwilling to jeopardize their careers. I’ve included a link to the article at the bottom of this post though I will warn that I found it to be pretty upsetting.
I can’t know now whether the professor in the article is the same one who once made a comment to me that heavily influenced my choice of where to go to graduate school. There is a good chance that it is though. I can’t help but think that I dodged a bullet. I've struggled with how to conclude this post. Should things like this happen? No. Will they continue to happen? Probably yes. Do I feel like I am better at handling criticism and inappropriate comments following my time in graduate school? Yes. Will everyone else feel the same? Nope.
http://www.sciencemag.org/news/2017/10/disturbing-allegations-sexual-harassment-antarctica-leveled-noted-scientist
Sunday, June 3, 2018
Doing Things by Halves
Here's a very quick post (only one week late) while I work on some longer posts...
Last Monday, Memorial Day, my husband and I celebrated our eighth anniversary of being us. On Memorial Day 2010, we had our first date - a flight around Atlanta and dinner. We've been both flying and eating out together ever since then. This year also marked a milestone that we won't ever hit again - we've been married for half of our relationship. After I mentioned that, my husband quipped "And we've lived together for half our marriage!"
All of this makes me wonder where we'll be in another eight years. If I've learned anything though, it's safe to say that we probably won't be anywhere or doing anything that I'd expect.
Last Monday, Memorial Day, my husband and I celebrated our eighth anniversary of being us. On Memorial Day 2010, we had our first date - a flight around Atlanta and dinner. We've been both flying and eating out together ever since then. This year also marked a milestone that we won't ever hit again - we've been married for half of our relationship. After I mentioned that, my husband quipped "And we've lived together for half our marriage!"
All of this makes me wonder where we'll be in another eight years. If I've learned anything though, it's safe to say that we probably won't be anywhere or doing anything that I'd expect.
Thursday, May 10, 2018
My Least Favorite Weekend
My current work arrangement has me working two weeks of each month from Atlanta and two weeks of each month from Houston. Despite seemingly splitting each month in half, I effectively spend one weekend a month in Houston and three in Atlanta, not counting traveling in and out. The first weekend in Atlanta (somehow this is "weekend 1" in my mind) is my favorite. We often don't schedule much because we don't quite know when I'll be arriving. Weekend 1 is relaxing and I have two whole weeks of being home to look forward to. Weekend 2 is my second weekend in Atlanta and it's almost always packed with seeing all the friends we want to see and doing all the things we want to do. There's nothing relaxing about it but it's great none-the-less.
This weekend is weekend 3. Regardless of what we have going on (and this weekend's plans are pretty great), it's my least favorite weekend. In my mind, it's not weekend 3, it's leaving weekend. By Friday, I'm looking at what I'll need to pack up, even though it's very minimal. By Saturday, I'm asking myself why I keep dragging myself back and forth between Houston and Atlanta. I know that I'll be bribing myself to get moving on Monday morning (at 5am) with a treat on the way to work.
It's alright though because the next weekend is weekend 4. Weekend 4 is pretty great. I get to catch up with friends in Houston that I feel like I haven't seen in way too long. I sleep in. And, best of all, it's only five days until I get to go home again.
This weekend is weekend 3. Regardless of what we have going on (and this weekend's plans are pretty great), it's my least favorite weekend. In my mind, it's not weekend 3, it's leaving weekend. By Friday, I'm looking at what I'll need to pack up, even though it's very minimal. By Saturday, I'm asking myself why I keep dragging myself back and forth between Houston and Atlanta. I know that I'll be bribing myself to get moving on Monday morning (at 5am) with a treat on the way to work.
It's alright though because the next weekend is weekend 4. Weekend 4 is pretty great. I get to catch up with friends in Houston that I feel like I haven't seen in way too long. I sleep in. And, best of all, it's only five days until I get to go home again.
Wednesday, April 11, 2018
Lent and Loss
Two days before Lent began this year, we lost our precious cat MT to complications from heart disease. He was six years old and we didn't even know he was sick. Instead of giving up soda or going to daily Mass, my Lent became wholly focused on mourning. It was seasonally appropriate and I had no energy for anything else anyway. I thought the whole process would feel productive come Easter- that there would be some peace to be found on Easter morning. I rarely use the word "optimistic" to characterize myself but my hopes for Lent and for Easter were definitely optimistic.
So let's back up two months. I had flown home to Atlanta for the weekend on a whim to attend a friend's birthday party as a surprise. Everything at home was just fine- including our cats MT and Kaylee. I caught an early Sunday morning flight back to Houston for another week of work. Just hours later, my husband was calling to say that MT had collapsed, that he couldn't move his back legs, that they were going to the emergency vet. Hundreds of miles away, I did the only things I could think of- I prayed and I Googled. I was in the middle of Mass, where I had made a special exception from my normal routine and brought my phone in just in case there was news, when I next heard anything. We hadn't known MT had a heart condition, he hadn't shown any signs, but it was pretty advanced. A blood clot was obstructing the arteries to his legs (a saddle thrombus) and he was in congestive heart failure. The vet suggested that I fly back as soon as possible.
As soon as Mass finished, the couple I am currently staying with packed me a dinner and drove me to the airport. All I can say is that caring for people is always among the most meaningful things a person can do but that caring for someone in a bad situation takes on special significance and meaning. I won't drag readers through what the next excruciating hours were like for us. I do owe thanks to a handful of friends who were on hand to offer emergency advice and input, even if it meant getting dragged out of bed to do it. We kept our baby boy as comfortable as possible while trying any avenue open to us and to him. Aside from giving us some small peace of mind that we had tried everything we could, that we had gotten second and third opinions, it was all for naught.
I'd like to say that there was some silver lining in the whole thing. That at least my husband and I were together. That at least our baby boy was not alone. That at least there were not months of suffering. Absolutely none of it makes me feel any better though. Not everyone feels so strongly about their pets but, to us, MT was a child, our child. Not a day goes by that I do not feel like I am walking around missing something essential, like there is a hole in me.
I don't share all of this for extra sympathy and indeed that whole conversation makes me a little uncomfortable. I share it because it is a thing that happened and I'd rather write about it here than talk about it. I also share this because we cannot know what the people we encounter are dealing with at any given point in time. These last two months have been a powerful reminder of that. And yet, without knowing the backstory, we still have to interact with people all day, every day. At a time when I struggle to have patience, to be kind, to not be angry, I also remember why these things are so incredibly important.
Like all loss, time will ameliorate this one but it hasn't happened yet.
So let's back up two months. I had flown home to Atlanta for the weekend on a whim to attend a friend's birthday party as a surprise. Everything at home was just fine- including our cats MT and Kaylee. I caught an early Sunday morning flight back to Houston for another week of work. Just hours later, my husband was calling to say that MT had collapsed, that he couldn't move his back legs, that they were going to the emergency vet. Hundreds of miles away, I did the only things I could think of- I prayed and I Googled. I was in the middle of Mass, where I had made a special exception from my normal routine and brought my phone in just in case there was news, when I next heard anything. We hadn't known MT had a heart condition, he hadn't shown any signs, but it was pretty advanced. A blood clot was obstructing the arteries to his legs (a saddle thrombus) and he was in congestive heart failure. The vet suggested that I fly back as soon as possible.
As soon as Mass finished, the couple I am currently staying with packed me a dinner and drove me to the airport. All I can say is that caring for people is always among the most meaningful things a person can do but that caring for someone in a bad situation takes on special significance and meaning. I won't drag readers through what the next excruciating hours were like for us. I do owe thanks to a handful of friends who were on hand to offer emergency advice and input, even if it meant getting dragged out of bed to do it. We kept our baby boy as comfortable as possible while trying any avenue open to us and to him. Aside from giving us some small peace of mind that we had tried everything we could, that we had gotten second and third opinions, it was all for naught.
I'd like to say that there was some silver lining in the whole thing. That at least my husband and I were together. That at least our baby boy was not alone. That at least there were not months of suffering. Absolutely none of it makes me feel any better though. Not everyone feels so strongly about their pets but, to us, MT was a child, our child. Not a day goes by that I do not feel like I am walking around missing something essential, like there is a hole in me.
I don't share all of this for extra sympathy and indeed that whole conversation makes me a little uncomfortable. I share it because it is a thing that happened and I'd rather write about it here than talk about it. I also share this because we cannot know what the people we encounter are dealing with at any given point in time. These last two months have been a powerful reminder of that. And yet, without knowing the backstory, we still have to interact with people all day, every day. At a time when I struggle to have patience, to be kind, to not be angry, I also remember why these things are so incredibly important.
Like all loss, time will ameliorate this one but it hasn't happened yet.
Wednesday, March 28, 2018
Eight years of waiting
My husband has been considering what his next car will be for as long as we've been dating. If you aren't sure, that would be 8 years. He's been saving money for the "next" car for at least the last 4 years. I've lost count of the number of auto shows, showroom visits, and test drives that have gone towards this endeavor. In the beginning, it was fun to think about in a "sometime in the future" way. A few years in, it became a more serious undertaking and I found myself getting invested in each of the cars on the list. A few years after that, I had more or less given up on a new car materializing. I was worn out from the search years before it was over and, by this year, just nodded and (sometimes) smiled when a new option was raised. Mostly I was just hoping it would all get wrapped up soon.
In the end, it all happened far quicker than I would have guessed. After (truly) exhaustive research, we are now the proud owners of a Tesla and are learning about the (frequently weird) switch from gas to electric cars. For starters, it's a lot quieter. Though, compared to the 2003 Mustang with the extra-loud, after-market exhaust system, that was pretty much a guarantee for almost any new car. I'm not sure it has fully sunk in that we will not need to be stopping at gas stations any time soon though my husband has already noted the days he would usually be stopping to fill up. (Not to worry, my Subaru will keep making routine gas stops.) In the meantime, neither of us has any intuitive sense of what a "good" Watt-hours per Mile (WhpM) rate is - something that will take a while to get used to after a lifetime of considering MpG.
My husband has also now gained bragging rights to the nominal title of "best environmentalist in the house," leap-frogging any of my efforts to compost, recycle, and reuse. If I was still living in the UP and bike commuting, I could probably maintain the lead in this household not-a-competition-competition but there's no way for me to manage bike commuting in my current circumstances in TX (I checked). I walk to the grocery store... does that count?
All joking (and Tesla shaped keys) aside, from a technological perspective, the car is really cool. For starters, the largely touch screen based interfaces make me constantly re-think the definition of "car." The driving itself is incredibly smooth and my husband has not yet stopped being as excited as a child on Christmas morning about the acceleration. Especially considering my day job, which involves a lot of LiDAR data collection, analysis, and processing as well as other forms of remote sensing, the technology and algorithms that drive the car's autopilot fascinate and excite me like a child on Christmas. The system has definite limitations but seeing all that technology realized in the day to day world is amazing.
Also the key is indeed really cool. Apparently, we're both five years old at heart.
In the end, it all happened far quicker than I would have guessed. After (truly) exhaustive research, we are now the proud owners of a Tesla and are learning about the (frequently weird) switch from gas to electric cars. For starters, it's a lot quieter. Though, compared to the 2003 Mustang with the extra-loud, after-market exhaust system, that was pretty much a guarantee for almost any new car. I'm not sure it has fully sunk in that we will not need to be stopping at gas stations any time soon though my husband has already noted the days he would usually be stopping to fill up. (Not to worry, my Subaru will keep making routine gas stops.) In the meantime, neither of us has any intuitive sense of what a "good" Watt-hours per Mile (WhpM) rate is - something that will take a while to get used to after a lifetime of considering MpG.
My husband has also now gained bragging rights to the nominal title of "best environmentalist in the house," leap-frogging any of my efforts to compost, recycle, and reuse. If I was still living in the UP and bike commuting, I could probably maintain the lead in this household not-a-competition-competition but there's no way for me to manage bike commuting in my current circumstances in TX (I checked). I walk to the grocery store... does that count?
All joking (and Tesla shaped keys) aside, from a technological perspective, the car is really cool. For starters, the largely touch screen based interfaces make me constantly re-think the definition of "car." The driving itself is incredibly smooth and my husband has not yet stopped being as excited as a child on Christmas morning about the acceleration. Especially considering my day job, which involves a lot of LiDAR data collection, analysis, and processing as well as other forms of remote sensing, the technology and algorithms that drive the car's autopilot fascinate and excite me like a child on Christmas. The system has definite limitations but seeing all that technology realized in the day to day world is amazing.
Also the key is indeed really cool. Apparently, we're both five years old at heart.
Wednesday, March 7, 2018
Unexpected and Uplifting
We sold our home in Texas back in August 2017. At the time, I had six months remaining on my contract at University of Houston. Some good friends of ours were nice enough to take me in and give me a place to live for the duration. Back in August, I was optimistically sure that I would find a job long before the end of January. By Christmas, I was beginning to accept that I wouldn't be relocated to Atlanta by the new year.
Fortunately (or unfortunately), I was offered a contract extension for six months and my boss was willing to let me work two weeks of each month remotely. I was genuinely torn between wanting to move to Atlanta and live full time in my own house with my own family and wanting to continue with a job that I really enjoy. I decided to take the contract extension, which left me needing to find a new place to live. I considered getting my own apartment, which sounded really nice in quite a few ways. All of our furniture and kitchen supplies had long been relocated to Atlanta though so I knew that option was possible but impractical.
Another close friend offered me a quick save when they found me a place to live with another woman who was married and living apart from her spouse for a while. The opportunity seemed too good to pass up with one unfortunate downside- the new arrangement would move me across town, over an hour away from the SE Houston area I had lived in since 2015. So, with no small degree of sadness, I let my friends in the area know. I also let the volunteer group I've worked with since 2015 know that I wouldn't be around anymore for routine activities.
By 12 hours after my "last" volunteer meeting, I had received no less than four offers for places to live. I was floored. I was stunned. There was crying involved. Most of all, I was panicked. In true 'me' fashion, I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings and also wanted to work out what would be best for me. In the end, I took up one of the offers from a fellow volunteer.
At risk of repeating myself, this transition has been really difficult. It's been tough emotionally, mentally, and even physically, especially when I'm bouncing from place to place, getting little sleep and plenty of germ exposure. Being surrounded by so many amazing people in both Houston and Atlanta though has made it easier every step of the way. That was certainly true before my most recent move but it was really driven home for me in the face of so much generosity.
Fortunately (or unfortunately), I was offered a contract extension for six months and my boss was willing to let me work two weeks of each month remotely. I was genuinely torn between wanting to move to Atlanta and live full time in my own house with my own family and wanting to continue with a job that I really enjoy. I decided to take the contract extension, which left me needing to find a new place to live. I considered getting my own apartment, which sounded really nice in quite a few ways. All of our furniture and kitchen supplies had long been relocated to Atlanta though so I knew that option was possible but impractical.
Another close friend offered me a quick save when they found me a place to live with another woman who was married and living apart from her spouse for a while. The opportunity seemed too good to pass up with one unfortunate downside- the new arrangement would move me across town, over an hour away from the SE Houston area I had lived in since 2015. So, with no small degree of sadness, I let my friends in the area know. I also let the volunteer group I've worked with since 2015 know that I wouldn't be around anymore for routine activities.
By 12 hours after my "last" volunteer meeting, I had received no less than four offers for places to live. I was floored. I was stunned. There was crying involved. Most of all, I was panicked. In true 'me' fashion, I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings and also wanted to work out what would be best for me. In the end, I took up one of the offers from a fellow volunteer.
At risk of repeating myself, this transition has been really difficult. It's been tough emotionally, mentally, and even physically, especially when I'm bouncing from place to place, getting little sleep and plenty of germ exposure. Being surrounded by so many amazing people in both Houston and Atlanta though has made it easier every step of the way. That was certainly true before my most recent move but it was really driven home for me in the face of so much generosity.
Friday, February 2, 2018
Science Fails
There is a lot of good science out there and often I finish reading a paper feeling proud and impressed by what researchers have done. They can't all be winners though. I am currently involved in writing a review paper. For anyone not familiar with that terminology, a review paper covers a large swath of material within a sub-discipline. It's a little bit like a summary paper- it summarizes the work of a lot of people and (hopefully) puts all the research in perspective. A review paper, then, involves reading a LOT of other papers. My last review paper had a reference list that exceeded 20 typed pages.
For the current review that I am working on, I have already read roughly 40 papers. It can get a little (or a lot) tedious and is a type of work that I prefer breaking up into manageable chunks with time for "real" research activities in between each piece. Anyway, none of that is really important. When you read a lot of papers, you are bound to come up with a few that are not winners. I have been so amused by these that I decided to blog about them so that, hopefully, you can be amused by them too.
I'll leave any identifying information off of the blog. The works referenced below are not bad works. Sometimes in science, you have to prove something very obvious so that you can take that information and use it in a more in-depth study later on. I myself have had to write some obvious statements in papers because sometimes it is what is called for to prove your point. So, these are not bad works. The authors are not bad scientists. The science in their papers did move their respective fields forward. But WOW were there a few noteworthy, less-than-brilliant, conclusions in the bunch. So, without further ado, I present you the most winning science I've encountered recently.
More snow takes longer to melt.
Inter-tree distances increase following wildfires.
Just remember, you read these breaking, newsworthy assertions here first (probably, unless you've also read these remarkable pieces of human ingenuity).
For the current review that I am working on, I have already read roughly 40 papers. It can get a little (or a lot) tedious and is a type of work that I prefer breaking up into manageable chunks with time for "real" research activities in between each piece. Anyway, none of that is really important. When you read a lot of papers, you are bound to come up with a few that are not winners. I have been so amused by these that I decided to blog about them so that, hopefully, you can be amused by them too.
I'll leave any identifying information off of the blog. The works referenced below are not bad works. Sometimes in science, you have to prove something very obvious so that you can take that information and use it in a more in-depth study later on. I myself have had to write some obvious statements in papers because sometimes it is what is called for to prove your point. So, these are not bad works. The authors are not bad scientists. The science in their papers did move their respective fields forward. But WOW were there a few noteworthy, less-than-brilliant, conclusions in the bunch. So, without further ado, I present you the most winning science I've encountered recently.
More snow takes longer to melt.
Inter-tree distances increase following wildfires.
Just remember, you read these breaking, newsworthy assertions here first (probably, unless you've also read these remarkable pieces of human ingenuity).
Wednesday, January 17, 2018
Well Meant, Poorly Executed
Let's categorize my current situation as special. I am in a position where it is far easier to get a job if I have a job to begin with. That statement could easily apply to people in any number of careers but tends to be especially true in an academic setting where much of my suitability in the job market stems from having published papers and submitted proposals recently. So, after much conversation and debate, both I and my husband have agreed that, while living apart is difficult, it is the best choice for the long run. We reevaluate our decision frequently.
Last month, at a conference for work, it came up a few times in conversation that I am looking for a new position in a different city to accommodate my spouse's career. While horror was not the universal response, it was the predominant one. At one point, I was discussing my situation with another female scientist who immediately asked why I was "throwing away my career to live with my husband" with a look on her face that I will never forget. She, I was informed, had lived in a different state from her husband for years. I am sure that she was trying to be supportive. Somehow. The whole encounter made me feel awful and gave me plenty of food for thought.
Plenty of research groups, advocacy groups, and individuals are busily trying to assess why women are getting PhD's at the same rate as men (in many, though certainly not all, fields) but there are still far fewer female faculty than there are male faculty. It is certainly a complex issue and I have no intention to even try to fully address it here. However, the attitude that the female scientist embodied, that I have been faced with more times than I have bothered to count, probably doesn't help. I would like to believe that she thought she was encouraging me, a young scientist, to pursue my own career. Her attitude though was dismissive of my relationship, my spouse, and my feelings. It did more to discourage me than it did to encourage me. Her immediate, uninformed, assumption that both I and my husband value his career more highly than mine (we don't) was infuriating and embarrassing.
There is a flip side to this coin (story) though. Last week, I was sent a series of emails from a well meaning friend asking why I hadn't just quit my job yet so that I could go live with my husband. I was informed that it would be the better decision for us regardless of what I or my husband thought. They were, again, probably well meant. I struggled to not reply sarcastically or in anger. I was, in fact, somewhat boggled as to how to reply. It took me a whole 24 hours. While it was the most aggressive instance of this I have encountered, it was far from the first.
I remain thankful for all of our friends who understand that we are currently doing our best in a less than ideal situation. I am especially thankful that most of my actual colleagues understand that I'd like to have a good, challenging job and also be able to live with my spouse. I am always open to talking with people about their opinions and, especially, their similar experiences. My family's decisions might not be someone else's though and that's okay.
Last month, at a conference for work, it came up a few times in conversation that I am looking for a new position in a different city to accommodate my spouse's career. While horror was not the universal response, it was the predominant one. At one point, I was discussing my situation with another female scientist who immediately asked why I was "throwing away my career to live with my husband" with a look on her face that I will never forget. She, I was informed, had lived in a different state from her husband for years. I am sure that she was trying to be supportive. Somehow. The whole encounter made me feel awful and gave me plenty of food for thought.
Plenty of research groups, advocacy groups, and individuals are busily trying to assess why women are getting PhD's at the same rate as men (in many, though certainly not all, fields) but there are still far fewer female faculty than there are male faculty. It is certainly a complex issue and I have no intention to even try to fully address it here. However, the attitude that the female scientist embodied, that I have been faced with more times than I have bothered to count, probably doesn't help. I would like to believe that she thought she was encouraging me, a young scientist, to pursue my own career. Her attitude though was dismissive of my relationship, my spouse, and my feelings. It did more to discourage me than it did to encourage me. Her immediate, uninformed, assumption that both I and my husband value his career more highly than mine (we don't) was infuriating and embarrassing.
There is a flip side to this coin (story) though. Last week, I was sent a series of emails from a well meaning friend asking why I hadn't just quit my job yet so that I could go live with my husband. I was informed that it would be the better decision for us regardless of what I or my husband thought. They were, again, probably well meant. I struggled to not reply sarcastically or in anger. I was, in fact, somewhat boggled as to how to reply. It took me a whole 24 hours. While it was the most aggressive instance of this I have encountered, it was far from the first.
I remain thankful for all of our friends who understand that we are currently doing our best in a less than ideal situation. I am especially thankful that most of my actual colleagues understand that I'd like to have a good, challenging job and also be able to live with my spouse. I am always open to talking with people about their opinions and, especially, their similar experiences. My family's decisions might not be someone else's though and that's okay.
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