Dear friend,
I am fully content and accomplished specialist in my field. To be an expert means that if you don’t know something—nobody knows. Still, I chose to pursue a board exam to get a certification plaque to affirm my expertise. This means exposing myself to the full day taking an eight-hour long, multiple-choice, computer-based test. The last time I did anything like this was about ten years ago. So, what’s different this time around?
The first big difference was me! I certainly didn’t stress out over exam itself as I used to. Instead, I found myself worrying about things like the risk of deep venous thrombosis from the long hours of immobility (yes, I was), or be able to complete test before childcare is closed, or ever just avoiding dizzy spell from staring at the screen with my forehead all wrinkle up with the intense thought process. In other words, I was more concerned about my physical well-being than my examination performance!
The second difference was about system. Getting ready for the exam forces you to do thorough systematic review of knowledge. A formal exam prompts you to go over each topic one by one even over those that you find less interesting or even irrelevant. A systematic approach can close the knowledge gaps you didn’t even know you had. A side effect of it, though, is that I’m packed full of random medical facts that might or might not have any pertinence to my daily work.
It was also a great experiment to put into practice all modern study tools and techniques. The trick is to figure out what actually works for you, instead of sticking to method you wish worked. Spaced repetition and active recall are still great for memorization, as well as putting new information into the real-world context of which I had plenty of opportunities. AI chatbots were great to create practice tests and to put complex concepts into simple, digestible words.
By the way, have you heard about “threshold concepts” by Meyer and Land (2003)? These are concepts that are central for understanding the entire topic or discipline. I just call them “the keys,” and studying complex topic— “finding a key”. Once you’ve got the key, the door of understanding opens, and you can step into the magical garden of knowledge and gather your harvest.
* * *
Back to reading fiction.
For years I was a heavy non-fiction reader. Non-fiction always seemed the most useful, practical, and alive—real read. But Professor DeLisi encouraged me to read fiction too. He was even kind enough to recommend a few novels. One of them, perfect for the Halloween season, I took upon reading: The Dante Club by Matthew Pearl, a mystery (not a cozy type) based on Dante’s Inferno. It was rather a smooth transition into literary fiction because the book revolves around real historical figures who’d be familiar to anyone who ever felt in love with Boston: American poets James Lowell, Henry Longfellow (Dante’s actual translator), and even Ralph Waldo Emerson made an appearance.
Now, I’d like to make a case for reading fiction in case you’re also finding it difficult to get back into it.
Dante Alighieri, monument in Florence, Italy,
city that sentenced him to death
Above is the Vassall-Craigie-Longfellow House, a historical landmark open to the public.
In 1775, the house became the headquarter of General George Washington.
In 1843, the family of poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow bought the property, where he lived until his death in 1882. He was a professor in Harvard College and spoke perhaps eight languages and was familiar with many more.
On the right is an excerpt from his best-known, cheerful, and inspirational poem, A Psalm to Life, which explains our purpose in life in case we feel lost.
Fragment of “A Psalm to Life” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Cited from National Park Service site
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than today.
* * *
What is Halloween for me? It’s like a song of tolerance that can literally expand your mind.
When I just learned about Halloween, I was an adult, and it was a bit of a shock. Who would come up with this idea of cultivating horrors, glorifying spookiness, and playing with themes of death? I didn’t understand it and didn’t accept it. Halloween was alien to me.
This rejection grew into gut-level intolerance! All those eerie things stomping my doorsteps, demanding candy in broken teenage voices, jumping out of the bushes, hanging fake spiderwebs over my head. Skeletons (remains of the dead), ghosts (restless soles), and monsters (twisted creatures) were so proudly arranged in the front yards, supposedly joyful and family-friendly! Spiteful, grinning, mischievous pumpkins grated on me like fingernails on a chalkboard. I used to just turn off the lights on Halloween and "wasn't at home" for a night.
Then things changed. It started with a string of events. We went to a Halloween party where serious grown-ups were wearing pointed hats. Then I noticed that many coworkers wore all sorts of funny clothing: rabbit ears or a hat in the form of Dutch cheese (is that still considered clothing?). It just made people smile.
Unexpectedly, I found myself cooking pumpkin-apples soup. Then pumpkin muffins. Then pie. The next thing I knew, I wore an orange sweater with jacinth-colored leaves! And here we are, buying candy bags and waiting for the children impatiently. Will they come? Let’s turn on light on the porch!
The doorbell rings! Finally! Five monsters of very small stature forgot what they were supposed to say—my husband, wearing full king attire, made an impression.
“Trick or treat!” pale ghosts whispered finally. Everyone gets candy.
Next, tiny fairies jump with joy, noticing a woman with a pointed hat—that would be me—coming to open the door for them. We chat with the fairies and their mother while dad floats behind them in the shadows, keeping a watchful eye.
I suddenly recalled that, as kids, we used to play our own “panic room”. It was very excited, messy and innocent. So, what’s the difference?
“Happy Halloween” the cafeteria worker tells me. I wish her the same.
The ability to see two sides, to go from rejection to acceptance is precisely why we need to travel, and learn other people’s cultures. It allows us to draw the road map to understanding. It’s possible not only seeing both sides, but being both sides, although very difficult to imagine until we live it through ourselves.
Autumn 2024
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