I was having a serious life conversation with a student in crisis. We discussed many things, most of which I can't share. Too personal, too raw. But I did relate one story, one thing that, at the time, seemed relevant. It's not very personal, and was probably the most boring thing I had to say to him that meeting. But it's part of me that I want to write down, because it's a small piece of history that may matter to me more as I grow older.
When I was a junior in college, I took a History of the Soviet Empire class, taught by a German with the surname O'Donoghue. Despite the confusion inherent in that, it was a very enjoyable class.
We got to choose our research topics, and for whatever reason I chose the Polish-Soviet War of 1919-1921. I can't remember much from the paper; I did pull an all-nighter for it, but I definitely put some work into it. The tumultuous years of a Trotskeyite Soviet Empire, the Miracle on the Vistula, the heroic/despotic arc of Pilsudskii -- it was very compelling.
Senior year, I ran into an astronomer from Poland at the American Astronomical Society meeting in San Diego. I happened to mention that I had had the opportunity to study a bit of Polish history.
He would've been within his rights to dismiss me, politely or not, for presumption. But instead, we chatted a bit. Not surprisingly, the "Miracle on the Vistula", the triumphant defeat of Soviet forces at the gates of Warsaw by the Polish army, was suppressed knowledge under Communism. But he had heard stories and whispers growing up. The story was a source of pride and inspiration to those growing up under Communism.
It was a nice moment, one in which, for a moment, we were separated from the bubble of theoretical considerations. But perhaps it's not surprising, or even uncommon. Astronomers, when they look into the sky, are always looking into the past.
I hope my student knows that these scientists are not gods. They are women and men, flesh and blood, with their own histories and dark chapters. Gods are meant to be feared and worshiped. But people, ordinary people doing extraordinary things, they are meant to be held, and loved, and encouraged.
I hope this young man realizes that he belongs in science, if he chooses a home there... not in spite of his vulnerabilities, but because of them.
Showing posts with label HMC. Show all posts
Showing posts with label HMC. Show all posts
Sunday, February 14, 2016
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Hijab
A week ago I was at a Panera near Cal State Fullerton. I passed by a woman wearing a hijab. I might've paused half a second. She noticed me, and perhaps noticed the pause. I wondered how she had interpreted it. Did she give it any thought? Is she used to it? It passed, though it lingered. I had a vague sense of guilt or sorrow about the whole thing.
How does one go up to someone and say:
I looked at you, but did not intend to gawk. I looked at you not because I am a fearful reactionary, nor because I'm an objectifying male. I perhaps looked without any present emotions, because I wasn't really looking at you. But you weren't an abstraction of a race or a faith. You were an echo of a specific person I had met in college, a woman who I didn't really know, and still don't, but who, ten years after we had graduated, had engaged me in a conversation that convinced me that we understood each other and our younger selves better.
I look at you, or through you, to the past, and realize that I had never talked with her about the hijab, though she had explained at the beginning of school (coincidentally, a few days before September 11) that it represented modesty, though then, and now, I did not know if it represented an act of modesty or itself served as a reminder, a totem, to be modest in our endeavors.
I had not talked with her about faith, or family, or hardly anything. A small school can seem so impossibly vast sometimes.
And now I did not see you, or her. I saw an idea -- that the people I had met, I had treated as representatives of types, used them to understand the identity or identities they claimed, or disclaimed, or reclaimed. And too, too often, I didn't see the person.
And yet how grateful I am, that I have pokemoned my way to some rude decency and understanding, that I would find it at least somewhat difficult to ascribe broad traits to swaths of society. Grateful at good moments -- smugly self-satisfied at worse moments -- and dangerously vulnerable and reactionary on matters of identity in the worst moments of all. But my judgment seems somewhat sane, even if my advocacy is timid.
To know how a person values and weighs their identities, which ones are superordinate or subordinate, how contextual is that ranking, how unstable and self-contradictory are the weights in the expression of thought or deed, I might have to know them better than I have known any person. Perhaps I wouldn't be equal to the task. Perhaps it would destroy the relationship; there is, of course, a difference between empathy and dissection.
When I go into the world, am I the example floating in someone's mind of the Japanese ethnicity? Or of a scientist, laughable as that possibility seems to me? Maybe. And maybe that knowledge will, or should, change me.
This is a bizarre and self-indulgent entry, even by the standards of this blog. And yet, the gulf between the dominant identities I carry around within my own head and those projected onto me is probably the source of most of my major failings.
So to the person of the past -- I'm sorry we never had a chat about you, or what you wanted me, or others, to know. I neither want to assume that these fifteen years, or thirty years, have been difficult for you, nor communicate that a complicated and variegated sense of self can or should be summed up in any one aspect of external appearance, even, and perhaps especially, clothing. And yet I fear that I have abstracted away the actual you.
And to the stranger of the present, thank you for setting my thoughts along a different course, one that will hopefully get me out of my headspace and into the world.
The lines and internet are always slow there, at the Panera.
The lines and internal thoughts are always slow here.
How does one go up to someone and say:
I looked at you, but did not intend to gawk. I looked at you not because I am a fearful reactionary, nor because I'm an objectifying male. I perhaps looked without any present emotions, because I wasn't really looking at you. But you weren't an abstraction of a race or a faith. You were an echo of a specific person I had met in college, a woman who I didn't really know, and still don't, but who, ten years after we had graduated, had engaged me in a conversation that convinced me that we understood each other and our younger selves better.
I look at you, or through you, to the past, and realize that I had never talked with her about the hijab, though she had explained at the beginning of school (coincidentally, a few days before September 11) that it represented modesty, though then, and now, I did not know if it represented an act of modesty or itself served as a reminder, a totem, to be modest in our endeavors.
I had not talked with her about faith, or family, or hardly anything. A small school can seem so impossibly vast sometimes.
And now I did not see you, or her. I saw an idea -- that the people I had met, I had treated as representatives of types, used them to understand the identity or identities they claimed, or disclaimed, or reclaimed. And too, too often, I didn't see the person.
And yet how grateful I am, that I have pokemoned my way to some rude decency and understanding, that I would find it at least somewhat difficult to ascribe broad traits to swaths of society. Grateful at good moments -- smugly self-satisfied at worse moments -- and dangerously vulnerable and reactionary on matters of identity in the worst moments of all. But my judgment seems somewhat sane, even if my advocacy is timid.
To know how a person values and weighs their identities, which ones are superordinate or subordinate, how contextual is that ranking, how unstable and self-contradictory are the weights in the expression of thought or deed, I might have to know them better than I have known any person. Perhaps I wouldn't be equal to the task. Perhaps it would destroy the relationship; there is, of course, a difference between empathy and dissection.
When I go into the world, am I the example floating in someone's mind of the Japanese ethnicity? Or of a scientist, laughable as that possibility seems to me? Maybe. And maybe that knowledge will, or should, change me.
This is a bizarre and self-indulgent entry, even by the standards of this blog. And yet, the gulf between the dominant identities I carry around within my own head and those projected onto me is probably the source of most of my major failings.
So to the person of the past -- I'm sorry we never had a chat about you, or what you wanted me, or others, to know. I neither want to assume that these fifteen years, or thirty years, have been difficult for you, nor communicate that a complicated and variegated sense of self can or should be summed up in any one aspect of external appearance, even, and perhaps especially, clothing. And yet I fear that I have abstracted away the actual you.
And to the stranger of the present, thank you for setting my thoughts along a different course, one that will hopefully get me out of my headspace and into the world.
The lines and internet are always slow there, at the Panera.
The lines and internal thoughts are always slow here.
Friday, November 20, 2015
Mudd Stories (Part 1: The Intimidator)
In honor of Harvey Mudd College's 60th anniversary, I decided to write up some of my favorite professor stories from Mudd.
Today, we have The Intimdator.
Going into Mudd, I knew I wanted to be a physics major. But I didn't quite place well enough to take a slightly accelerated version of freshman physics. Consequently, I took "basic" physics (Physics 23), consisting of calculus-based mechanics. (Unlike the wunderkind of my year, I definitely didn't take calculus-based E&M first semester.) That was a bit of an ego hit, but it was okay. As I rapidly found out, I was surrounded by people far brighter and better prepared than I was. Fortunately, I was not quite sharp enough to figure out how truly far behind I was, and so I did my best to work twice as hard to catch up. It worked reasonably well first semester.
Second semester consisted of Physics 24. It was a slightly unusual class -- a large chunk of it focused on Einstein's Special Theory of Relativity, and was taught by our resident Obi Won Kenobi figure. The rest of the class concerned rotational mechanics and oscillations. Because of it's unusual nature, those who placed out of Physics 23 typically were required to take Physics 24. As a result, Physics 24 was packed with my entire graduating class.
One day, we were covering rolling friction. I was doing fairly well in the class -- on track to get nearly straight-As for the semester. I raised my hand in lecture and asked a question regarding why it was static friction instead of kinetic (or something to that effect). I thought it was a good question.
The professor said, "Oh! I guess someone didn't read the book!"
Audible "Ooohs" echoed through the hall as I shrank to a third my size in my seat.
In that moment, I knew I needed to pick The Intimidator as my academic advisor.
In retrospect, it was an unusual choice. The Intimidator wasn't an astrophysicist. And The Intimidator was scary. The Intimidator was famous for saying things like "You're wasting your parents' money!" whenever students did badly. The Intimidator would also say "I expect most of you [in my section] to do better than average."
According to legend, The Intimidator once told a student, "You're Asian, and your parents are rich. I expect more from you."
So I hesitated, like Fanny Price, before that door, before I asked The Intimidator to be my academic advisor. But unlike Fanny, I walked in.
Where did this bluntness come from?
I never knew for sure. But I heard a story that The Intimidator had majored in physics in China. As a result of the Cultural Revolution, The Intimidator had to work on a farm for ten years. After the end of that dark period of self-cannibalistic madness, Chinese policy permitted the Intimidator to study abroad. The Intimidator earned a PhD in physics from MIT. I can only imagine the tenacity that it took, given those circumstances, to relearn (or maintain) that knowledge and focus.
That was why The Intimidator was at least ten years older than other associate professors.
But I never knew if that story was true. I never asked -- it seemed inappropriate and invasive to ask about that period of life. What I did know is that The Intimidator became The Encourager, The Facilitator.
A few weeks before finals, I got struck by acute appendicitis. Thanks to some less-than-stellar diagnosis from the campus medical center, I tried to tough through it for a couple sleepless days. My mom ended up showing up to campus and taking me to the ER (but not before I fired off the physics lab data to my lab partner), where after hours of waiting, I got it out. It had been leaking, and so I had to spend an extra week in the hospital.
When I got out, I went to the department and was studying for finals. The Intimidator came up, looked at me, and said, "You don't look so great. Maybe you should take the day off."
Given The Intimidator's reputation (and alleged incredible personal history), I must've looked like I was on death's door.
Or, more probably, The Intimidator wasn't in fact intimidating. The Intimidator was, at the core, a good person. The kind of person to bring back tea from China after sabbatical. The kind of person to shrewdly pass me to the second-most-intimidating person in the department during that sabbatical.
I heard that The Intimidator was worried that HMC professors coddled their students too much. It wasn't a judgment on how things were harder in the old days. It was more a statement of fact that HMC was a special place, and that perhaps it was a disservice to give students a skewed set of expectations regarding support. In that, and so much else, The Intimidator was both wise and correct.
I still don't *really* understand static friction for wheels. But I do understand that everyone needs someone like The Intimidator from time to time to troll and cajole the best work from us.
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
A tribute to JL, on his wedding
Just in case this story is deemed unflattering to the subject, I am using the acronym JL. Will anonymize further if necessary.
I was surprised to receive an invitation. I hadn't kept in touch. When asked, JL jokingly (I hope) said, "Oh, that was probably [my fiancee]." I somehow doubted that my volume of article repostings and random thoughts on Facebook had endeared me to her. But it was as plausible an explanation as any.
So I don't know why I was considered special enough for an invitation. But I did think about why he was special enough that I would go.
I knew JL in college. We were suitemates one year, though the "suite" in question consisted of two isolated rooms joined by a long, ominous hallway with an enormous restroom and shower. Both of our roommates were in relationships, and so we occasionally wandered down the hall of horrors to engage in conversation. This was especially true during the summer, when it was just the two of us working that summer.
I remember once during that summer I gave him my video games, in a desperate attempt to quit. A day or two later, I came crawling back for them. He refused to give them to me. Damn him! But he did give them at the end of the summer.
The rest of this post is of a more serious nature.
I am going to say something that I haven't confessed publicly, or to anyone except JL. Once in my life, I drove drunk. Worse, I drove drunk with three others in the car. I was the designated driver, but I caved to pressure and took a double shot at a house party. While driving home, I was drunk enough that I pulled over to the side of the road and pissed in public, near a railroad crossing.
JL took the keys from me and got us safely back. He claims to not remember the incident -- I don't know if he's saying that to be kind, or because he honestly forgot. But he never scolded me, or even brought it up. It was his car, and his life, at stake. I never drove drunk again, but I still feel incredibly guilty about how my gross lapse in judgment could have been fatal. Perhaps he saved our lives that night.
Many years later, in the depths of my depression and unemployment, I spent some time with JL and his then-girlfriend (now wife). I don't know if he asked me to hang out because I was depressed, or if it was just because we had been friends in high school. I had a great time, but I felt too guilty to follow up and hang out with them again. I had nothing to offer. I think I was so depressed that I might not have been entertaining company. We might have met only twice since college, but I was grateful for the lifeline. I don't think he necessarily understood what I was going through, but he was wise enough to know that understanding isn't a prerequisite for empathy.
If you want to judge someone's character, observe how they treat someone who can do nothing for him or her. I'd heard him voice this belief before, many years ago, at a fast food restaurant. It comes back to me now, that distant memory. Maybe as a man he wasn't fully formed -- who is in college? But the framework of his character was already present, and already on solid ground.
One final story. My father died a year and a half ago. I posted it on Facebook, partly because that's what I do, but also because those who know me know how tremendously I have been shaped, both positively and negatively, by my father's presence, absence, and perceived influence. I received many expressions of condolences. But there were only a few people who called, nearly all of them family.
JL called. We talked. He offered to take me out for dinner that week. I put it off, and never followed up. It didn't seem significant then, though in retrospect, it was amazing. I hadn't seen him in a couple years, and yet he felt compelled to reach out with a phone call, nearly anachronistic, incredibly quaint in its courtesy.
He works for one of the most modern companies in the world. And yet, somehow, he's both old school and new tech.
The day of his wedding, my stepdad went to the ER. I almost didn't make the drive to the wedding. But he told me to go. I had to leave the evening celebration early because he had returned to the hospital.
But I'm so glad I went. It was my small way of repaying the many kindnesses I have received from him over the years, to celebrate his commitment to a wonderful woman who, from the first moment, treated me with open-handed friendship.
I cannot claim to know them well. But I am glad to know them. I told them in an absurd post-it note (substituting for a wedding card -- the madness of this week being my excuse) that they were part of my tribe. I mean it. They've met the cutoff of Dunbar's Number. I just need to do better to show it.
Congratulations, JL. I am proud of you, and proud to know you.
Sunday, May 3, 2015
Reunion
Joy, I don't really understand.
But pain?
That is more familiar, more real, and more interesting.
Ten years sounds like a long time. It is a long time. And yet it felt as if many of us were holding our breath. Uncertainty.
Some of us, including yours truly, seemed in better shape now than at five years. We had left grad school. We had found jobs. We had, slowly, rebuilt our confidence, our reserves of emotional energy, and rebuilt -- or built, really built, for the first time -- our sense of self. Maybe we were still reacting to circumstances, but those sprints seemed less harried, with the gap between action and reaction growing, and the gaps between events a bit more comfortably long.
Some of us were less secure now than five years ago.
After ten years, those still in academia were still navigating postdocs, professorships, research positions, and teaching offers.
Some had left or lost their jobs.
Some had kids.
Some were getting ready to finish or leave school, and waiting for the next step.
Whether people were doing well, or doing poorly, it felt like many of us were in some sort of transition.
What a ten years. I think a lot of us bore scars. We were the graduating class that were one week into college when 9/11 happened. We had a cross burning on campus. We went through the drama of the Kerri Dunn saga. The recession hit our class pretty hard, and some of us won't make it up.
The pain we talked about, though, wasn't macro pain. It was personal, private, but in this space, seemed safe to share. Not all shared, and no one shared all. But enough to remind me that these people that intimidate me even as they inspire had lived.
And I was proud of them for fighting for their lives and happiness and purpose, as desperately as our ancient ancestors fought over scraps of meat. These aren't only people who were brilliant and hardworking and lucky. They are survivors.
When I learned that, I loved them for it. I chided myself for not listening better in the past. Pride and insecurity had deadened my ears then, when we were all young and present. How could I forget that under all that talent and beauty were real people, maybe as scared and uncertain as I was? How had I made them gods, and by doing so, forgotten to be present and helpful?
This isn't about me. It's about them. I'm so proud of them. I couldn't give a rat's ass about their professional successes. I should, but I just really don't care. I love the people they've become, the emergent selves that push with grace or blunt power against the world, and build up, raise up, speak up.
I'm misrepresenting. Most of reunion was laughing and catching up, revelry and reminiscing. But I will forget that; those things will fade. I will remember the vulnerability. Remember, but not define, for we each own our grief, and own our responses.
As for the school, we borrowed it for a weekend. And I realized that it never belonged to us. Maybe we believed our work bought us ownership. But we were borrowers. The school has changed, is changing, in ways I don't fully understand. I am too confused to be hostile, and too ancient and distant to be proud.
But these people? These Mudders? I suppose we belong to each other. At least, I belong to them, and that's a wonderful place to be.
But pain?
That is more familiar, more real, and more interesting.
Ten years sounds like a long time. It is a long time. And yet it felt as if many of us were holding our breath. Uncertainty.
Some of us, including yours truly, seemed in better shape now than at five years. We had left grad school. We had found jobs. We had, slowly, rebuilt our confidence, our reserves of emotional energy, and rebuilt -- or built, really built, for the first time -- our sense of self. Maybe we were still reacting to circumstances, but those sprints seemed less harried, with the gap between action and reaction growing, and the gaps between events a bit more comfortably long.
Some of us were less secure now than five years ago.
After ten years, those still in academia were still navigating postdocs, professorships, research positions, and teaching offers.
Some had left or lost their jobs.
Some had kids.
Some were getting ready to finish or leave school, and waiting for the next step.
Whether people were doing well, or doing poorly, it felt like many of us were in some sort of transition.
The pain we talked about, though, wasn't macro pain. It was personal, private, but in this space, seemed safe to share. Not all shared, and no one shared all. But enough to remind me that these people that intimidate me even as they inspire had lived.
And I was proud of them for fighting for their lives and happiness and purpose, as desperately as our ancient ancestors fought over scraps of meat. These aren't only people who were brilliant and hardworking and lucky. They are survivors.
When I learned that, I loved them for it. I chided myself for not listening better in the past. Pride and insecurity had deadened my ears then, when we were all young and present. How could I forget that under all that talent and beauty were real people, maybe as scared and uncertain as I was? How had I made them gods, and by doing so, forgotten to be present and helpful?
This isn't about me. It's about them. I'm so proud of them. I couldn't give a rat's ass about their professional successes. I should, but I just really don't care. I love the people they've become, the emergent selves that push with grace or blunt power against the world, and build up, raise up, speak up.
I'm misrepresenting. Most of reunion was laughing and catching up, revelry and reminiscing. But I will forget that; those things will fade. I will remember the vulnerability. Remember, but not define, for we each own our grief, and own our responses.
As for the school, we borrowed it for a weekend. And I realized that it never belonged to us. Maybe we believed our work bought us ownership. But we were borrowers. The school has changed, is changing, in ways I don't fully understand. I am too confused to be hostile, and too ancient and distant to be proud.
But these people? These Mudders? I suppose we belong to each other. At least, I belong to them, and that's a wonderful place to be.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
How to be a tutor (work in progress - last updated 11/14/2013)
Sorry, J. E. -- this is long overdue. Also sorry, people who yelled at me at the wedding to follow through and post something.
This will be a work in progress. I don't have all the answers -- I'm still struggling to make this close to a full-time position.
I would actually highly discourage this as an option for people looking for more flexibility/pay than their existing jobs. There are many reasons, each of which I could go into at greater length. I'll simply list the ones I can come up with here:
- When factoring in prep time, driving time, correspondence, and billing, per-hour pay isn't great
- Local market may or may not be able to support you
- Cancellations -- lessons will be canceled because just aboute everything else takes priority
- Arguments with clients about rates -- you argue about salary with your boss once a year, but you potentially argue with each client about rates, and possibly multiple times.
- Low status -- this isn't South Korea, and so you might as well say "unemployed" when people ask you what you do for a living.
- Emotionally draining -- especially if you have defiant students, or tutor at homes with family drama
- Prep time ignored -- especially problematic if you're doing test prep, which is a bit more time-intensive with diagnostics
- skill degradation and resume decay -- every year you spend tutoring full-time is a year you're not doing something more closely related with your college training.
Let's say you're not dissuaded. What should you do?
Brian S., a tutor at WyzAnt, wrote a helpful guide about what to do when you get started. He has also penned another excellent guide here, once you're somewhat established and want to maintain or build your client base..
In addition to that, here are some things I've found, many thanks to discussions with David L., a fellow HMC Physics grad. (I use fellow loosely, and perhaps too familiarly -- he's damn good.)
This will be a work in progress. I don't have all the answers -- I'm still struggling to make this close to a full-time position.
I would actually highly discourage this as an option for people looking for more flexibility/pay than their existing jobs. There are many reasons, each of which I could go into at greater length. I'll simply list the ones I can come up with here:
- When factoring in prep time, driving time, correspondence, and billing, per-hour pay isn't great
- Local market may or may not be able to support you
- Cancellations -- lessons will be canceled because just aboute everything else takes priority
- Arguments with clients about rates -- you argue about salary with your boss once a year, but you potentially argue with each client about rates, and possibly multiple times.
- Low status -- this isn't South Korea, and so you might as well say "unemployed" when people ask you what you do for a living.
- Emotionally draining -- especially if you have defiant students, or tutor at homes with family drama
- Prep time ignored -- especially problematic if you're doing test prep, which is a bit more time-intensive with diagnostics
- skill degradation and resume decay -- every year you spend tutoring full-time is a year you're not doing something more closely related with your college training.
Let's say you're not dissuaded. What should you do?
Brian S., a tutor at WyzAnt, wrote a helpful guide about what to do when you get started. He has also penned another excellent guide here, once you're somewhat established and want to maintain or build your client base..
In addition to that, here are some things I've found, many thanks to discussions with David L., a fellow HMC Physics grad. (I use fellow loosely, and perhaps too familiarly -- he's damn good.)
1. Sometimes, the local market for tutoring is simply rough.
One of my undergrad friends is tutoring full time and has tons of students. He charges a pretty high rate (though he is worth every penny). I have a few students, but have struggled a bit more. Granted, he has a PhD in Physics from Princeton, and I "only" have a M.S. in Astrophysics from Cornell. But after some discussion, we concluded that he happens to be in a particularly good area for tutoring. It's a wealthy part of New Jersey with enough population density that he can build a client base.
I'm not as successful for a host of reasons. But one reason is my specific location. I'm in a reasonably well-off portion of Southern California. But it doesn't have quite the level of wealth, nor the high population density, that allows me to pick and choose clients.
2. Consider expanding your driving distance
Despite my friend's advantages, he's willing to commute 40 minutes for a job. This is feasible because he clusters his jobs. One day he might spend around Princeton, meeting three or four clients. Another day, he might head north.
This only works if you can (1) find sufficient numbers of students in a given area to make it worthwhile to drive out there in the first place, and (2) convince them all to meet in a given place. Otherwise, you'll be eaten alive with fuel and maintenance costs, not to mention the opportunity cost of driving between lessons.
3. Consider picking up subjects that are outside your core, but still within yourcompetence.
In the beginning, I was a bit too cautious about my qualified fields. I thought that, because it had been a couple years since I had a statistics course, I wasn't qualified to tutor statistics. However, I discovered that, with a good textbook and enough clients to make it worthwhile, I was able to retrain myself in beginning statistics. I'm nowhere near my previous level of proficiency, but I'm confident that I can competently tutor any AP Stats or beginning college stats course -- a belief that has been proven correct from experience.
Again, it varies by location, and my experience is limited to math, science, and some of the social sciences. But I would say that physics, chemistry, and calculus are generally in high demand (partly because any out-of-college adult reasonably skilled in this probably could get another job). Econ and stats tend to be sought after, though in raw numbers there may be fewer students taking those courses. Biology has a lot of demand, but also a lot of supply.
4. Consider tutoring college students.
One of my undergrad friends is tutoring full time and has tons of students. He charges a pretty high rate (though he is worth every penny). I have a few students, but have struggled a bit more. Granted, he has a PhD in Physics from Princeton, and I "only" have a M.S. in Astrophysics from Cornell. But after some discussion, we concluded that he happens to be in a particularly good area for tutoring. It's a wealthy part of New Jersey with enough population density that he can build a client base.
I'm not as successful for a host of reasons. But one reason is my specific location. I'm in a reasonably well-off portion of Southern California. But it doesn't have quite the level of wealth, nor the high population density, that allows me to pick and choose clients.
2. Consider expanding your driving distance
Despite my friend's advantages, he's willing to commute 40 minutes for a job. This is feasible because he clusters his jobs. One day he might spend around Princeton, meeting three or four clients. Another day, he might head north.
This only works if you can (1) find sufficient numbers of students in a given area to make it worthwhile to drive out there in the first place, and (2) convince them all to meet in a given place. Otherwise, you'll be eaten alive with fuel and maintenance costs, not to mention the opportunity cost of driving between lessons.
3. Consider picking up subjects that are outside your core, but still within yourcompetence.
In the beginning, I was a bit too cautious about my qualified fields. I thought that, because it had been a couple years since I had a statistics course, I wasn't qualified to tutor statistics. However, I discovered that, with a good textbook and enough clients to make it worthwhile, I was able to retrain myself in beginning statistics. I'm nowhere near my previous level of proficiency, but I'm confident that I can competently tutor any AP Stats or beginning college stats course -- a belief that has been proven correct from experience.
Again, it varies by location, and my experience is limited to math, science, and some of the social sciences. But I would say that physics, chemistry, and calculus are generally in high demand (partly because any out-of-college adult reasonably skilled in this probably could get another job). Econ and stats tend to be sought after, though in raw numbers there may be fewer students taking those courses. Biology has a lot of demand, but also a lot of supply.
4. Consider tutoring college students.
I don't have a preference one way or another as far as tutoring high school students or college students. (But I generally don't tutor anyone younger.) But if you think about it, tutoring can't come anywhere near to a full-time gig if you're limited to the hours after school gets out (barring crazy hours on weekends). One way to fill that gap is with college students, many of whom have openings in the morning or early afternoon.
Now, not all college students can afford expensive tutoring. So you might opt to charge a reduced rate for starving students. It depends upon your college market, and on whether or not you can tutor an upper-division class. But even for general education classes, there might be some demand. A few students (or their parents) are perceptive enough to realize that a small investment in tutoring might actually be a better deal than paying to take the class again.
Good luck!
Now, not all college students can afford expensive tutoring. So you might opt to charge a reduced rate for starving students. It depends upon your college market, and on whether or not you can tutor an upper-division class. But even for general education classes, there might be some demand. A few students (or their parents) are perceptive enough to realize that a small investment in tutoring might actually be a better deal than paying to take the class again.
Good luck!
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Why Mr. Weaver was both the best and the worst physics teacher ever
Given all the physics education stories I've told, I'm surprised I haven't written about this before. Granted, it was a while ago (pre-9/11), so my memories (and associated emotions) aren't nearly as strong. But it's worth writing, so non-Rosemead High School students get a taste of where I was coming from upon entering Harvey Mudd College.
In 1999, Mr. Weaver was a late-50s man who, by his own admission, was a burned-out mechanical engineer that had somehow ended up in teaching. I don't know if he started teaching right after college, or if he had been a practicing engineer until the aerospace layoffs of the 1970s or 1980s.
He bore a disturbing resemblance to Hannibal Lecter. Appearance-wise, not so much; he had a full head of hair, always parted to the left, and was less physically imposing than Lecter. But he did have these blueish-gray eyes, at once piercing and vacant. More than his appearance, his soft, vague, enervated tones made one think of Dr. Lecter.
It's not just me and my unhealthy fascination with serial killers, real or fictional. The Lecter-esque quality has been confirmed by multiple classmates. His language was not nearly as eloquent or energetic as Lecter, but was filled with these vague, straight-faced quirks of speech.
Anyway, this was how AP Physics B shook out. The first day, Mr. Weaver stood in front of class and gave a brief lecture about general things about this class. I honestly don't remember what he talked about, but some of it went over my head. I think he sprinkled a bit of statistics in there, and I would not take that [excellent] class until next year with -- and I'm not joking -- Mrs. Flaws.
During the next 180 or so days of instruction, there wasn't a single lecture. Not a one. He'd assign homework by writing it on the board. But, if memory serves, he wouldn't address the class as a whole again (barring, say, a fire drill).
So all of my introduction to physics was self-taught. I was helped along by the competitive pressures (some would say harassment) of a precocious Vietnamese student who was probably two or three years ahead of the rest of us in both math and science. (Contrary to expectations, he didn't major in physics -- he went the med school route, which I believe has been more financially and personally profitable than a physics trajectory, anyway. Huy, if you're reading this, you're welcome.)
We did have labs, and to his credit, Mr. Weaver did show us how to use the air track and other equipment. But only if we cared enough to ask.
Needless to say, without management, classroom management fell apart. The seniors were the first casualty -- a lot of them stopped doing homework. Seniors and juniors would use the class (after lunch) as a second lunch hour, sitting cross-legged on the tables in circles to eat. After telling one of my students the story of this class, he asked, "Wasn't he worried about getting caught by the principal?" The answer had to be no, which I suppose demonstrated the systemic nature of the problem. My personal experience indicates that there was more attention paid to the slipping of the word "necrophilia" into the school newspaper, or illicit trips to the In-n-Out burger during classroom hours, than to physics instruction.
So yeah, almost no one cared. I remember doing a lab in which I was doing error analysis while the rest of the group was watching American Pie. I do remember generating some messed up system of error analysis; this is also the class where I taught myself Excel.
He did grade the homework and labs submitted, and did give tests.
Around second semester, some of the seniors started to realize that they were failing this course, and that an F in this (and other) courses could jeopardize their admission to various colleges. "Ruh roh!" (I think that's a direct quote from Mr. Weaver.) I don't know if he pity-passed anyone, but it was mildly amusing to see someone try to muscle through E&M and optics, having paid zero attention to any of the preceding physics.
Also, at some point, he dyed his hair brown. He then disappeared for a couple weeks. When he came back, we learned he had married a Japanese woman. Weird.
Yes, he was the worst physics teacher I'd ever known. He wasn't hostile; he wasn't ignorant. He was simply a non-factor. He demonstrated all the fucks he didn't give before the meme existed.
I don't know if people in those classes hated physics. It could be argued that they are actually more positive about physics than average precisely because it was less instructional, and more food-centered.
So my preparation for physics going into Harvey Mudd College was, well, less than adequate. And it probably did contribute to the disconnect between what I thought physics was and what it actually was.
But maybe he was a secret genius, and a master teacher. Maybe he knew that no one could get through a physics degree without a great deal of self-motivation. And I, being tested by the crucible of a nearly worthless teacher, learned to learn on my own, and passed this life test of self-learning.
Or maybe he was a useless piece of crap protected by seniority, union rules, a relatively inactive parent pool, and the fact that he didn't commit any actual crimes while teaching.
So to all of you who had legendary teachers that set you on the path to learning, I applaud you and celebrate your good fortune or the blessings of a good zip code. But for the rest of you, please don't use a bad teacher as an excuse for poor knowledge or hatred of a subject. Our wisdom and understanding are shaped by our experiences. But we do have agency of our own, and sometimes discover different and important things about ourselves when forced onto more lonely, less familiar paths.
In 1999, Mr. Weaver was a late-50s man who, by his own admission, was a burned-out mechanical engineer that had somehow ended up in teaching. I don't know if he started teaching right after college, or if he had been a practicing engineer until the aerospace layoffs of the 1970s or 1980s.
He bore a disturbing resemblance to Hannibal Lecter. Appearance-wise, not so much; he had a full head of hair, always parted to the left, and was less physically imposing than Lecter. But he did have these blueish-gray eyes, at once piercing and vacant. More than his appearance, his soft, vague, enervated tones made one think of Dr. Lecter.
It's not just me and my unhealthy fascination with serial killers, real or fictional. The Lecter-esque quality has been confirmed by multiple classmates. His language was not nearly as eloquent or energetic as Lecter, but was filled with these vague, straight-faced quirks of speech.
Anyway, this was how AP Physics B shook out. The first day, Mr. Weaver stood in front of class and gave a brief lecture about general things about this class. I honestly don't remember what he talked about, but some of it went over my head. I think he sprinkled a bit of statistics in there, and I would not take that [excellent] class until next year with -- and I'm not joking -- Mrs. Flaws.
During the next 180 or so days of instruction, there wasn't a single lecture. Not a one. He'd assign homework by writing it on the board. But, if memory serves, he wouldn't address the class as a whole again (barring, say, a fire drill).
So all of my introduction to physics was self-taught. I was helped along by the competitive pressures (some would say harassment) of a precocious Vietnamese student who was probably two or three years ahead of the rest of us in both math and science. (Contrary to expectations, he didn't major in physics -- he went the med school route, which I believe has been more financially and personally profitable than a physics trajectory, anyway. Huy, if you're reading this, you're welcome.)
We did have labs, and to his credit, Mr. Weaver did show us how to use the air track and other equipment. But only if we cared enough to ask.
Needless to say, without management, classroom management fell apart. The seniors were the first casualty -- a lot of them stopped doing homework. Seniors and juniors would use the class (after lunch) as a second lunch hour, sitting cross-legged on the tables in circles to eat. After telling one of my students the story of this class, he asked, "Wasn't he worried about getting caught by the principal?" The answer had to be no, which I suppose demonstrated the systemic nature of the problem. My personal experience indicates that there was more attention paid to the slipping of the word "necrophilia" into the school newspaper, or illicit trips to the In-n-Out burger during classroom hours, than to physics instruction.
So yeah, almost no one cared. I remember doing a lab in which I was doing error analysis while the rest of the group was watching American Pie. I do remember generating some messed up system of error analysis; this is also the class where I taught myself Excel.
He did grade the homework and labs submitted, and did give tests.
Around second semester, some of the seniors started to realize that they were failing this course, and that an F in this (and other) courses could jeopardize their admission to various colleges. "Ruh roh!" (I think that's a direct quote from Mr. Weaver.) I don't know if he pity-passed anyone, but it was mildly amusing to see someone try to muscle through E&M and optics, having paid zero attention to any of the preceding physics.
Also, at some point, he dyed his hair brown. He then disappeared for a couple weeks. When he came back, we learned he had married a Japanese woman. Weird.
Yes, he was the worst physics teacher I'd ever known. He wasn't hostile; he wasn't ignorant. He was simply a non-factor. He demonstrated all the fucks he didn't give before the meme existed.
I don't know if people in those classes hated physics. It could be argued that they are actually more positive about physics than average precisely because it was less instructional, and more food-centered.
So my preparation for physics going into Harvey Mudd College was, well, less than adequate. And it probably did contribute to the disconnect between what I thought physics was and what it actually was.
But maybe he was a secret genius, and a master teacher. Maybe he knew that no one could get through a physics degree without a great deal of self-motivation. And I, being tested by the crucible of a nearly worthless teacher, learned to learn on my own, and passed this life test of self-learning.
Or maybe he was a useless piece of crap protected by seniority, union rules, a relatively inactive parent pool, and the fact that he didn't commit any actual crimes while teaching.
So to all of you who had legendary teachers that set you on the path to learning, I applaud you and celebrate your good fortune or the blessings of a good zip code. But for the rest of you, please don't use a bad teacher as an excuse for poor knowledge or hatred of a subject. Our wisdom and understanding are shaped by our experiences. But we do have agency of our own, and sometimes discover different and important things about ourselves when forced onto more lonely, less familiar paths.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Science fiction, Ender's Game, and the nature of art
An excellent article:
Before he became a voice of the American right, Orson Scott Card wrote a really good book.
I wasn't aware of the controversy surrounding Orson Scott Card when he gave the 2003 commencement speech at Harvey Mudd. At the time, I hadn't even read Ender's Game. But I did read it, eventually, and loved it -- it rivals Dune as my favorite science fiction book of all time. (Sorry Foundation, but I think you'll be stuck with third billing.) It even made my 15 most influential books list. (Dune is absent.)
I am a firm believer that all good science fiction illuminates something about us as human beings. Often, it tricks us into thinking about psychology, or philosophy, or justice. It dazzles with an exotic setting or technology, or even different rules of physics, to get us to suspend our disbelief. And with that belief suspended, with our defenses lowered, we can more honestly look at ourselves, our societies, and our past than in any other art form.
Disarmed, we learn, even as we are treated to a fantastic story.
So it is with Ender's Game. How else could we view children as potential murderers? When I read A Long Way Gone: Memories of a Child Soldier, I brought along all my mental baggage and assumptions about Africa, foreign conflict, resource wars, and recent world history. And as well-written and powerful as it was, I wasn't fully able to immerse myself into the world of war-torn Sierra Leone, as seen through the eyes of a child. It was still a bit alien to me, because it was real.
But in Ender's Game, it seems more plausible, almost natural that the selection process and jealousy inspired by Ender's rise would lead to murderous impulses. And it seems equally natural that Ender, a fundamentally good boy, would kill, twice, to protect himself. It also seems plausible that adults would manipulate the circumstances to force this test of his mettle -- because we knew, as children, how adults manipulated us all the time, and not always for our own benefit.
So it's tragic, but it's true: I can better empathize with this boy in a science fiction novel than a real boy in the real world telling me about the real horrors of war.
Ender's Game treats children as equal to adults. The children are bright; sometimes, they are brighter than the adults. They learn, adapt, and strategize. They engage in war games, and, as we find out, real warfare. They feel emotions that are sometimes as sophisticated as those of an adult.
The sci-fi elements also help break down that wall between child and adult. In zero-g, standard measures of strength and size matter less, and a child can be the equal of an adult in combat. Those of us who read the book remember vividly the scene where Ender shouts triumphantly at Graff in the zero-g room. "I beat you! I beat you!"
But Graff held the wand that unfroze Ender. It was impossible to beat the adults.
And that is how they remain children. Unlike a lot of lesser children's literature, it doesn't make kids adults, or make the adults kids. The children of Ender's Game are capable and brilliant. But they are still subject to the control of adults. The adults determine their lives, even as those same adults place the fate of humanity in the hands of those same children.
***
So what about the politics of Orson Scott Card? Should that color how we view this book? How can we enjoy it fully if we know that this man campaigns actively against the identity of some of the same children who find, in his book, some strength and security from the complexity and hostility of real life?
For this the tragedy of Ender's Game. Or, it is the triumph of that book to transcend its author and become something else.
Ender's Game means a whole lot to precocious, nerdy children. I didn't have the privilege of finding this in my youth. But a lot of my Mudd friends did read it as children and young adults, and credit it for being both entertaining and inspirational. Some said it helped them deal with the ways adults usually treat children, especially bright, precocious ones.
And, yes, some were gay.
How ironic that it helped gay men and women, bright as hell, deal with misunderstanding long enough to break out and become who they were meant to be!
Except that it's not ironic at all: that's how art works.
Sometimes, a book (including That One), can become agents of change in ways directly contrary to the author's intent. That's what happens when art is created. It no longer belongs to the artist -- it belongs to us. All of us. (Especially That One.)
Ender's Game now belongs to my gay friends, and there's not a damn thing Orson Scott Card can do about it.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Open-minded, closed for debate
I think I'm done debating most important things.
It doesn't mean that debate in itself is bad. But it requires a lot of conditions to come off effectively, and expectations have to be managed.
Generally, I'll only really want to engage in discourse if these conditions are met:
(1) Each of us can clearly articulate our assumptions, going as fundamental as necessary (but only if necessary);
(2) Each of us can set up a reasonably sound logical chain that leads to some conclusion that is contentious or otherwise interesting;
(3) Each person is willing and able to start from alternative assumptions and work forward in a logical manner, ideally to gain insight into the other perspective, but minimally, in order to test the logical structure of the other argument;
(4) Each has time and temperament to make sure the discourse is civil;
and, for expectations,
(5) No one expects to either change their view, or change the other person's.
*(6) If evidence is presented that shows one's opinion is wrong, they will admit it.
*This was added by Alex, and as a meta-example, I edited the list to include it.
Needless to say, these conditions are met rarely, though I'd like to think, happily, they are met more frequently by my circle of friends than could be expected elsewhere.
It seems like a lot of conditions, but they seem to all be required for the process to make any sense and have any value, and not devolve into a shouting match.
I realize, belatedly, what Professor Hal Barron at Harvey Mudd College was talking about at the height of the cross-burning/Kerri Dunn car vandalism bait-and-switch madness in 2004. He called for civility in the discussions we were having on the 5-C about race and social equity issues. But the emotional tenor of that particular meeting was just too damn high -- we had a professor cry on stage, and plenty of us cried too (including me, who, to my lasting shame, gave a rambling rant about more worldliness in our tech campus). The then-diversity coordinator gave an angry speech about her own experiences, which probably did not help reduce the temperature.
All of this is prologue to say that yes, I think I understand what it means to have a meaningful discussion with someone of opposing views. But I'm tired, and relatively content with where I am when it comes to political philosophy and general policy platform. I'll revisit and update that view, hopefully, as new data (or new to me) comes to the fore. But in general, I'm not sure I see any value in continuing to seek out opportunities to engage people with different political views.
This sounds closed-minded. And, despite the title of this post, it might be. But I'm still willing to read, and have my views challenged. In the last few months, I can remember three things I thought were "true" challenged.
As it turns out, the increase in federal debt is driven mostly by a fall in revenues, and not a rise in spending--even I had believed the Fox narrative, though as a Keynesian, I took a positive view of that false narrative.
I also started to appreciate that there is some statistical evidence indicating the deterrent value for crimes like burglary of having a publicly-known firearm in the house. (I haven't tracked down the specific study from Nashville, but I trust the reports referencing it.) I have to accept that, at least for a certain class of crimes, guns actually do behave as a deterrent, and that some actors, at some levels, are rationally deterred. I don't think this has changed my stance on guns tremendously, as the self-contradictory statements from gun advocates indicate. (In this case, gun advocates believe in its deterrent value, yet claimed that the publication of gun owner residences make it more likely for them to be targets for robbery. This, despite the statistical evidence to the contrary that, if they could be self-consistent, would actually make a case for gun ownership.)
Finally, regarding the Prop 38 37 GMO initiative, I eventually got convinced through some running dialogues (often involving dozens of highly intelligent people on FB) that while I still opposed the proposition on its execution, I did get a reframed perspective. I had approached the issue in terms of a referendum on the safety of GMOs (which I believe evidence supports), but my good friend clarified that I should approach it as a consumer choice problem. Even if I believe that GMOs are safe to eat and generally a good thing in our world, not everyone may agree, and it may be worth a small price to pay for labeling such that those who choose to, can opt out. My views on this are still evolving, but that's the point -- they are evolving thanks to an actual dialogue (or, more accurately, an heptadecalogue).
I should note that only the last is an example of an actual debate leading to changing views. The first two were prompted by questions raised by friends, which spurred me to research the questions on my own.
Look, I've debated American politics, gay marriage, American foreign policy, America's relationship with Israel, the death penalty, Benghazi, healthcare, gun ownership, Biblical literalism, libertarian philosophy, and a number of other things with intelligent people who happen to believe differently than I do.
Sometimes it was fun. Sometimes it was exhausting and frustrating, and changed my overall regard for the other person negatively. Sometimes one or both of us would duck out, just because it didn't seem to accomplish anything or one or the other just seemed extremely underprepared to have a real discussion about something.
At this point, however, I think that, even if it hasn't always been a waste of time in the past, it will be a waste of time going forward. My views are pretty well-formed, and I'm largely comfortable with them. They probably will evolve, perhaps radically, perhaps due to personal tragedy or more positive events (my view on taxes might change if I start making over $1 million a year). But I'm somewhat, cautiously confident in my ability to adapt given those changes, or new information, without subjecting myself to the torment of engaging for the sake of engaging.
Note: I don't have anyone in mind when I say all this. It's just a general conclusion I've reached over the last few months. Those of you who believe differently, and with whom I've had many conversations over the years, I love you. And we'll still talk about many, many things. And I can't say you're wrong for you. But I've concluded what you believe in would be wrong for me. And I need energy that would go toward honing debating points elsewhere right now.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
"Intelligence"
It's kind of striking that I haven't written this post, even though, at some level, I've been thinking about it, on and off, for decades. If all goes according to plan, this will be about how I ended up with a reputation for academic giftedness, the extent to which I feel I am gifted, and connections to general thoughts on intelligence. Bear with me -- those who know me probably don't anticipate a self-aggrandizing ego fest, but those less familiar might be leery of reading further.
It's taken me a while to articulate and accept, but I think I can say that I'm definitely above average in certain areas. I have, or had, an above-average memory for material I've read, whether technical or literary in nature. I have or had an above-average ability to make connections in seemingly disparate fields. I have an above-average ability to solve mathematical problems.
But I can't be any more specific than that. The quantitative data I have is all outdated, and perhaps problematic. I tested in the 99th percentile in most, and sometimes all, standardized test subjects in K-12 education.
I took a single IQ test in 7th or 8th grade--I couldn't tell you what grade it was, but I can tell you I badly mangled the spelling of luciferous and reversed a pattern I was supposed to construct with red and white blocks, which in retrospect might've indicated some sort of visual dyslexia. I got a 140, which is gifted, but not quite genius level. I got a 1580 on my SATs, which sounds horrible, until you realize that, under that system, a 1600 was a perfect score.
Note that these measures aren't stable over time, are each problematic in their own way, and, obviously, thus far, haven't translated into financial success or personal happiness.
I had some native advantages growing up. I was middle-class in a mostly low-income school community. Unlike many of my kindergarten classmates, I had English as the primary language spoken at home. Additionally -- and precisely how or why this is remains a bit of a puzzle -- I came into kindergarten able to read and count at least to 100. Also, even though I'd say that my mom is not at all academically inclined and of average intelligence, she was an elementary school teacher, and read to me as a child. She also facilitated a culture of reading by providing me with plenty of children's books.
I can't emphasize this enough -- these were substantial advantages at my elementary school, sufficient to identify me early on as a "gifted" student. I'm not sure how unusual any of this is now -- I think many, many children come in knowing more than I did. But it set me apart then, which research has shown can be maintained and extended throughout K-12 education.
Some of the path was shaped by external expectation and reputation. In kindergarten, I had my own reading group in kindergarten, which, being the TV child of the '80s that I was, I promptly named the "Scrooge McDuck reading group". In 6th grade, I was sufficiently advanced in math to be permitted to play Amazon Trail in the back of the classroom while everyone else did math lessons. Most critically, I had a 4th grade teacher that pushed me to do more advanced work in both math, writing, and public speaking, even over my mother's objections.
Notably, my mom did not put pressure on me. She even laughed the time I brought home a "C" on a 6th grade math test. I think she was relieved her child was normal, like her, even if it didn't last.
A lot of the push was internal. I deliberately forced myself to max out reading hours during reading competitions in elementary school. In a high school English class, I wrote essays that regularly exceeded the page limit by a factor of 3. I wish my motivations were more pure, but I genuinely relished the attention, even as I was blind to how isolating it was.
I think I did well in school, in part, because I depended tremendously on the approval of teachers for my self-esteem. As I've written elsewhere, my father is bipolar, and even though I didn't live with him after the age of 3, I saw him regularly, and had enough negative experiences that I'm still dealing with it. I'm also an only child. So I wanted to do well, which ended up distinguishing me from, say, people I met in high school who were brighter and more articulate, but very lazy, or resentful of the pushing they got from their parents, or from even more chaotic homes.
For these reasons, it's difficult for me to accept that I'm somehow innately different. Maybe I just had lots of advantages. Perhaps I deserve some credit for taking advantage of certain opportunities, or making certain choices with time. (I was a quick reader, but it still took a lot of time to read my US history book twice, and I did so just because I was genuinely interested.) But I also recognize that I did have time--I didn't have to work during high school. I didn't date. I did some sports, but not a massive amount. I had time to waste on video games. I spent time on Academic Decathlon, which, in retrospect, wasn't as structured as it could've been, but it did give me the opportunity to get a bit more well-rounded with some self-taught instruction in art history, psychology, music history, economics, and other fields.
But that could just be my liberal, egalitarian philosophy talking. Maybe I do have some genetic advantages. Maybe my application early on translated into increased abilities that, while not necessarily genetic, are more or less permanent.
So, after nearly 30 years of life, if someone were to ask me, "Hey Ryan. Just how smart are you?", I couldn't reply with anything other than "above average".
Because I was. Not just in high school, but college. I went to school with a lot of really, really bright people. No von Neumann savants, but some people who must've had some genetic and cultural advantages AND took advantage of them. I was probably an average to above-average physicist my year, though I looked better on paper (GPA-wise) thanks to good grades in my history courses.
I was also very, very lucky that I made a conscious choice the first semester of college. The first semester at Harvey Mudd College is pass-fail-- there are no letter grades, only "high pass", "pass", and "fail". Some used this as an opportunity to get drunk. I personally felt fear -- people were talking about double-majoring, placing in advanced math and physics classes, and I had tested just below the cutoff to be placed in the incrementally advanced introductory physics course.
Simultaneously, I didn't assume I couldn't catch up. Maybe it was irrational, or prideful. But it worked. I studied my ass off, high-passed a few of my classes (enough to get the "get a life" letter), and generally did well until I hit junior year physics (the triumvirate of statistical mechanics, theoretical mechanics, and PDEs). Even as my grades started to drop off, I still graduated with a GPA somewhat above a 3.7, which is a very respectable grade at HMC.
Grad school was weird. I got the NSF based on a massive amount of work put into the application, and, possibly, because of some things I did in undergrad that let me characterize myself as someone who might serve the country in a science policy position in a few decades. But I was out of my depth, and, honestly, didn't care enough, or believe in myself enough, to keep from drowning. And I've paid various consequences for putting all my emotional eggs in that academic basket.
But back to the positive. In many ways I got very lucky. But I guess I am a bit different. I was with some of the brightest students in the country, and if I didn't hold my own, I did better than I might have reasonably expected.
Looking back, my best friend in high school worked a lot harder than I did. I don't know if it was because he cared more, or if it was because he had to. It did get him a slightly higher GPA (literally, 0.01). And while I paid for the lack of discipline and organization later, I got away with it for a surprisingly long period of time.
And yet, because I went to school with such smart people, my benchmark is a bit skewed, and I can't report anything stronger than "above average". It's taken me a while to say even that. I considered myself average or below average for chunks of college, and most of graduate school. If it's a surprise to you, then you see things that I didn't, and, to this day, still don't.
There are different models for intelligence, and different types of intelligence. I have a passing familiarity with some, but that's partly not the point here. There's a genetic component, and there's an environmental component.
Generally, I believe that the vast majority of us operate far below our genetic potential, and so it's a matter of improving the environment, customized to our history and our dispositions, to make us smarter. Don't drink so much. Exercise more. Eat more healthily. Do hard thinking during certain periods of the day. Sleep better, if not more. And so on -- things that are probably readily obvious, but we make excuses and cut deals with ourselves, with the end result being that we sell ourselves short.
There are other, more philosophical considerations. Why should we assume that knowledge and intelligence are the things that should be maximized for a good life? For a number of reasons, I believed (and a part of me still believes) that my intelligence, however humbly different, is the source of my unhappiness. I've done a decent job of smothering and suppressing it over the last few years through poor choices of time and action, ranging from Youtube videos to video games to chronic unemployment and borderline paranoia. I am, slowly, slowly, coming to accept that it's the same bullshit stereotype of the "mad genius" that makes me try this sort of cure.
There are smart people who are actually quite happy, stable, and successful, and serve as excellent counterexamples for the stereotype (which, by the way, is not really well supported by research). But one can lead a perfectly happy and meaningful life -- even a heroic one -- and be of far, far below average intelligence. Think of anyone you know, and love, with Down's Syndrome.
More mundanely, I did my best to undermine anything remotely resembling pride at my accomplishments, at least in K-12. Bright students with enough wits to be aware of their social surroundings know that a know-it-all can survive only by downplaying his or her intelligence (with it often being worse for women). I can only thank my excellent classmates and teachers for why I was never, ever bullied. Add to that some misguided Japanese false humility, and you had me, basically afraid to breathe in the same room as anyone else, less I affect their oxygen intake.
So yeah, I had, and still have, trouble accepting I'm gifted, or more intelligent than average, even though there is some evidence that I might be. And I don't even know what that precisely means.
What's the point of this post? I'm not sure. It's too long already, so I might cover some additional thoughts on intelligence in another one. But I think some parents have been quietly, or not so quietly, curious how I did so well academically. (We collectively are ignoring the whole dropping-out-of-grad-school-and-becoming-an-emotional-financial-social-existential-disaster component because it's inconvenient and uglies up the narrative.) So this is my retrospective read on how I achieved "success":
I rank the biological component last, for obvious reasons.
If anyone's truly interested, I can more formally write up what parents could do differently to improve their child's intellectual development, though in my experience, most parents just aren't up to giving up enough control to let their kid own their successes and failures, while providing structure for those less "gifted" or more confused. But that's that, for now.
It's taken me a while to articulate and accept, but I think I can say that I'm definitely above average in certain areas. I have, or had, an above-average memory for material I've read, whether technical or literary in nature. I have or had an above-average ability to make connections in seemingly disparate fields. I have an above-average ability to solve mathematical problems.
But I can't be any more specific than that. The quantitative data I have is all outdated, and perhaps problematic. I tested in the 99th percentile in most, and sometimes all, standardized test subjects in K-12 education.
I took a single IQ test in 7th or 8th grade--I couldn't tell you what grade it was, but I can tell you I badly mangled the spelling of luciferous and reversed a pattern I was supposed to construct with red and white blocks, which in retrospect might've indicated some sort of visual dyslexia. I got a 140, which is gifted, but not quite genius level. I got a 1580 on my SATs, which sounds horrible, until you realize that, under that system, a 1600 was a perfect score.
Note that these measures aren't stable over time, are each problematic in their own way, and, obviously, thus far, haven't translated into financial success or personal happiness.
I had some native advantages growing up. I was middle-class in a mostly low-income school community. Unlike many of my kindergarten classmates, I had English as the primary language spoken at home. Additionally -- and precisely how or why this is remains a bit of a puzzle -- I came into kindergarten able to read and count at least to 100. Also, even though I'd say that my mom is not at all academically inclined and of average intelligence, she was an elementary school teacher, and read to me as a child. She also facilitated a culture of reading by providing me with plenty of children's books.
I can't emphasize this enough -- these were substantial advantages at my elementary school, sufficient to identify me early on as a "gifted" student. I'm not sure how unusual any of this is now -- I think many, many children come in knowing more than I did. But it set me apart then, which research has shown can be maintained and extended throughout K-12 education.
Some of the path was shaped by external expectation and reputation. In kindergarten, I had my own reading group in kindergarten, which, being the TV child of the '80s that I was, I promptly named the "Scrooge McDuck reading group". In 6th grade, I was sufficiently advanced in math to be permitted to play Amazon Trail in the back of the classroom while everyone else did math lessons. Most critically, I had a 4th grade teacher that pushed me to do more advanced work in both math, writing, and public speaking, even over my mother's objections.
Notably, my mom did not put pressure on me. She even laughed the time I brought home a "C" on a 6th grade math test. I think she was relieved her child was normal, like her, even if it didn't last.
A lot of the push was internal. I deliberately forced myself to max out reading hours during reading competitions in elementary school. In a high school English class, I wrote essays that regularly exceeded the page limit by a factor of 3. I wish my motivations were more pure, but I genuinely relished the attention, even as I was blind to how isolating it was.
I think I did well in school, in part, because I depended tremendously on the approval of teachers for my self-esteem. As I've written elsewhere, my father is bipolar, and even though I didn't live with him after the age of 3, I saw him regularly, and had enough negative experiences that I'm still dealing with it. I'm also an only child. So I wanted to do well, which ended up distinguishing me from, say, people I met in high school who were brighter and more articulate, but very lazy, or resentful of the pushing they got from their parents, or from even more chaotic homes.
For these reasons, it's difficult for me to accept that I'm somehow innately different. Maybe I just had lots of advantages. Perhaps I deserve some credit for taking advantage of certain opportunities, or making certain choices with time. (I was a quick reader, but it still took a lot of time to read my US history book twice, and I did so just because I was genuinely interested.) But I also recognize that I did have time--I didn't have to work during high school. I didn't date. I did some sports, but not a massive amount. I had time to waste on video games. I spent time on Academic Decathlon, which, in retrospect, wasn't as structured as it could've been, but it did give me the opportunity to get a bit more well-rounded with some self-taught instruction in art history, psychology, music history, economics, and other fields.
But that could just be my liberal, egalitarian philosophy talking. Maybe I do have some genetic advantages. Maybe my application early on translated into increased abilities that, while not necessarily genetic, are more or less permanent.
So, after nearly 30 years of life, if someone were to ask me, "Hey Ryan. Just how smart are you?", I couldn't reply with anything other than "above average".
Because I was. Not just in high school, but college. I went to school with a lot of really, really bright people. No von Neumann savants, but some people who must've had some genetic and cultural advantages AND took advantage of them. I was probably an average to above-average physicist my year, though I looked better on paper (GPA-wise) thanks to good grades in my history courses.
I was also very, very lucky that I made a conscious choice the first semester of college. The first semester at Harvey Mudd College is pass-fail-- there are no letter grades, only "high pass", "pass", and "fail". Some used this as an opportunity to get drunk. I personally felt fear -- people were talking about double-majoring, placing in advanced math and physics classes, and I had tested just below the cutoff to be placed in the incrementally advanced introductory physics course.
Simultaneously, I didn't assume I couldn't catch up. Maybe it was irrational, or prideful. But it worked. I studied my ass off, high-passed a few of my classes (enough to get the "get a life" letter), and generally did well until I hit junior year physics (the triumvirate of statistical mechanics, theoretical mechanics, and PDEs). Even as my grades started to drop off, I still graduated with a GPA somewhat above a 3.7, which is a very respectable grade at HMC.
Grad school was weird. I got the NSF based on a massive amount of work put into the application, and, possibly, because of some things I did in undergrad that let me characterize myself as someone who might serve the country in a science policy position in a few decades. But I was out of my depth, and, honestly, didn't care enough, or believe in myself enough, to keep from drowning. And I've paid various consequences for putting all my emotional eggs in that academic basket.
But back to the positive. In many ways I got very lucky. But I guess I am a bit different. I was with some of the brightest students in the country, and if I didn't hold my own, I did better than I might have reasonably expected.
Looking back, my best friend in high school worked a lot harder than I did. I don't know if it was because he cared more, or if it was because he had to. It did get him a slightly higher GPA (literally, 0.01). And while I paid for the lack of discipline and organization later, I got away with it for a surprisingly long period of time.
And yet, because I went to school with such smart people, my benchmark is a bit skewed, and I can't report anything stronger than "above average". It's taken me a while to say even that. I considered myself average or below average for chunks of college, and most of graduate school. If it's a surprise to you, then you see things that I didn't, and, to this day, still don't.
There are different models for intelligence, and different types of intelligence. I have a passing familiarity with some, but that's partly not the point here. There's a genetic component, and there's an environmental component.
Generally, I believe that the vast majority of us operate far below our genetic potential, and so it's a matter of improving the environment, customized to our history and our dispositions, to make us smarter. Don't drink so much. Exercise more. Eat more healthily. Do hard thinking during certain periods of the day. Sleep better, if not more. And so on -- things that are probably readily obvious, but we make excuses and cut deals with ourselves, with the end result being that we sell ourselves short.
There are other, more philosophical considerations. Why should we assume that knowledge and intelligence are the things that should be maximized for a good life? For a number of reasons, I believed (and a part of me still believes) that my intelligence, however humbly different, is the source of my unhappiness. I've done a decent job of smothering and suppressing it over the last few years through poor choices of time and action, ranging from Youtube videos to video games to chronic unemployment and borderline paranoia. I am, slowly, slowly, coming to accept that it's the same bullshit stereotype of the "mad genius" that makes me try this sort of cure.
There are smart people who are actually quite happy, stable, and successful, and serve as excellent counterexamples for the stereotype (which, by the way, is not really well supported by research). But one can lead a perfectly happy and meaningful life -- even a heroic one -- and be of far, far below average intelligence. Think of anyone you know, and love, with Down's Syndrome.
More mundanely, I did my best to undermine anything remotely resembling pride at my accomplishments, at least in K-12. Bright students with enough wits to be aware of their social surroundings know that a know-it-all can survive only by downplaying his or her intelligence (with it often being worse for women). I can only thank my excellent classmates and teachers for why I was never, ever bullied. Add to that some misguided Japanese false humility, and you had me, basically afraid to breathe in the same room as anyone else, less I affect their oxygen intake.
So yeah, I had, and still have, trouble accepting I'm gifted, or more intelligent than average, even though there is some evidence that I might be. And I don't even know what that precisely means.
What's the point of this post? I'm not sure. It's too long already, so I might cover some additional thoughts on intelligence in another one. But I think some parents have been quietly, or not so quietly, curious how I did so well academically. (We collectively are ignoring the whole dropping-out-of-grad-school-and-becoming-an-emotional-financial-social-existential-disaster component because it's inconvenient and uglies up the narrative.) So this is my retrospective read on how I achieved "success":
- I had some early advantages, which translated into both expectations and opportunities.
- I had access to books and read a lot as a child.
- I spent a lot of time alone as a child.
- I wanted to do well, perhaps to an unhealthy degree.
- I did not receive any pressure, or even guidance, from my mother, or really anyone else in my family.
- I went to a good college that challenged me to rise to a higher standard, and had just enough self-confidence at the time to rise to the occasion (as opposed to withdraw or crash from the system).
- I didn't have to worry about mundane things like money, or food, or personal safety (apart from a very few episodes with my dad) growing up. My Maslow's hierarchy of needs had a solid base, even if, in retrospect, I neglected the middle.
- I *may* have some biological advantages.
I rank the biological component last, for obvious reasons.
If anyone's truly interested, I can more formally write up what parents could do differently to improve their child's intellectual development, though in my experience, most parents just aren't up to giving up enough control to let their kid own their successes and failures, while providing structure for those less "gifted" or more confused. But that's that, for now.
Monday, October 29, 2012
West Dorm, and why I'm owed around $17.
Update: It has been brought to my attention that the Class of 2004 would have graduated by the time I allegedly -- allegedly, mind you -- partook of these activities. Evidently, I was so shitfaced I failed to remember what year it happened.
Evan Cohick, humanitarian, human teddy bear, and general All-Round Good Guy, highlighted this article for me:
Huffpo: The Least Beautiful Campuses: Princeton Review List
The picture at the top of the story is of West dorm at Harvey Mudd College, my alma mater.
It looks pretty bad - and I wish I could say this was a particularly bad day. But, if anything, it is cleaner than I remember.
Story time kids! (Actual kids and young adults - this story is in no ways an endorsement of alcohol consumption or associated lapses in judgment/memory.)
West dorm is an interesting place. It single-handedly makes the correlation of alcohol/drug consumption and GPA positive, even counterbalancing North's contribution. (For those who don't know, four of our dorms are referred to by the names of a cardinal direction, roughly - very roughly - corresponding to their actual orientation. I feel slightly sorry to the people who donated real money for their names to appear on the side.)
During my time there, there was a party called 101, in which participants shoot a shot (1 oz.) of beer once a minute for 101 minutes. For those with rudimentary math skills - and even a drunk Mudder could divide by 12 - this is about 8 1/2 cans of beer. That's quite a lot, and not everyone goes the full way. For what it's worth, I believe Mudd has the fewest cases of alcohol poisoning, per capita, of the Claremont Colleges -- though this might also be a falsehood repeated to rationalize consumption.
Anyway, shortly before my graduation, I partook. I may or may not have been finished with my thesis, or a lengthy EU space policy paper I was working on, but I ended up getting both done before graduation thanks to Mountain Dew.
Whatever my academic state of affairs, I balked somewhat at the expense, per unit alcohol, of beer. I also hated most beers. So I hit upon the idea of buying a fifth of relatively cheap charcoal filtered vodka (Smirnoff, I think). Naturally, I wouldn't drink 101 shots of the stuff.
Needless to say, I started with a couple shots, and at some point abandoned the use of the paper cups altogether. My friend Jake may or may not have taken a swig off the bottle either. At some point I had a megaphone. I also may have kissed an almost certainly female classmate who was ridiculously out of my league -- though I may have dreamed that.
Anyway, I was absolutely shocked to find that my bottle of vodka was neither present in my room in Atwood (another dorm), nor in the courtyard next to the slightly singed, molding couch where I had started the evening.
I am willing to accept a pro-rated compensation for my lost spirits, and believe I am entitled to $17. I'm even correcting for inflation there. If it goes to arbitration, I would be willing to be compensated with a half-drunken bottle of vodka of comparable or superior quantity, as long as it was also accompanied by a messy make-out with someone substantially out of my league.
It is my hope we can reach an amicable settlement. Hopefully, a member of the class of 2004 will contact me in a timely manner.
Evan Cohick, humanitarian, human teddy bear, and general All-Round Good Guy, highlighted this article for me:
Huffpo: The Least Beautiful Campuses: Princeton Review List
The picture at the top of the story is of West dorm at Harvey Mudd College, my alma mater.
It looks pretty bad - and I wish I could say this was a particularly bad day. But, if anything, it is cleaner than I remember.
Story time kids! (Actual kids and young adults - this story is in no ways an endorsement of alcohol consumption or associated lapses in judgment/memory.)
West dorm is an interesting place. It single-handedly makes the correlation of alcohol/drug consumption and GPA positive, even counterbalancing North's contribution. (For those who don't know, four of our dorms are referred to by the names of a cardinal direction, roughly - very roughly - corresponding to their actual orientation. I feel slightly sorry to the people who donated real money for their names to appear on the side.)
During my time there, there was a party called 101, in which participants shoot a shot (1 oz.) of beer once a minute for 101 minutes. For those with rudimentary math skills - and even a drunk Mudder could divide by 12 - this is about 8 1/2 cans of beer. That's quite a lot, and not everyone goes the full way. For what it's worth, I believe Mudd has the fewest cases of alcohol poisoning, per capita, of the Claremont Colleges -- though this might also be a falsehood repeated to rationalize consumption.
Anyway, shortly before my graduation, I partook. I may or may not have been finished with my thesis, or a lengthy EU space policy paper I was working on, but I ended up getting both done before graduation thanks to Mountain Dew.
Whatever my academic state of affairs, I balked somewhat at the expense, per unit alcohol, of beer. I also hated most beers. So I hit upon the idea of buying a fifth of relatively cheap charcoal filtered vodka (Smirnoff, I think). Naturally, I wouldn't drink 101 shots of the stuff.
Needless to say, I started with a couple shots, and at some point abandoned the use of the paper cups altogether. My friend Jake may or may not have taken a swig off the bottle either. At some point I had a megaphone. I also may have kissed an almost certainly female classmate who was ridiculously out of my league -- though I may have dreamed that.
Anyway, I was absolutely shocked to find that my bottle of vodka was neither present in my room in Atwood (another dorm), nor in the courtyard next to the slightly singed, molding couch where I had started the evening.
I am willing to accept a pro-rated compensation for my lost spirits, and believe I am entitled to $17. I'm even correcting for inflation there. If it goes to arbitration, I would be willing to be compensated with a half-drunken bottle of vodka of comparable or superior quantity, as long as it was also accompanied by a messy make-out with someone substantially out of my league.
It is my hope we can reach an amicable settlement. Hopefully, a member of the class of 2004 will contact me in a timely manner.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Calculus memories from Harvey Mudd College
I had a multivariable calculus professor in college who was first-generation Chinese. She's a world expert on differential geometry, and a bit quirky. How much of it is her being Chinese, and how much of it is her quirkiness, I don't know.
Evidently we weren't the brightest class in recent memory, because she decided to review some single-variable calc during a review session. Here's how she helped us remember the derivatives of the exponential and natural logarithmic functions.
"e^x is like a strong child. You hit it [with a derivative] and nothing happens."
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"ln x is like a weak child. You hit it and it dies."
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I think there was audible consternation. But we remembered.
Evidently we weren't the brightest class in recent memory, because she decided to review some single-variable calc during a review session. Here's how she helped us remember the derivatives of the exponential and natural logarithmic functions.
"e^x is like a strong child. You hit it [with a derivative] and nothing happens."
"ln x is like a weak child. You hit it and it dies."
I think there was audible consternation. But we remembered.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
On growing up "nerdy" and nerdiness at Harvey Mudd College
I started thinking about the extent of my self-identification as a “nerd” after reading David Anderegg’s book, Nerds: Who They Are and Why We Need More of Them. A later post (or posts) will include a summary and analysis of his arguments. For now, as a starting point, I’ll stick with a brief, rough definition he offers. To paraphrase:
Nerds are characterized vaguely by a combination of school success, interest in precision, unself-consciousness, closeness to adults, and interest in fantasy. They are often pejoratively associated with asexuality, poor personal hygiene, sycophantic obedience to authority, ugliness, social awkwardness, and lack of athletic ability.
Growing up, I think I never really thought of myself as a nerd. Yes, I would “geek” out by focusing on areas of interest – one year it was presidential history, another year for mountains and volcanoes of the world, another for US states. I read a great deal, and spent a lot of time playing video games. But these were as much the product of being an only child of a single working parent as anything else. I was small for my age, and remained so for my entire academic life. (I’m born in May, which probably has something to do with it.)
Nerds are characterized vaguely by a combination of school success, interest in precision, unself-consciousness, closeness to adults, and interest in fantasy. They are often pejoratively associated with asexuality, poor personal hygiene, sycophantic obedience to authority, ugliness, social awkwardness, and lack of athletic ability.
Growing up, I think I never really thought of myself as a nerd. Yes, I would “geek” out by focusing on areas of interest – one year it was presidential history, another year for mountains and volcanoes of the world, another for US states. I read a great deal, and spent a lot of time playing video games. But these were as much the product of being an only child of a single working parent as anything else. I was small for my age, and remained so for my entire academic life. (I’m born in May, which probably has something to do with it.)
Friday, January 11, 2008
On Volunteer Organizations (letter to MMAD)
1. Introduction
One of my biggest regrets at Mudd is not devoting the time, thought, and energy needed to really set up MMAD with more infrastructure. I am very happy that the coordinator positions are work-study - I think this is an important way for students who are concerned for society to be able to do good work without having to choose between work and volunteering. To clarify my thoughts, and to maybe pass along the experience and thoughts I should have before I left, I've decided to draft this memo. I don't know of an existing handbook for volunteering, but all social organizations operate according to a few basic principles, most of which I have tried to incorporate into this memo.
2. Summary
I've separated them in terms of strategic, operational, and tactical lessons.
Strategic lessons relate to long-term planning and agenda setting - usually things that happen once a semester, once a year, or even over the lifetime of MMAD. (planning)
Operational lessons relate to the mechanics of getting things done - logistics, planning, and execution of events. (doing things)
Tactical lessons relate to the techniques you actually use to recruit volunteers for events and keep people informed. (keeping people happy and interested)
The chief lessons learned:
Strategic
1. Decide each year whether energy and mission will be focused on outreach, volunteering, or activism, or a combination of these.
2. Be realistic as far as what to expect from HMC and its students, realistic but not pessimistic.
3. Volunteering can be fun, personally rewarding, and eye-opening - it does not have to be all of these, but there should be an opportunity for each.
4. Good relationships with the administrators and ASHMC are incredibly important in order to get things done.
Operational
1. Ego destroys more organizations and clubs than anything else - the cause, whatever it is, must be bigger than any one person.
2. Get help if you need it.
3. Everyone needs a clear idea of what needs to be done, why it needs to be done, and who needs to do it.
4. Money is important in order to get things done - make sure that the funding is available for every project. If it's not, don't be shy to go out and get it.
5. Learn how to negotiate with the administration and other stakeholders.
6. Professors, the administration, and staff have long-term connections with the community, and are a great source of contacts. Existing contacts should be maintained and transferred between years.
7. Talk about what worked and what didn't for each event.
Tactical
1. You get more flies with honey than vinegar - focus on the positive.
2. Provide a range of commitment/participation levels to make it as easy as possible for people to volunteer.
3. Know how to table and flier effectively.
4. Make use of digital media, like websites, electronic calendars, and listservs to get opportunities out.
Most of these seem obvious, but it's sometimes a bit challenging to keep all of these in mind when one has finals/jobs/personal life to worry about. I'll cover each point listed in more detail below.
3. Strategic
(1) Decide each year whether energy and mission will be focused on outreach, volunteering, or activism, or a combination of these.
When I was a MMAD volunteer coordinator, we focused on volunteering. We decided to do this because other organizations - like Upward Bound and the education course led by Professors Dodds (CS) and Yong (Math) - were working on outreach. Furthermore, outreach is done in different ways by research groups, in part because the National Science Foundation requires all recipients of grants to demonstrate a broader impact to society. Activism was avoided because it can be tricky - it is frequently political, often confrontational with the administration and other students, and highly dependent upon the personal values of the Mudd coordinators. This became a big issue during Spring 2004, when a cross-burning and various racial incidents led to the creation of a number of aggressive student activist organizations.
Both activism and outreach can be a part of MMAD, but should be recognized as different from MMAD's historical mission - to provide Mudders with the opportunity to volunteer with members of the 5-C community in the Inland Valley area.
Whatever the mission, make sure it is specific. It should be able to be articulated in a single, relatively uncomplicated sentence.
(2) Be realistic as far as what to expect from HMC and its students, realistic but not pessimistic.
This was something that took a very, very long time to drill into my thick skull. I'd wonder, why don't Mudders care about things like poverty, homelessness, or bad public schools? Are we just soulless scientists or spoiled college kids?
The problem, of course, was not the Mudd community, but my expectations of what should be. Mudd students have a sense of never having enough time, of always being busy, of always being overworked. At first, I thought we really did work harder than everyone else - now that I've visited a few schools and been at Cornell for a few years, I realize that most students feel this way. Mudd is different from some schools in that it is
(1) small
(2) focused on math, science, and engineering, which are hard
(3) an expensive school.
I didn't consider those three factors, which made it hard for me to realize why it would be harder to recruit volunteers here than at, say, Berkeley.
It is small - this means that everyone knows everyone else, and so you might be trying to convince friends instead of complete strangers to go feed the homeless on Saturdays. However, this also means that, all other things being equal, there are a smaller number of students who will see value in volunteering. Now, based on my experience with Oxfam donations, Mudders might in fact be far more generous than students at the other 4-C with their meals going toward international hunger relief. But the fact remains that with only 800 people, it's hard to believe that there will be an army of people who agree with your worldview.
It is focused on math, science and engineering. These things are hard. They require a lot of time, energy, patience, and training to become good at. There is a time pressure, and it's important to acknowledge it.
Mudd is also an expensive school. A lot of students can't afford to take time away from work and school to go volunteer. I was lucky in that I didn't have to work as much as some of my friends to pay the bills. During my frosh orientation, someone made the comment that "No one at Mudd has parents who make cardboard boxes for a living." I'm not quite sure if that's true - there are a lot of students who needed lots of aid, lots of work-study, and still had to take out a lot of loans to continue to go to school. This reality prompted Deans Sundberg, Noda and myself in 2004 to make MMAD coordinating a work-study position.
Because of these, it's helpful to measure progress and effectiveness not by raw numbers, but whether or not those numbers stay stable or increase. If they do, you're doing something right.
(3) Volunteering can be fun, personally rewarding, and eye-opening - it does not have to be all of these, but there should be an opportunity for each.
Volunteers and coordinators alike bring different skills and will get different things out of it. Some do it for social reasons - I've met a lot of amazing people through volunteering, and made some friends that I will keep for a lifetime.
Being a MMAD coordinator helped me with public speaking, with organizing events, and with managing people. I learned how to negotiate, form partnerships, and deal with politics. It probably helped me get an NSF fellowship In short, volunteering did not only benefit the homeless in Pomona or members of the Mudd community - I personally benefited.
And boy did it open up my eyes to the complexities of the world, of the nuanced nature of homelessness and the different communities that fall under that generic category. When you walk unwittingly up to two people engaged in a drug deal and hand out sandwiches, realizing only afterward that the guy on the left had a knife in his hand that he would have used against you if you had caused trouble, you look at the world a different way.
Point being - not everyone is going to want to do the "hard stuff". Some people will raise money - some people want leadership experience. By keeping these three payoffs in mind, you'll be able to design better volunteer activities and more effectively persuade people to give it a try.
(4) Good relationships with the administrators and ASHMC are incredibly important in order to get things done.
Coalitions are important in life. The maxim that won World War II was "Never fight unless you have to, never fight alone, and never fight for long." Whether they are your friends, your family, your professional network, or political affiliation, partners will make you more effective and less exhausted.
The administration has the power - and for good reason. They have to make sure that your plan to offer Platt's used food to homeless shelters doesn't leave them vulnerable to a lawsuit. They also have to make sure that students donating meals from their meal plan to a cause doesn't make it impossible to pay for dining services. I've negotiated, fought, and fumed against the administration as much as anyone else - but at the end of the day, they were MMAD's best friends.
Don't be afraid to disagree, but always be polite. Your club can only benefit from good relations with other groups.
4. Operational
(1) Ego destroys more organizations and clubs than anything else - the cause, whatever it is, must be bigger than any one person.
Boy did I learn this one. For those of you who overlapped with me, you probably saw how obsessed I was with getting whatever I wanted for MMAD at the moment. The way I operated, the club should've been renamed the Institute of Mudders Making Anarchic Destruction (IMMAD). In the end, my ego prevented me from getting help with projects, from giving others the opportunity to run with their own ideas, and from really opening up Mudd to the range of opportunities available.
If volunteers are honest with themselves, I think a lot of us have a bit of self-righteousness at our core. If you don't, congratulations - you're already wiser than I was. :) In the end, it may matter a little who gets credit - we think Newton invented calculus, though history tells us that it's a bit more complicated - but it matters a LOT whether it gets done. The only way to make real difference in this complicated world with lots and lots of empowered, intelligent people is to focus the energies of a large number of these people.
Facilitate, but do not dictate.
(2) Get help if you need it.
This is related to #1 in Operations. Everyone is busy. But everyone wants to help. If you need help, get it. If you're not sure, ask for it anyway. It's insane to try to move a heavy couch by yourself - it's equally dumb to try to run a big event without help.
(3) Everyone needs a clear idea of what needs to be done, why it needs to be done, and who needs to do it.
I heard that MMAD has 12 coordinators now. While this makes me happy that it's expanding, I wonder how effectively 12 people can set a time to meet, much less get things done. It may be possible, but only if there is a clear idea and overall agreement on what needs to be done, and who is going to do what. Even though no coordinator is officially in charge of MMAD, there does need to be one person who organizes a given project. Don't be afraid to take the initiative, and don't be annoyed if someone's bossiness gets things done.
Emailing meeting notes and a to-do list for everyone after a meeting is a great way of making sure everyone knows what they need to do, and a way of holding people to what they promise.
(4) Money is important in order to get things done - make sure that the funding is available for every project. If it's not, don't be shy to go out and get it.
When I left Mudd, MMAD depended upon ASHMC for most of its funds. However, we also got help for certain activities by negotiating with the administration on donated meals, or discussing joint funding of work trips with the 5-C volunteer office.
Though not directly affiliated with us, SALSA negotiated with Boeing to put up operating funds for science outreach to underrepresented minorities. It can be done if there's a clear plan, a measurable goal, and a way for the company or school to get something out of it (say, good publicity or access to young talent).
(5) Learn how to negotiate with the administration and other stakeholders.
Whatever you do, there will be people who think it should be done differently. Know the layout of whose turf is what, and do your best to talk with people who might be hurt or affected. Many of our newer projects would not have worked, had we not contacted the administration or other groups to make sure there was no conflict or overlap. Better yet, when you have a great idea for a joint project, talking with another group can increase your resources and chances of success.
(6) Professors, the administration, and staff have long-term connections with the community, and are a great source of contacts. Existing contacts should be maintained and transferred between years.
One of the problems with college organizations is that the membership constantly enters and leaves. It's easy to forget what happened a few years ago, the battles fought and lessons learned. This is part of the reason why I'm writing this letter. But another important part of this is that all the good will that boil down to personal relationships between MMAD coordinators and members of the community can evaporate once the person leaves.
Ideally, MMAD coordinators will train their successors and provide them with a list of local contacts (or even a personal introduction). But an equally valuable resource, whether for resurrecting old relationships or creating new ones, is to use the administration, faculty, and staff. They live in or around Claremont, and know a lot of people. Don't depend only upon traditionally powerful people - dining staff and maintenance folks have been some of the most valuable friends and useful collaborators on projects, and have introduced me to local organizations that I would have missed otherwise.
(7)Talk about what worked and what didn't for each event
Feedback is important - I didn't do this very much at Mudd, in classwork, life, or volunteering. With every project or activity, we should ask ourselves "What worked? What didn't? How could we make this better? What have we learned?" A smart leader will be able to solicit and provide feedback without being hurt or hurting. But if egos are bruised in this process, too bad. You're in the business of helping people, not reinforcing self-esteem. :)
5. Tactical
(1) You get more flies with honey than vinegar - focus on the positive.
The worst thing we can do is make people feel badly if they can't volunteer, or make people think volunteers are all pushy, pretentious hypocrites. I know it's tough - when people turn you down for the 20th time to donate blood, or spend a Saturday at the shelter, you might feel like telling someone off. Please don't. Like any sales job - and yes, this is a sales job - you will need to tolerate rejection. It's not personal, and often it's simply a matter of giving someone the benefit of the doubt. There are jerks, and some will always be jerks. But your goal is to improve the Mudd community by providing an opportunity to leave a claustrophobic, closed world of perpetual stress and intellectual one-upmanship and step back.
At a more fundamental level, volunteering = good in most people's minds, even those who hate it. An inconsistent message - say, angry emails to the listserv condemning the lack of volunteerism (yes, I've done this) only lead to unsubscriptions (four in my case) and a loss of credibility. Save the rants for your livejournal (and make it private - minimize the drama).
If you're curious about the science behind how certain people and causes are more effective than others, I'd recommend reading Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion. This book is designed to help you defend yourself against aggressive salesmen. But it can also enlighten your approach to soliciting volunteering. I've sent a copy to Susan Kim at MMAD.
(2) Provide a range of commitment/participation levels to make it as easy as possible for people to volunteer.
Not everyone expects the same thing. Some people will look for a jumping off point to personally crusade against poverty in America, or hunger in the world. Some people are uncomfortable with dealing directly with poor people.
The longer I'm in science, the more I realize that its strength and frustration comes from the fact that science takes all sorts of people. People who otherwise wouldn't have a place in our society can find success and even greatness in science. We need politicians, public relations types, specific nerds and visionary generalists in science. The same is true of volunteering. For every person who sits and chats with the homeless and gives them hugs, there is at least one person balancing books and writing grants in the office, one person calling up donors. To build a house for Habitat for Humanity, one can dig ditches, drywall, dig postholes, work on wiring, put up shingles... you get the point. Many hands, many different jobs, and a place for most everyone.
Some people will be able to donate ten hours a week. Some will donate ten hours a year. But it makes a difference, not only in what that person does, but what it does for them. Never forget this - our impact is not only on those we help, but on how our actions and words change ourselves and each other.
(3) Know how to table and flier effectively.
You have a few seconds to make an impression on people as they walk from the tray return to the doors of Platt. Think about what you want to say and convey. Remember that communication of liking and attitude is 55% body language and facial expression, 38% vocal tone, and 7% what you actually say. Be upbeat, cheerful, and kind. Or be sarcastic, witty, and clever. Whatever you think works best for the people you're looking to recruit, do it.
Note: I am not above recruiting volunteers - ahem - endowed with greater physical attractiveness than average. They make a difference when trying to recruit people for a cause. Just remember - you're selling volunteering, not pimping out your friends.
(4) Make use of digital media, like websites, electronic calendars, and listservs to get opportunities out.
I think Professor Yong said that time management was the key to succeeding at Mudd. Since he graduated in 3 years with two majors, I think he knows what he's talking about. Definitely make use of electronic calendars, listservs, and the MMAD website to keep people up-to-date about events.
Do not underestimate the value of a good website. A regularly updated, useful, well-organized website can provide potential donors and volunteers with a credible, professional face.
6. Conclusion
Our future may lie beyond our vision, but it is not completely beyond our
control. It is the shaping impulse of America that neither fate nor nature
nor the irresistible tides of history, but the work of our own hands, matched
to reason and principle, that will determine our destiny. There is pride in
that, even arrogance, but there is also experience and truth. In any event,
it is the only way we can live.
- Robert F. Kennedy
Robert Kennedy spoke those words 40 years ago to Black students in Apartheid South Africa. It remains as true today as it was then. No one knows for certain the limits of one's potential, or of the range of effect of one's actions. What you can be certain is that, more than anything else, your character and ability will determine your future.
MMAD is a great organization that has the potential to change lives. But any organization is only good as its people. I hope this document helps you become more effective volunteer coordinators. But I also know that times, people, and missions change. You are here at Harvey Mudd because, more than most, you have proven yourself capable of independent thought and effective action. Though MMAD may be, and perhaps ought to be, only one small part of your time at Mudd, it is truly a place where you can make a difference, in the world, and in yourself.
Character is destiny - and I hope that in spite of the frustrations, setbacks, and uncertain progress, that you feel the time spent in MMAD, and HMC in general, will test you and compel you to become stronger and smarter women and men, armed with compassion and conviction. Good luck to you all.
One of my biggest regrets at Mudd is not devoting the time, thought, and energy needed to really set up MMAD with more infrastructure. I am very happy that the coordinator positions are work-study - I think this is an important way for students who are concerned for society to be able to do good work without having to choose between work and volunteering. To clarify my thoughts, and to maybe pass along the experience and thoughts I should have before I left, I've decided to draft this memo. I don't know of an existing handbook for volunteering, but all social organizations operate according to a few basic principles, most of which I have tried to incorporate into this memo.
2. Summary
I've separated them in terms of strategic, operational, and tactical lessons.
Strategic lessons relate to long-term planning and agenda setting - usually things that happen once a semester, once a year, or even over the lifetime of MMAD. (planning)
Operational lessons relate to the mechanics of getting things done - logistics, planning, and execution of events. (doing things)
Tactical lessons relate to the techniques you actually use to recruit volunteers for events and keep people informed. (keeping people happy and interested)
The chief lessons learned:
Strategic
1. Decide each year whether energy and mission will be focused on outreach, volunteering, or activism, or a combination of these.
2. Be realistic as far as what to expect from HMC and its students, realistic but not pessimistic.
3. Volunteering can be fun, personally rewarding, and eye-opening - it does not have to be all of these, but there should be an opportunity for each.
4. Good relationships with the administrators and ASHMC are incredibly important in order to get things done.
Operational
1. Ego destroys more organizations and clubs than anything else - the cause, whatever it is, must be bigger than any one person.
2. Get help if you need it.
3. Everyone needs a clear idea of what needs to be done, why it needs to be done, and who needs to do it.
4. Money is important in order to get things done - make sure that the funding is available for every project. If it's not, don't be shy to go out and get it.
5. Learn how to negotiate with the administration and other stakeholders.
6. Professors, the administration, and staff have long-term connections with the community, and are a great source of contacts. Existing contacts should be maintained and transferred between years.
7. Talk about what worked and what didn't for each event.
Tactical
1. You get more flies with honey than vinegar - focus on the positive.
2. Provide a range of commitment/participation levels to make it as easy as possible for people to volunteer.
3. Know how to table and flier effectively.
4. Make use of digital media, like websites, electronic calendars, and listservs to get opportunities out.
Most of these seem obvious, but it's sometimes a bit challenging to keep all of these in mind when one has finals/jobs/personal life to worry about. I'll cover each point listed in more detail below.
3. Strategic
(1) Decide each year whether energy and mission will be focused on outreach, volunteering, or activism, or a combination of these.
When I was a MMAD volunteer coordinator, we focused on volunteering. We decided to do this because other organizations - like Upward Bound and the education course led by Professors Dodds (CS) and Yong (Math) - were working on outreach. Furthermore, outreach is done in different ways by research groups, in part because the National Science Foundation requires all recipients of grants to demonstrate a broader impact to society. Activism was avoided because it can be tricky - it is frequently political, often confrontational with the administration and other students, and highly dependent upon the personal values of the Mudd coordinators. This became a big issue during Spring 2004, when a cross-burning and various racial incidents led to the creation of a number of aggressive student activist organizations.
Both activism and outreach can be a part of MMAD, but should be recognized as different from MMAD's historical mission - to provide Mudders with the opportunity to volunteer with members of the 5-C community in the Inland Valley area.
Whatever the mission, make sure it is specific. It should be able to be articulated in a single, relatively uncomplicated sentence.
(2) Be realistic as far as what to expect from HMC and its students, realistic but not pessimistic.
This was something that took a very, very long time to drill into my thick skull. I'd wonder, why don't Mudders care about things like poverty, homelessness, or bad public schools? Are we just soulless scientists or spoiled college kids?
The problem, of course, was not the Mudd community, but my expectations of what should be. Mudd students have a sense of never having enough time, of always being busy, of always being overworked. At first, I thought we really did work harder than everyone else - now that I've visited a few schools and been at Cornell for a few years, I realize that most students feel this way. Mudd is different from some schools in that it is
(1) small
(2) focused on math, science, and engineering, which are hard
(3) an expensive school.
I didn't consider those three factors, which made it hard for me to realize why it would be harder to recruit volunteers here than at, say, Berkeley.
It is small - this means that everyone knows everyone else, and so you might be trying to convince friends instead of complete strangers to go feed the homeless on Saturdays. However, this also means that, all other things being equal, there are a smaller number of students who will see value in volunteering. Now, based on my experience with Oxfam donations, Mudders might in fact be far more generous than students at the other 4-C with their meals going toward international hunger relief. But the fact remains that with only 800 people, it's hard to believe that there will be an army of people who agree with your worldview.
It is focused on math, science and engineering. These things are hard. They require a lot of time, energy, patience, and training to become good at. There is a time pressure, and it's important to acknowledge it.
Mudd is also an expensive school. A lot of students can't afford to take time away from work and school to go volunteer. I was lucky in that I didn't have to work as much as some of my friends to pay the bills. During my frosh orientation, someone made the comment that "No one at Mudd has parents who make cardboard boxes for a living." I'm not quite sure if that's true - there are a lot of students who needed lots of aid, lots of work-study, and still had to take out a lot of loans to continue to go to school. This reality prompted Deans Sundberg, Noda and myself in 2004 to make MMAD coordinating a work-study position.
Because of these, it's helpful to measure progress and effectiveness not by raw numbers, but whether or not those numbers stay stable or increase. If they do, you're doing something right.
(3) Volunteering can be fun, personally rewarding, and eye-opening - it does not have to be all of these, but there should be an opportunity for each.
Volunteers and coordinators alike bring different skills and will get different things out of it. Some do it for social reasons - I've met a lot of amazing people through volunteering, and made some friends that I will keep for a lifetime.
Being a MMAD coordinator helped me with public speaking, with organizing events, and with managing people. I learned how to negotiate, form partnerships, and deal with politics. It probably helped me get an NSF fellowship In short, volunteering did not only benefit the homeless in Pomona or members of the Mudd community - I personally benefited.
And boy did it open up my eyes to the complexities of the world, of the nuanced nature of homelessness and the different communities that fall under that generic category. When you walk unwittingly up to two people engaged in a drug deal and hand out sandwiches, realizing only afterward that the guy on the left had a knife in his hand that he would have used against you if you had caused trouble, you look at the world a different way.
Point being - not everyone is going to want to do the "hard stuff". Some people will raise money - some people want leadership experience. By keeping these three payoffs in mind, you'll be able to design better volunteer activities and more effectively persuade people to give it a try.
(4) Good relationships with the administrators and ASHMC are incredibly important in order to get things done.
Coalitions are important in life. The maxim that won World War II was "Never fight unless you have to, never fight alone, and never fight for long." Whether they are your friends, your family, your professional network, or political affiliation, partners will make you more effective and less exhausted.
The administration has the power - and for good reason. They have to make sure that your plan to offer Platt's used food to homeless shelters doesn't leave them vulnerable to a lawsuit. They also have to make sure that students donating meals from their meal plan to a cause doesn't make it impossible to pay for dining services. I've negotiated, fought, and fumed against the administration as much as anyone else - but at the end of the day, they were MMAD's best friends.
Don't be afraid to disagree, but always be polite. Your club can only benefit from good relations with other groups.
4. Operational
(1) Ego destroys more organizations and clubs than anything else - the cause, whatever it is, must be bigger than any one person.
Boy did I learn this one. For those of you who overlapped with me, you probably saw how obsessed I was with getting whatever I wanted for MMAD at the moment. The way I operated, the club should've been renamed the Institute of Mudders Making Anarchic Destruction (IMMAD). In the end, my ego prevented me from getting help with projects, from giving others the opportunity to run with their own ideas, and from really opening up Mudd to the range of opportunities available.
If volunteers are honest with themselves, I think a lot of us have a bit of self-righteousness at our core. If you don't, congratulations - you're already wiser than I was. :) In the end, it may matter a little who gets credit - we think Newton invented calculus, though history tells us that it's a bit more complicated - but it matters a LOT whether it gets done. The only way to make real difference in this complicated world with lots and lots of empowered, intelligent people is to focus the energies of a large number of these people.
Facilitate, but do not dictate.
(2) Get help if you need it.
This is related to #1 in Operations. Everyone is busy. But everyone wants to help. If you need help, get it. If you're not sure, ask for it anyway. It's insane to try to move a heavy couch by yourself - it's equally dumb to try to run a big event without help.
(3) Everyone needs a clear idea of what needs to be done, why it needs to be done, and who needs to do it.
I heard that MMAD has 12 coordinators now. While this makes me happy that it's expanding, I wonder how effectively 12 people can set a time to meet, much less get things done. It may be possible, but only if there is a clear idea and overall agreement on what needs to be done, and who is going to do what. Even though no coordinator is officially in charge of MMAD, there does need to be one person who organizes a given project. Don't be afraid to take the initiative, and don't be annoyed if someone's bossiness gets things done.
Emailing meeting notes and a to-do list for everyone after a meeting is a great way of making sure everyone knows what they need to do, and a way of holding people to what they promise.
(4) Money is important in order to get things done - make sure that the funding is available for every project. If it's not, don't be shy to go out and get it.
When I left Mudd, MMAD depended upon ASHMC for most of its funds. However, we also got help for certain activities by negotiating with the administration on donated meals, or discussing joint funding of work trips with the 5-C volunteer office.
Though not directly affiliated with us, SALSA negotiated with Boeing to put up operating funds for science outreach to underrepresented minorities. It can be done if there's a clear plan, a measurable goal, and a way for the company or school to get something out of it (say, good publicity or access to young talent).
(5) Learn how to negotiate with the administration and other stakeholders.
Whatever you do, there will be people who think it should be done differently. Know the layout of whose turf is what, and do your best to talk with people who might be hurt or affected. Many of our newer projects would not have worked, had we not contacted the administration or other groups to make sure there was no conflict or overlap. Better yet, when you have a great idea for a joint project, talking with another group can increase your resources and chances of success.
(6) Professors, the administration, and staff have long-term connections with the community, and are a great source of contacts. Existing contacts should be maintained and transferred between years.
One of the problems with college organizations is that the membership constantly enters and leaves. It's easy to forget what happened a few years ago, the battles fought and lessons learned. This is part of the reason why I'm writing this letter. But another important part of this is that all the good will that boil down to personal relationships between MMAD coordinators and members of the community can evaporate once the person leaves.
Ideally, MMAD coordinators will train their successors and provide them with a list of local contacts (or even a personal introduction). But an equally valuable resource, whether for resurrecting old relationships or creating new ones, is to use the administration, faculty, and staff. They live in or around Claremont, and know a lot of people. Don't depend only upon traditionally powerful people - dining staff and maintenance folks have been some of the most valuable friends and useful collaborators on projects, and have introduced me to local organizations that I would have missed otherwise.
(7)Talk about what worked and what didn't for each event
Feedback is important - I didn't do this very much at Mudd, in classwork, life, or volunteering. With every project or activity, we should ask ourselves "What worked? What didn't? How could we make this better? What have we learned?" A smart leader will be able to solicit and provide feedback without being hurt or hurting. But if egos are bruised in this process, too bad. You're in the business of helping people, not reinforcing self-esteem. :)
5. Tactical
(1) You get more flies with honey than vinegar - focus on the positive.
The worst thing we can do is make people feel badly if they can't volunteer, or make people think volunteers are all pushy, pretentious hypocrites. I know it's tough - when people turn you down for the 20th time to donate blood, or spend a Saturday at the shelter, you might feel like telling someone off. Please don't. Like any sales job - and yes, this is a sales job - you will need to tolerate rejection. It's not personal, and often it's simply a matter of giving someone the benefit of the doubt. There are jerks, and some will always be jerks. But your goal is to improve the Mudd community by providing an opportunity to leave a claustrophobic, closed world of perpetual stress and intellectual one-upmanship and step back.
At a more fundamental level, volunteering = good in most people's minds, even those who hate it. An inconsistent message - say, angry emails to the listserv condemning the lack of volunteerism (yes, I've done this) only lead to unsubscriptions (four in my case) and a loss of credibility. Save the rants for your livejournal (and make it private - minimize the drama).
If you're curious about the science behind how certain people and causes are more effective than others, I'd recommend reading Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion. This book is designed to help you defend yourself against aggressive salesmen. But it can also enlighten your approach to soliciting volunteering. I've sent a copy to Susan Kim at MMAD.
(2) Provide a range of commitment/participation levels to make it as easy as possible for people to volunteer.
Not everyone expects the same thing. Some people will look for a jumping off point to personally crusade against poverty in America, or hunger in the world. Some people are uncomfortable with dealing directly with poor people.
The longer I'm in science, the more I realize that its strength and frustration comes from the fact that science takes all sorts of people. People who otherwise wouldn't have a place in our society can find success and even greatness in science. We need politicians, public relations types, specific nerds and visionary generalists in science. The same is true of volunteering. For every person who sits and chats with the homeless and gives them hugs, there is at least one person balancing books and writing grants in the office, one person calling up donors. To build a house for Habitat for Humanity, one can dig ditches, drywall, dig postholes, work on wiring, put up shingles... you get the point. Many hands, many different jobs, and a place for most everyone.
Some people will be able to donate ten hours a week. Some will donate ten hours a year. But it makes a difference, not only in what that person does, but what it does for them. Never forget this - our impact is not only on those we help, but on how our actions and words change ourselves and each other.
(3) Know how to table and flier effectively.
You have a few seconds to make an impression on people as they walk from the tray return to the doors of Platt. Think about what you want to say and convey. Remember that communication of liking and attitude is 55% body language and facial expression, 38% vocal tone, and 7% what you actually say. Be upbeat, cheerful, and kind. Or be sarcastic, witty, and clever. Whatever you think works best for the people you're looking to recruit, do it.
Note: I am not above recruiting volunteers - ahem - endowed with greater physical attractiveness than average. They make a difference when trying to recruit people for a cause. Just remember - you're selling volunteering, not pimping out your friends.
(4) Make use of digital media, like websites, electronic calendars, and listservs to get opportunities out.
I think Professor Yong said that time management was the key to succeeding at Mudd. Since he graduated in 3 years with two majors, I think he knows what he's talking about. Definitely make use of electronic calendars, listservs, and the MMAD website to keep people up-to-date about events.
Do not underestimate the value of a good website. A regularly updated, useful, well-organized website can provide potential donors and volunteers with a credible, professional face.
6. Conclusion
Our future may lie beyond our vision, but it is not completely beyond our
control. It is the shaping impulse of America that neither fate nor nature
nor the irresistible tides of history, but the work of our own hands, matched
to reason and principle, that will determine our destiny. There is pride in
that, even arrogance, but there is also experience and truth. In any event,
it is the only way we can live.
- Robert F. Kennedy
Robert Kennedy spoke those words 40 years ago to Black students in Apartheid South Africa. It remains as true today as it was then. No one knows for certain the limits of one's potential, or of the range of effect of one's actions. What you can be certain is that, more than anything else, your character and ability will determine your future.
MMAD is a great organization that has the potential to change lives. But any organization is only good as its people. I hope this document helps you become more effective volunteer coordinators. But I also know that times, people, and missions change. You are here at Harvey Mudd because, more than most, you have proven yourself capable of independent thought and effective action. Though MMAD may be, and perhaps ought to be, only one small part of your time at Mudd, it is truly a place where you can make a difference, in the world, and in yourself.
Character is destiny - and I hope that in spite of the frustrations, setbacks, and uncertain progress, that you feel the time spent in MMAD, and HMC in general, will test you and compel you to become stronger and smarter women and men, armed with compassion and conviction. Good luck to you all.
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