To read, or not to read?

As most of you know, I have graduated from college and thus am no longer enrolled in any classes. Yet my thirst for knowledge has not been sated by any means. In fact, it has grown exponentially over the last few months. To quell this famished monster inside of me, I have started reading at an unprecedented rate.

Since August, I have read 18 books, 3 plays, 135 comic books, a handful of sonnets, and innumerable articles online, mainly concerning news in science, technology, economics, politics, video games, and music.

And there are still tons of books out there, yearning for me to turn their pages, flex their spines, and inhale their oddly pleasant aromas.

Reading incessantly has led me to make some interesting observations concerning changes in my behavior and abilities. But are my observations real and backed by research, or just circumstantial? Let's find out!

Observation #1: Articulation

The first nuance that I noticed was an increase in my ability to string together fluid sentences in conversation and procure the "right" words more readily. It doesn't happen every time I open my mouth, but it certainly happens way more often than it used to. I actually have always been somewhat of a clumsy speaker, often stammering and tripping up on my words, unable to succinctly and accurately translate my thoughts into spoken words. Now, I'm finding that, regularly, the words just flow out of me and everything I'm thinking seamlessly transitions to everything I'm saying (this effect is greatly facilitated by coffee). That's not to say I've ceased stammering -- would that I had!

(It's also important to note that the effect isn't as noticeable in my writing. I have always been better at putting my thoughts on paper than speaking them. Really, the only change has come in my slightly expanded vocabulary and an increased rapidity of my writing, which, ultimately, makes little difference.)

And the Research says...

The most comprehensive study I found said that reading -- or print exposure -- was highly correlated with vocabulary, cultural knowledge, spelling ability, and verbal fluency. Researchers Keith Stanovich and Anne Cunnigham (1992) in their landmark study showed that someone who is exposed to a lot of print (i.e. reads often) is more likely to have a larger vocabulary, more cultural knowledge, a better ability to spell words, and also a better ability to write/speak (i.e. is more articulate!) than someone who is not exposed to print.

WARNING: Correlation is not the same as causation -- reading print did not directly lead to these increases. But there is clearly a relationship there.

Shakespeare was a singularly articulate person (that is, if he was indeed  just one person).

Another study conducted by Stanovich (1995) found that "...exposure to print was a significant predictor of vocabulary and declarative knowledge even after differences in working memory, general ability, and educational level were controlled. These results support the theory of fluid-crystallized intelligence and suggest a more prominent role for exposure to print in theories of individual differences in knowledge acquisition and maintenance." In other words, the amount the subjects read was again strongly correlated with their vocabulary and their amount of "declarative knowledge" -- knowledge that can be declared, like facts and things of that nature.

Also, a meta analysis of 20 studies showed that students learned about 15% of the unknown words they came into contact with while reading. So there's a bit of causality there.

But, to answer my above question, no reading does not directly make someone more articulate. But it is strongly correlated with an expansive vocabulary, spelling ability, and heightened verbal fluency. Read more often, and you may find yourself naturally using bigger words and interjecting more facts into your every day conversations.

Observation #2: Increased Empathy

Another thing I found pleasantly peculiar is that, when watching a character of some kind on TV or in the theater, I can now more easily understand their emotions, get inside their heads, feel what they feel, and think how they think. That's not to say I do this to an astonishing degree, but I frequently get flashes of emotional insight when watching...well, anything! From emotion-heavy films like 12 Years a Slave with powerful protagonists, to narcissistic buffoons like Dennis Reynolds from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, It's almost simple to slip into their skin and experience what they're experiencing.

Dennis (portrayed masterfully by Glenn Howerton) is such a great character. Highly recommend Netflix-ing this show.

And the Research says...

Indeed, reading does increase empathy! But only by reading literary fiction. A very recent study found that reading literally fiction temporarily expanded people's ability to feel/understand others' emotions That means reading Twilight and 50 Shades is not going to cut it, whereas works like The Lord of the Flies, The Great Gatsby, and Catcher in the Rye (all fantastic books by the way) will give you an increased ability to experience what someone else might be going through. Note that the effect was temporary, however, and it remains to be seen if reading loads of literary works over a long period of time will make someone permanently more empathetic. The study also implies that, more broadly, thinking about any work of art will produce this effect. So if you want to feel what others are going through, go to an art museum and/or read some Hemingway!

Observation #3: Ability to Abstract

When I used to read things, especially literature, my logical, straightforward brain would rarely (if ever) be able to see the "bigger picture" of the story. I was thematically inept, useless when it came to questions like "What was this story about?" Nowadays, more and more themes and meanings jump out at me while reading. After finishing Lord of the Flies, I instantly knew what it was about and what the broader message was (I won't spoil it because I think it's something you, Faithful Reader, should really read. Excellent piece of literature.) This ability also extends to most art, whether it be paintings, photography, video games, or film. My ability to think abstractly has definitely expanded since I started reading like a man possessed. It also has generally made me more creative, albeit in a pedestrian and sometimes silly way.

And the Research says...

Through the dozens of articles I perused, none answered this question definitively. However, I did learn that reading increases one's ability to think in general.

Just this past September, science finally proved that reading does help kids do better in school. Not only reading, but literacy activities, such as writing and listening to words/books being read led to significant success in school, even in the subjects of science and mathematics. As one researcher pointed out, "We found that as the amount of reading increased, the students who weren't very good readers had more and more difficulty with the math and science items. Reading is crucial to success in school. It's the glue that's holding it together. "

Another recent study by some researchers at Stanford had students read Jane Austen (renowned author of Pride and Prejudice, among other classics) while having their blood flow within their brains imaged via fMRI (i.e. the researchers peered inside their brains to see which areas were receiving the most blood flow, hence the most active, and observed the overall activity of their brains.) What the researchers found was that, apparently, attentive reading "requires the coordination of multiple complex cognitive functions." Reading really gives your brain a workout.

In the process of writing this blog, my routine browsing of the internet led me to another study  by MIT which showed that even the best schools don't improve students' abstract reasoning ability. My interpretation of this: if the brightest students -- who, it's reasonable to assume, were exposed to a lot of print in their early years and had tons of books at their disposal which helped them become exemplary students -- aren't better at abstract reasoning despite being great readers and great in school, then reading is probably not related to better abstract thinking.

My boy, Sir Isaac Newton, may have been the best abstract thinker of all time. Dude was truly brilliant.

But, one study did conclude that reading literary works led to an increased ability to think critically and analytically. Not quite abstract reasoning, but those types of thinking definitely help in subjects like math and science.

Beyond my own observations, I found an overwhelming pile of research that fleshed out the myriad benefits of reading. Here's a list of a few I thought were of particular note.

Other Benefits of Reading:

• Reading reduces stress. The act of reading is inherently relaxing (most people sit in a leisurely position to do it). But reading just for 6 minutes can reduces stress levels up to 68%, which outperformed listening to music, going for a walk, and drinking some tea.
• Reading is good for your health. Mental health aside, the more you read, the more likely you are to come across bits of information that will help you live a healthier lifestyle. 
• Reading can help counteract the effects of aging. As we age, our mental capabilities decline. But remember, reading is a workout for your brain. Just as physical exercise can prolong the health and youth of your body, reading can prolong the youth and efficacy of your brain!
• Reading improves your writing ability. This one's pretty obvious. The more writing you read, the better you'll be at writing something yourself.
• Reading is free entertainment. No need for research on this. There are literally thousands of books at our local public library waiting to be read by you, for free!

But maybe not for long? Texas just recently opened an all-digital public library. Is that the way of the future? 

Back to the first question posed in the title: To read, or not to read? Is this even a question? The benefits of reading are seemingly endless. Yet how many people regularly, actively, intently read? The average American watches 34 hours of television a week. What if the average American read literature 34 hours a week? What would that America look like?

Do yourself a huge favor and make a conscious effort to read more. I understand many of you are in school and are probably (hopefully!) reading textbooks and various materials daily, as well as writing papers on said materials. Instead of being bogged down by these tasks, the next time you open that textbook, think of all the good that getting through one chapter will do for your brain and health. Don't think of it as something you have to do, think of it as an opportunity to expand your vocab become a more knowledgeable and capable thinker.

On top of textbooks, try and find time for some literary works. Reading these, as we've seen, will increase your ability to think critically, which will undoubtedly help you out come test time. You'll also become more empathetic, which is always a good thing in my opinion. And they are just plain enjoyable to read.

The message here is pretty plain: Make a habit of reading. It'll do your brain and body a whole lotta good.


          


Thanks for reading.




Edited by Ken McGurran

Slacktivism: "Like this if you think disasters are bad!"

[Written Thursday, November 14]

Last Friday, Typhoon Haiyan commenced its path of devastation in the Eastern Philippines, savaging structures and homes with torrents of water and wind, literally tearing families apart, drowning thousands, displacing thousands more. This was a true nightmare.

And the nightmare is still ongoing.

Satellite image of the super typhoon. Monstrous.

To put the storm in perspective, Haiyan was 3.5 times stronger than Hurricane Katrina, the storm that ravaged the Gulf Coast, most famously New Orleans. Despite as many as 700,000 Philippine natives heading warnings of the impending disaster and evacuating their homes, over 2,000 people have been confirmed dead and some officials believe as many as 10,000 have perished.

On top of the tragic body count, thousands upon thousands of people have lost their homes, livestock, possessions, crops -- their entire way of life.  As one tearful resident of the village Guiuan told CNN, "Everything, everything's gone."

One of the many horrifying scenes of Tacloban, the capital of the Philippine province of Leyte.

Sometimes, "everything" includes family. One man (among hundreds of others I'm sure) desperately searches  for six of his family members among the wreckage. He recounts his horror to ABS-CBN. "We all got separated from each other when the strong waves hit... We got separated. I couldn't even hold on to my child."

"I couldn't even hold on to my child." Can you even imagine?

The storm has prompted millions of people into action, doing their small part to help: donating, volunteering as operators, helping with searches, distribution of supplies, etc. But it has also prompted millions more to passively tweet things like, "Thoughts and prayers going out to the victims of the Philippines!"

"Help! Food. Water." They clearly need more than our thoughts and prayers.

There's absolutely nothing wrong with this gesture. Actually, it's admirable. It shows that humans are caring, empathetic, and sensitive to death and destruction. But it's only a gesture. That's the problem.

I recently read about this study on 'Slacktivism.' I encourage you to read it but for those of you who will inevitably neglect to do so, I'll summarize. Or rather, Kirk Kristofferson, PhD student at British Columbia's Sauder School of Business will do it for me with this quote.

   "Our research shows that if people are able to declare support for a charity publicly in social media it can actually make them less likely to donate to the cause later on."

That's bad, bad news for charities. This implies that people who "like" the Red Cross on Facebook are actually less likely to donate to it because they publicly declared their support of the organization. I like to call this social hypocrisy: Saying you do something over social media and then proceeding to rarely, if ever, do that thing in your life. The motivation for this is simple. When someone posts something over social media, the public has access to those claims and they think, "Hey, that dude's a super nice guy." The poster feels good about himself because he displayed good intentions and revealed his admirable nature. What's more, he likely posted this in private, on his phone or tablet or computer. No one is there to see his words manifest as actions. Thus, feeling accomplished and free from any obligation, the poster goes on to never do what he said he would.

I would say most of us are guilty of this -- myself very much included. I've tweeted the tweets, retweeted them, "liked" the Facebook pages, and made all the admirable gestures and emotional sentiments we come to expect following a tragedy. But I never once donated a dime or volunteered an hour of my service to these tragedies.

                   

Not until the words I couldn't even hold on to my child started resonating and reverberating in my head, unable to be ignored, much less forgotten. So, for the first time in my life, I decided to act. I donated money to the Philippines Red Cross.

It felt pretty great.

This post hits on another prevalent theme in my life right now, something I'm learning about, practicing, getting better at, in my pursuit of becoming a physician: altruism. There's a lot to be said about this word and what it means, too much for this post alone.

The most important thing about altruism is that it has been critical to humankind. Hunter-gather societies had to be collaborative, they had to share food, had to work together to take down game, drag it back to their camp, skin it, cook it, had to stick together to fend off predators. Otherwise they wouldn't  have survived, and I wouldn't be typing this right now, and you, Faithful Reader, would not be reading it. Humans thrived by being altruistic. It's literally in our DNA. So why have we gotten away from that principle? Why aren't we more altruistic?

One possible (and likely) answer to that latter question might be due the nature of our "altruism." I think we -- and by "we" I mean "me and my generation" -- are less traditionally altruistic. What I mean is that we as a whole don't act more selflessly for the good of other people, but instead we find other ways to be "altruistic." I would argue that the satisfaction of "liking" or creating an altruistic Facebook page/post or tweeting/retweeting an equivalent tweet rewards that person, gives them a certain satisfaction that in turn makes them less likely to actually act on their altruistic instinct. On top of that, clicking your mouse a couple of times is considerably easier and less financially and metabolically expensive than going out and helping those in need. It's like having your cake and eating too: A gleeful disposition for feeling like you did something meaningful while expending little to no resources.

This is a problem. This is not true altruism. This is slacktivism.

I'm not pressuring you to follow my example and donate now. I'm not saying "look how good I am for giving money, everyone!" I'm not calling you out. I am only making a sincere request. Please don't be a slacktivist. We are all in this world together. We all come from the same ancestors. We occupy the same delicate earth. We could have just as easily been ravaged by Typhoon Haiyan or Hurricane Katrina as those humans who were. And I think we owe it to those unfortunate humans, those most distant relatives, to help them in their time of need. Not because it feels good, not because your religion compels you, certainly not because it will elevate your public status or moral standing, but because they are human, and so are you.

Edited by Ken McGurran

Why I Love Snapchat

Many of you who know me well are well aware of my mild disdain for social media (which seems hypocritical since I have Facebook, Twitter, and a blog). This is particularly true for image-heavy fads like Vine, Instagram, and Pintrest. Initially, I found the idea of a "selfie" to be inherently vain and slightly abhorrent.

Then I downloaded Snapchat. Oh, the selfies that ensued...

You Faithful Readers must have heard of Snapchat by now. It's an app that allows you to take fleeting pics or videos, accompany them with a limited amount of text or crude digital paint, and send them to any number of your friends for a designated amount of seconds (1-10). Once time runs out, however -- and herein lies the beauty -- that image or video, innocent or incriminating, is lost forever. Just gone. Period. (Unless your friend(s) displayed quick enough reflexes to capture a screenshot of said Snap.)

My reflexes failed not in capturing this precious Snap of my friend Joel.

This is truly an ingenious idea, and a fad I never thought I would succumb to. Nonetheless, the more Snaps I send, the more enthralled I become with that seductive app, for several reasons.

Reason #1: Silly, yet intimate.

I am not a silly person, instead tending toward introversion and introspection. That's not to say I'm never silly or don't like to have fun in the more traditional sense of the word, nor do I think that silliness is always inappropriate. In fact, I think acting silly from time to time is greatly beneficial to one's life.

We all know that laughter is the best medicine, but also I think that showing a silly side of your self -- giving friends and family a glimpse of just how silly you can be at the expense of your pride or dignity -- demonstrates the extent that you value to those friends and family. What I'm trying to say is that by acting silly through Snapchat, you're intimating to your friends/family that they are close enough within your social circle to see an embarrassing side of you, in turn causing them to value you as a friend more, making them more likely to reciprocate said silliness, and thus strengthening the social bond between you.

        

This is Drew. He's something of a Snapchat prodigy.

Through Snapchat, I've been able to show my friends my capacity for ridiculousness, something I normally don't display in public settings. In return, many of my friends Snap me back in equal (and often greater) silliness, causing me to feel closer to them. It's refreshing and fun, and since those images people send disappear forever afterward, there is no limit to how silly (or vile) Snaps can be...think of the implications! [Note that these points I'm making are based solely on my intuition/experience and are not (to my knowledge) backed by research.]

    

Certainly not my most ridiculous -- those snaps have thankfully been lost forever.

Reason #2: Face-to-pixelated-face communication.

Going along with the first reason, I feel that Snapchat is just an inherently more intimate way to communicate for the sole reason that it involves visual imagery. When you send a simple text to someone, emotion and nonverbal communication are "lost in transmission" so to speak. Even when you're on the phone, you still can't see the person you're talking to, creating a sense of distance and separation. This depersonalizes the conversation, thus resulting in a less intimate exchange. When you add even a low quality, ephemeral image to your text, the conversation becomes much more personal, enhancing the social connection between you and your friend.

Just look how much Brady misses his "boyz." So sincere and cute...

This might be Snapchat's greatest asset: the simulation of face-to-face communication. Snapchat allows users to simulate emotions (like excitement, sadness, cheerfulness, rage, etc.), make funny faces, or create videos that explicitly show what they are up to (instead of just texting back "Nothing much, what're you up to?"). All of this serves to enhance the intimacy of this digital conversation beyond what a text or phone call can offer. One shining example in my personal life attests to this: My old friend and neighbor now lives in Bismarck, and I used to never seem him and rarely talked to him since he moved there. Now, with Snapchat, I "see" him almost everyday and feel almost as close to him as I did back in the good 'ol days.

Again, these are only observations made by me (and most likely many others) through extensive experience with the app and not backed by any research.

Reason #3: All fades, given time.

The third reason is undoubtedly what led to the explosion of Snapchat's popularity in the first place: Time limits. Having a set amount of time before that Snap fades into oblivion allows people to express themselves in ways texts or picture messages never could. People can communicate secret information without fear of being found out because once time's up, that savory piece of gossip or address to the exclusive party will be gone forever.

Furthermore, the time limit hearkens to our more...sinful nature. I won't even begin to speculate on the number of lewd, incriminating, sexually charged Snaps that have been sent since the app's creation (none by me, I assure you), but I imagine it's an obscene figure. Nevertheless, couples can communicate more freely and explicitly than ever before, which no doubt fuels each others' sex drives and in turn leads them to be more sexually active, which is usually a good thing for relationships. On the other hand, I'm sure many screenshots have been taken of these revealing snaps, promoting blackmail, exposing infidelity, and ultimately leading the destruction of relationships. But I think the pros of the time limit outweigh the cons. In general, this sort of "anything goes" mantra that Snapchat boasts eviscerates any limit to creative and experimental communication, which I believe is a good thing.

Overall, I think Snapchat deserves a fair shot from anyone with a smartphone, and I hope I did a good job of persuading you of its value. Continuing my recent them of openmindedness, I ask you all to give it a try, see what you think. You (probably) won't regret it!

Drew certainly hasn't.

Follow me on Twitter (@Elder_Bass) or find me on Facebook to stay updated on future publications.

Edited by Ken McGurran

Gravity, the non-Newtonian, film kind.

Before I start, note that this post will contain no spoilers for the film Gravity, at least nothing one couldn't glean from the trailers.

Also, please go see Gravity.

I remember the first time I saw a trailer for the film Gravity. I may as well have bought my ticket then, not just because of Clooney's beautiful almond complexion, but because of the space setting (for which I hold a strong fascination) and the seemingly incredible visuals. Then the end of trailer revealed certain 3-dimensional intentions...like 80% of movies nowadays. Despite rolling my eyes, I wasn't dissuaded from the prospect of seeing it; I figured a 2D version would also be available.

Though I wasn't completely opposed to seeing this in 3D...

The weekend it came out I was in Minneapolis and didn't have a chance to see it. Consequently, other people saw it before me, namely a film buff friend of mine who holds a notoriously cynical and blunt worldview. Thus I was taken aback when he told me to see Gravity in 3D. Like literally taken aback.

Let's take a minute to flesh out everything I loathe about 3D "films."

1.) 3D movie tickets cost more money.

--My inherent frugality steers me clear of any 3D version of a desirable film. The added "immersion" doesn't justify an extra $2+ from my wallet.

2.) 3D might be the biggest media gimmick in recent memory, a clear scam, and an annoying fad.

--I don't think it's any secret that slapping on 3D to a movie is a sure way to sell more tickets; certainly studios know this otherwise they wouldn't do it ALL THE EFFING TIME. It's a common misconception that 3D movies are expensive to make; it's actually pretty cheap to add 3D, relative to the increased revenues from doing so, only costing an average of 18% more in the budget. Adding 3D to a "film" is just an easy way for studios to increase revenue, because us lemmings buy in to the "immersion" factor.

Exhibits A, B, and C: Jonas Brothers: The 3D Concert Experience. Just a straight money grab if I've ever seen one.

3.), 4.), and 5.) 3D does not add to the movie-going experience, and actually detracts from it by giving you a headache. Also, wearing the glasses tints the picture slightly, making the film artificially dark.

--This is definitely my most subjective, opinionated reason for hating 3D, even though it's backed by research. On average, moviegoers claim 3D does not enhance the film and actually can cause discomfort in the form of a headache, though obviously some people will claim it does enhance it, otherwise how would 3D films make money?

I'll stop there. 

The only time 3D impressed me was the first time I actually saw a film in 3D -- the premiere of Avatar. It was 2009, I was a freshman in college, and all my dorm-hall friends had succumbed to the hype surrounding James Cameron's magnum opus, a film literally 15 years in the making. Slightly jaded towards mainstream movements as I was (as we learned in the last Harry Potter-themed post), I begrudgingly went along with my friends to the film, and attended it with a clear bias against it (which I regret in hindsight, as I strive to become less and less biased...even though my bias came true and the film itself was terrible).

But, it honestly was the most visually striking film I had ever seen. What Cameron's script (utterly) lacked in imagination, Pandora's flora, fauna, and landscapes more than made up for it. His colorful world came to life in 3D, seducing my optical nerves. Though reluctant to admit it to my friends immediately after the film, I had been immersed in Avatar.

This scene was particularly beautiful. I forget the context but will always remember the visuals.

Then every movie started using 3D and I actively avoided all of them.

Until Gravity. 

(Back to present day)

Shortly after hearing the recommendation for seeing Gravity in 3D, a couple friends and I shelled out the extra cash for some 3D tickets, donned our glasses, and were consequently captivated.

I'm no film expert, but I've seen my fair share and I can tell you that I don't think I've ever seen a film more perfectly paced with its action and intensity. Top notch directing and some the most gripping, white-knuckle scenes I have ever sweated through. Bullock had a rocky start but (my dislike for her hesitates to admit this) she finished with a wonderfully strong, emotionally charged performance. Clooney was beautiful, as always. His acting was pretty solid too.

But what really made the film for me was the sense of depth added through the 3D. Think about it: space is a vacuum, absent of gravity (aside from gravitational pull/orbit). Objects "float" in space, and when a force is acted upon an object, said object will "float" indefinitely into the abyssal expanse of stars and planets. The director used 3D to intimately convey this concept in an unprecedented way. Exploding debris flew past my eyes while the astronauts tumbled helplessly within frame, all the while that indifferent and stolid blue sphere pervades the background. These layered shots by the director make the viewer feel so close to the action and at the same time give him/her a sense of the infinite depth of space, heightening the "gravity" of each scene and thus eliciting even stronger emotions.

What's more, many pieces of the debris in the film have symbolic weight as they flutter passively around the wreckage. Peaceful shots focusing on these objects amid the shambling remains of shuttles and satellites evoke even more emotion when viewed in 3D.

My friend Ken said it better than I ever could: "The idea here is obviously that even high order cognitive processes (i.e. interpreting symbolism) can be enhanced by somewhat simplistic measures that target sensation. To be poetic, 3D helps to blend the visceral and the rational. More intense sensory experiences can lead to more intense perceptual/cognitive ones." More simply, he's saying that the use of 3D in this example enhances our sensory experience, which in turn enhances our brain's reaction to that sensory input, causing more neurons to fire and thus allowing us to have a more profound understanding of the emotions and symbolism within the film.

In summation, while viewing this film I obtained such an intimate feel for the vast expanse of space, which added to the emotions of despair and helplessness the film continually (and masterfully) instills in the viewer. When I wasn't holding my breath, I kept saying to myself,  This is how you use 3D.

Gravity turned out to be one of my favorite and most memorable moviegoing experiences of my life, and as a result I have definitely become less cynical of the use of 3D in movies -- though not by much. Again, my message for this blog lands on open-mindedness: I blatantly refute that Gravity would have been as awesome in 2D as it was in 3D, and I almost let my "refined" taste for film prevent me from fully experiencing -- in my opinion -- Alfonso Cuarón's best film (and he's made some good ones).

Seriously, go see Gravity, but see it in 3D...

...it's so good.

Thanks for reading.

Edited by Ken McGurran

A Lengthy Life Lesson, Taught By Harry Potter

I have finally done it. I have read Harry Potter, J. K. Rowling's imaginative epic, in its entirety.

And it took me way too long to do.

I remember when the Harry Potter craze first reared its enormous head like it was last year. Coincidentally, that year, 2002, was one of the most influential and crucially developmental years of my life. *Initiate sequence: LIFE STORY*

2002 marked the first year I would attend public school. I had been home schooled before, but my mom decided she wanted to start teaching again, thus I was enrolled in sixth grade at good ol' Valley Middle School. As fall approached, emotions like trepidation and excitement swap laps in my brain.

Public school meant having actual teachers with deadlines and homework and various classrooms scattered throughout the hallways of a vast school building. But more than that, public school meant trying to fit in. Even as an 11 year old, I remember having an acute sense of self-awareness, and all sorts of anxieties popped in my head, the most pressing being How would kids view me as a scrawny home schooler? My only solace, as it happened, was also my only good friend at the time -- a fellow home schooler who would also be new to the school. Logan had far more charisma than me though; he made friends like Nicholas Cage makes movies. I thought by sticking with him, I would be okay, we were in it together and we would survive together.

But he and I had zero classes together that first year. I was thrust into a foreign (and potentially hostile) land, surrounded by strange faces that displayed strange mannerisms and spoke with a strange lexicon. Sure, we had things in common, like sports, Spongebob Squarepants, and Dragonball Z, but I hadn't the faintest idea how to conduct myself in a way that would appear relatable, normal.

I slowly learned some social norms that first semester, and even made a few good friends (some of whom I am still friends with today). As Christmas approached, plans for a seasonal field trip to the movie theater came with it. We had the option between seeing Santa Clause 2 -- the sequel to the raucously delightful Santa Clause starring none other than Home Improvement's Tim Allen-- or we could go see Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

If you've ever seen Tim Allen act, you'd know how hard of a decision that was for me.

Of course, I had heard of Harry by then, albeit by accident. My across-the-street neighbor, Trevor, was friends with another kid our age, Brett, and Trevor asked me one day as we were hanging out if he was alone in thinking that Brett bore a striking resemblance to Harry Potter with his glasses on. I gaped at him, confused and unsure how to respond. An awkward pause later, I simply asked, "Who's that?" with a furrowed brow. It was their turn to gape.

They told me all about the books and the movies and the general magic surrounding that unlikely hero.

I shrugged it off at the time. I wasn't much of a reader growing up and I never really engrossed myself in anything other than football and Super Smash Brothers. Having grown up so closely to my brother, who is three years older than me, I feel I aged with him, matured before many kids my age. This premature maturation (does that even make sense?) left me indifferent to juvenile fads, which is how I saw this Harry Potter character. All that talk of spells and wizards and monsters sounded like trivial, outlandish child's play (bear in mind I was unnaturally arrogant for an 11 year old which added to this sense of superiority). Looking back, I think I thought I was above Harry Potter, like a kid who no longer believed in Santa Clause (not the Tim Allen Santa Clause, that I could totally believe in). I scoffed at those foolish enough to buy in to such rubbish.

I also think part of that indifference had to do with my inherent tendency to avoid mainstream fads, not unlike a present day hipster. If something was already huge, I didn't want to be a part of it. This extended to Pop Music (Brittney Spears, Blink-182, etc.), Pokémon/Yu-Gi-Oh, even khaki shorts (I wore exclusively Jorts in middle school). I wanted to pioneer a fad, not jump in after everyone else knew about it, and, again, I think this was partially due to my pride.

So, unsurprisingly, I was one of the few students who chose to watch Tim Allen over Harry Potter. And I grew up remaining ignorant of Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Looney Lovegood, The Dark Lord, and all the mystery, misadventures, and magic that followed them.

I wholeheartedly regret this ignorance.

In college I met a host of new people, many of which gave me that same gaping looking Brett and Trevor did all those years ago when I said I neither watched nor read anything Harry Potter. After hundreds of recommendations, I started teasing the idea of delving into the novels at long last, but I was sidetracked with school, other novels (e.g. A Song of Ice and Fire, which I would recommend to anyone), and life.

Then, this past August I decided to embark on a roadtrip to L.A. with my friend, Aaron. The drive down would take 26 hours, and I anticipated I wouldn't have enough music or topics of conversation with which to sustain my sanity for such a long trip. Thus, I started looking for books I might listen to. After a short time thinking, my mind fell to the elusive Harry Potter series, something I knew would be an easy, engaging, and entertaining listen that would help while the hours away.

L.A. was pretty sweet btw.

At first, I listened to the books as a cynical adult (Aaron and I share a tendency for scrutiny and sarcastic humor, so his presence enabled this). We criticized, nitpicked, looked for inconsistencies and flaws, tweeted our misgivings, but despite this hardened approach I still felt a sense of enchantment hang around me every time the narrator illustrated the scenes and characters. There was just something about that world Rowling crafted that drew me in, seduced me off of my high horse and served me a warm and inviting drink that made me smile after every sip.

By the third book, I stopped criticizing and instead allowed myself to jump in fully to the magical universe. I became a kid again. I tore through the books, reading each more fervently and relentlessly than the last. Sure they were flawed, leaving a wake of unanswered questions, but I was all in, man, head over heels, truly immersed. This was exactly the kind of series I would have enjoyed as a teen, I knew: action packed, shrouded in mystery, riddled with riddles and puzzles, and accurately portraying the inexplicable complexity of teenage love.

And when I finished reading the last words, I felt that inevitable sense of gleeful remorse that accompanies the end, that troubling yet comfortable sense of finality one feels after completing any worthwhile book series, but the emotion was so much more palpable and poignant than usual. Regret washed over me, wave upon crashing wave. Why hadn't I read these as a kid? What would my life have been like had I done so? How might I have changed, whom might I have befriended, how many Potter Lego sets might I have purchased? I kept feeling like I had missed out on something truly special, something rare that only my generation could fully appreciate and experience to the greatest extent because it started with us and because it ended with us -- because it was written for us.

But I refused that gift, I shoved it aside in my pride. In doing so, in closing the gates of my mind to that world of magic, I think I robbed myself of a once-in-a-generation opportunity, and my childhood was less bright because of it.

This realization has taught me most lengthy life lesson to date: Don't let pride prevent you from opportunity. Don't shut your mind on things that seem different. Don't not do something just because you don't think you'll like it. Because that thing, that opportunity, it might just change your life for the better.

I think our boy, Alby, said it best (not Albus, the other one, Albert).

"The mind that opens to a new idea never returns to its original size."
                                                       --Albert Einstein

Keep your mind open, everyone; you will undoubtedly be better off if you do.


Edited by Ken McGurran

"Fantasy" Football: Who's To Blame?

Think about a time in school when you did really well on a test. What would you say was the reason you did well on that test?

Now, conversely, recall a time when you did poorly on a test (I can recall a few of those). What was the reason for that performance?

My Example: In Biochemistry we had four units essentially. One professor taught the first and fourth units and the other professor taught the second and third. The 2-3 professor was noticeably worse than 1-4. Although knowledgeable, she was sporadic, incoherent, tangential, and pitifully organized. Her exams reflected the lectures, and on the Unit 3 exam, I received a 77%. I'll give you one guess as to what (whom) I immediately laid the blame on.

Sitting here I can almost guarantee all of you have had a similar experience. Whenever you do well on something academic, it's because you worked hard, did your research, studied the material diligently, left no stone unturned and subsequently reaped the rewards of "A+ -- GREAT JOB!" Subpar performance, on the other hand, is due to the professor's "terrible" exams, poorly worded questions, ambiguous instructions, harsh grading style, nitpicky nature, or because of the simple fact that "My professor just doesn't like me lol."

Though I'll admit, some professors are just plain awful.

In all likelihood this kind of justifying behavior could be extended to, say, ANY successes and failures in life, like running a 10K ("I trained so hard!" v. "It was really windy and hot and hilly and--"), getting a job ("I have a great resume and interviewed really well!" v. "They were looking for a really specific type of experience and they asked some curveball questions.") or even...like...fantasy football? (Hey! I be that's what this blog is going to be about!)

Indeed just about every week wannabe GM's will justify their losses due to "poor matchups" or unexpected, freakish factors, while attributing their wins to their "insight" and "hunches". Classic human behavior...

In psychology, an external attribution is when one blames (attributes) the outcome of an event on some outside (external) factor.

As you've probably guessed then, an internal attribution is when one blames the outcome of an event on a factor that was under his/her control. 

When I lose my mathcup with another leaguer (an unofficial but necessary term to distinguish between actual football players and fantasy footballers), I will, invariably, put a large chunk of the blame on external factors. Like if I started Brandon Marshall and he had a poor game, I might say, "Jay Cutler played terrible." But when I win, it will be because of my sage wisdom, "I KNEW Dez Bryant would have a big game!" We are all of us leaguers guilty of this phenomenon. But that's fine, it's human nature.

If only more people...

A more inclusive term to describe this kind of behavior is the fundamental attribution error. When someone commits the FAE, they overestimate the influence of one’s internal characteristics on an outcome and underestimate the influence that situational factors had on said outcome. This FAE and the attributions we talked of earlier can also be used in a different facet to describe the player selection process, like drafting and picking up "waiver" players.

Ken and I have put our heads together and come up with some educated hypotheses on these different tendencies, how experienced fantasy football leaguers pick players versus how novices do. Keep in mind these hypotheses are pure speculation not backed by research…yet…  

Experienced fantasy football leaguers are much more likely to do research on matchups, a player's current and past injuries, off the field character and suspension potential, and probability of success on his current team. These veterans will scour websites for any kind of inside information regarding a player's training camp performance, expected workload in the coming season, and overall role in the offense. That is, we think veterans are much more likely to consider external factors that could lead to a certain player's success than inexperienced players. Based on this acquired mass of knowledge, veterans are much less likely to commit the FAE.

Novice leaguers on the other hand, due to their lack of football understanding or shallow awareness of players in the league,  have a higher probability of selecting players based on those players' internal characteristics and commit the FAE ("Larry Fitzgerald has amazing hands!"). They are also more likely than veterans to select players based on familiarity ("I always see RG3 on Sportscenter”), or that novice's favoritism to a certain player ("Well, I don't know who this guy is, but he plays for the Dolphins, and I really like the Dolphins, so I'll pick him.").

A classic example of a veteran’s advantage over a novice during the drafts is when popular, talented NFL players sustain injuries prior to the start of the season and/or violate league policy in such a way that results in suspension. These players will be rated lower by analysts despite their enormous talent. Veterans will undoubtedly learn of this deprecating information; novices probably will not. Come draft day this year, I guarantee a fair amount of novice players will inevitably draft Rob Gronkowski much higher than he should be; they know Gronk is supremely talented but remain oblivious to the fact that his forearm is still healing and he is expected to miss at least four games this year.  

But do veterans have an invariable advantage over novices? Will a fantasy football leaguer always have a better team than a novice? My understanding of the nature of football inclines me to say no to both of those questions.

For example, last year Minnesota running back Adrian Peterson was coming off of a torn ACL (anterior cruciate ligament) -- one of the most grievous of football injuries and one that sets players back a long time. Now, "experts" on ESPN and NFL Network and everywhere else devalued the usually unstoppable AP because they figured his newly rehabbed ACL would prevent him from being what he was. 

Using this information, veteran leaguers around the nation adhered to the advice of the analysts and similarly underrated AP. But I'm sure some novice leaugers -- who probably didn't realize how hard it was to come back from an ACL tear or knew from Sportscenter that AP is a "beast" or maybe they were just overly optimistic Viking fans -- didn't underrate AP (i.e. committed the FAE) and selected him in the first round of their drafts.

Adrian Peterson had an MVP season last year and came just 9 yards shy of breaking the single-season rushing record.

The novices reaped the benefits of their ignorance, whereas the veterans were left kicking themselves for not picking AP 2nd overall when they had the chance.

There's a reason he's dubbed "Purple Jesus".

As I've said, football is wonderfully random. Anything can happen in any game, and there are literally dozens of factors and variables that affect performance. It's impossible for any one fantasy football leauger to not only identify all of these variables, but also connect and relate them in the correct fashion that leads them to understand exactly how a player is going to do that game. A veteran can read the matchup, understand if a player is on a hot streak, see that a team is coming off a bye week, and make a judgment based on these empirical data. But there's a lot more going on behind the scenes, and when it comes down to it, there's just no telling how a team or player will play on Sunday. So don't get too bent out of shape if your team struggles this season, that's just the nature of the beast.

"Fantasy" Football: Intro

Preliminary Note: Initially, this was going to be a one-time post commenting on a connection I made between a certain psychological phenomena in pathological gamblers and players of fantasy football. After discussing the original post with my friend, Ken, he convinced me to turn it into a miniseries that fleshes out the many psychological aspects concerning the addictive nature of fantasy football. This first post will now introduce those aspects as well as my inspiration for writing this. If you, Faithful Reader, couldn't care less about football (much less fantasy football), I think this will still be an interesting read as it will discuss psychology that we all experience in our everyday lives.
End of Note.

When one thinks about that phrase, Fantasy Football, it's hard to deny how apt of a name it is, and I'll tell you why.

Bear with me first.

I recently caught the end of Act Two of a This American Life show (a journalism radio show on NPR, airs on Saturdays). This story talked about gambling and why pathological gamblers stay pathological (at least, that's what I surmised, I only listened to the last 4-5 minutes of the show).

In the show, behavioral psychologist Mark Dixon illustrates the research he's been working on for the past few years in his lab at Southern Illinois. Dixon concentrates on what's called the "near-miss effect" in which gamblers almost win at a game of Blackjack or roulette. To study this, Dixon has constructed his lab to mimic a casino floor, complete with card tables, slot machines, roulette wheels -- the works.

"[My lab] looks like a casino," Dixon tells This American Life's Sara Koenig, "... Maybe not a five-star casino, but maybe a two-star casino on the interstate somewhere." 

While studying these gamblers, Dixon has found that the subjects like these near misses (Bar...Bar...Cherry...dang, so close!) more than a straight up loss, because they came up just short of the jackpot or 21 or whatever. In reality, a loss is a loss, a win is a win, especially when it comes to gambling. It's like basic programming ("if: Bar-Bar-Bar, then: Jackpot, baby."); a true or false question on a test; a mathematical proposition -- it either is or it isn't. So when gamblers think they've almost won and come to enjoy those outcomes more than losses, that's very maladaptive and problematic.

In the show, Dixon goes on to explain a study he conducted in 2006 that fleshes out the neurological aspects of this near-miss effect in pathological gamblers. While interesting, it's outside the scope of this blog. Here's the link to the transcript if you want to check it out, though: http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/466/transcript.

Been there.

Anyway, this near-miss effect reminded me of something I had learned last semester in Social Psychology, about being almost right. Before we get there, let's just consider a general case: A person might pose a hypothesis regarding an arbitrary and somewhat variable subject she has a fair amount of knowledge on (e.g. sports, economics). This knowledge boosts her confidence about the expected outcome (high self-esteem also solidifies confidence). If her hypothesis proves true, her confidence is furthered, self-esteem boosted, and she might say something like "I knew it!" (hindsight/self-serving bias). But when her hypothesis turns out to be false, she may lose confidence and, in order to save face, (externally) attribute the outcome to some outside factor that she didn't account for (e.g. environmental conditions, human error).

Now, let's say our gal, a golfer, claims:  "Tiger will win the British Open this year." But when Tiger finishes in a tie for second, she might say, "Well, he almost won." She was wrong, dead wrong, however since Tiger finished so close to first, she can say that she was very close -- oh, so very close -- to being right, which is much more preferable to admitting she was wrong. This "near-miss" allows her to maintain her reputation as knowledgeable in front of her peers who heard her make the initial claim, and she goes on thinking herself somewhat of a golf expert.

After listening to the show, my mind naturally drifted to how this "near-miss effect" prevails within the world of fantasy football. I thought of all the times I had acted exactly like our golfer friend did, how many times I had justified my intuition by noting how "close" I had come to being right. (The example that comes most readily to mind is in 2010, the week after Aaron Rodgers suffered a concussion in a loss against the Lions. Flynn had to start against the dominant Pats on a Sunday Night game. I boldly claimed the Pack would win that game, despite Rodg being out. Friends and family snorted contemptuously at such a statement, but it turns out the Pack only lost by 4 -- 31-27 or something like that. I was able to confront said snorters and justify my "erroneous" claim to them because the Pack had come so close to winning).

As I'm sure you have deduced by now, this type of "almost right" mentality is a big contributor (in my opinion) to the popularity of fantasy football. People read the magazines. They listen to the analysts. They watch ESPN and NFL Network shows. They scout. They research. They find the sleepers, the hidden talents, the breakouts, and they exercise their knowledge come draft day and the regular season.

But when their players do poorly, when their sleepers never wake up, when their stars fizzle out, do they say "Man, was I wrong to start him!"? 

No way, bro. 

Always been my excuse.

I can admit I've done that practically each week of the fantasy football season. Consider: The Cowboys are at home against the Jags, the worst run D in the league. DeMarco Murray practically comes alive on your computer screen saying "Start me, bro, you gotta start me!" This is the matchup you've been waiting for. He's projected 22 points. You start him. He gains 72 total yards. What do you say? "Dallas's line played like crap." "Dallas threw way too much." "Dallas was too predictable." "The Jags played out of their minds." 

Essentially, you're saying "It wasn't my fault."

Or consider this: you've got a gut feeling about Torrey Smith this week. "He's gonna have a huge game, I know it." The matchup is favorable (the Browns). You start him over Larry Fitzgerald. Torrey has 3 catches for 38 yards, but Flacco just overthrew him on what would have been a 53 yard touchdown, the ball grazed his fingertips (Fitz gets two TD's in his game against the Rams, by the way). You lose your matchup that week by 7 points. Whose fault is it? "Eff! If Flacco had thrown a better ball I toats would have won!" 

Translation: "I was so close to being right about my hunch on Smith." Yet you weren't right. You were wrong, broseph. But you go on thinking your hunches are viable, that you have a sage-like intuition because you came so close to being right that one time.

This type of mentality is ripe with psychological phenomena. The most beautiful attribute of the game of football, the attribute that has kept me watching and playing it for so many years, is how unpredictable and vagarious it is. The lowliest of teams can rise up and topple the most challenging foe. A 6th round draft pick can become a Hall of Famer (Tom Brady). The unlikeliest of players can become the most historic of heroes (David Tyree). The idea that one can become an expert on this game and be able to consistently predict outcomes, successes, and failures, is a fallacy. But many believe they can (it seems so easy), and many of those people engage in fantasy football.

God I hope this doesn't happen to Foster. Ever.

In a display of uncharacteristic ambition I'm going to try and tackle the psychology of fantasy football in a series of posts. Counterfactual thinking, near-misses, internal and external attributions, self-serving bias, the fundamental attribution error, the psychology of the sleeper, how a first-time fantasy footballer manages his team compared to a veteran. I'm going to try and flesh out all these topics and more as they pertain to fantasy football, and hopefully some of it will open eyes and minds.

Though I'm sure the effects will be minimal.

Stay tuned for the first official post, the topic of which has yet to be determined (probably internal v. external attributions and the self-serving bias).

Ken and I will be working in collaboration on this blog. Assume most of the thoughts are his and I am just the humble scribe. 

What I'm Listening To -- June Edition

 
 

Almost forgot about this. As I said in my Ecuador blog posts, my friend Tiffany reawakened my taste for punky, skater rock. Thus, one of the first things I did when back was pick up a handful of albums falling into that category. All Time Low came highly recommended from Tiffany, and I can see (hear) why. Their track "Weightless" seems to embody the genre. Taking Back Sunday and I had a fling one summer long ago. I picked that same album up, Where You Want To Be and it brought me back to those years. "Number Five With a Bullet" had a particularly large effect on me. Also, my good friend Serianna blessedly turned me on to Alt-J, a funky electronic band from England. "Breezeblocks" is one of those tracks I gravitate toward, almost subconsciously. Can't get enough of it. And finally, Jagwar Ma is a band I heard about through NPR. Groovy, semi-ambient electronic sound. Howlin is a fun listen, "Uncertainty" being one of the catchiest tracks.

Track List:

"Weightless" by All Time Low on Nothing Personal
"Number Five With a Bullet" by Taking Back Sunday on Where You Want To Be
"Breezeblocks" by Alt-J on An Awesome Wave
"Uncertainty" by Jagwar Ma on Howlin

What I'm Listening To--Jun

Enjoy.

Ecuador: Last words and a confession

This is going to be difficult to write, although still much easier than saying.

If you've been diligently keeping up with my day-by-day posts, stretching your patience like a rubber band about to snap, you, Faithful Reader, should have some idea of just how incredible my journey to South America was.

Some idea.

In truth, it's hard to put into words just how life-changing that trip was for me. My first time experiencing a culture radically different from America's. My first time even leaving the States. My first real hands-on medical experience. My first time seeing an underdeveloped part of the world, where internet is a luxury and not a necessity; where people don't have ambitions or strive for success in a dog-eat-dog fashion -- they work to survive, to provide for their family; they work because it's the only life they've ever known, spanning back hundreds, even thousands of years.

And the students...

If there's one thing you should have noticed in my pictures throughout the posts it's how diverse the group of students were. They came from all over the globe, and if they didn't, they had roots in Lebanon, or Malaysia, or Singapore, or Bolivia, or India, or...you get it...

But what amazed me the most about that group was that, despite everyone's aesthetic differences, despite their varying external qualities, their family tree, their region of origin, they all shared a core of traits: a passion and aptitude for helping others, and a desire to have fun doing it. They were college kids, just like me. They knew how to crack jokes, tell stories, strike up conversation, and, above all, they knew how to have a good time.

The students surpassed any expectations I may have had. Amiable, affable, charismatic, caring, bright, merry, intelligent, loving, empathetic, patient, and just downright fun. I never imagined that the people I would be working with would have as much impact on me as the cultural observation. But they did, oh, they did.

My gratitude for the Medlife experience was exacerbated by the critical juncture in my life at which the trip occurred.

And here comes my confession.

I didn't get into med school on my first try. Some of you know this. A lot of you don't. I apologize to those I've lied to or told half-truths. I had to save face, surely you understand that, but I should have been candid and open, faced facts, which is what I'm doing now.

Out of the 11 schools I applied to, only one decided to interview me -- UND. I had the grades. I had the MCAT score. I didn't have the clinical experience. But most importantly, I didn't have the mindset, and the interviewers could see that easily.

I've always been an arrogant person, ever since I was a kid. If I had something to brag about back then, I would without blinking. If I knew something someone else didn't, I'd tell them. I learned to control my tongue and actions in high school, but the arrogance was still very much alive.

Freshman year of college put me in my place a bit (the concept of studying was new to me). I survived, emerged a less selfish and more patient young man, and humbled...temporarily.

Soon enough, I climbed back on top of that pedestal of old. It came time to apply to med school, and there was little doubt in my mind I would be accepted somewhere, and I could have guaranteed  you I would get into UND.

But as each med school denied me an interview ("Thanks for applying, hope all goes well in future endeavors."), the splinter of doubt I'd had grew into a log. There was still UND, my fallback, my Plan J, my shoe-in school.

They didn't accept me either. When I went in to see why (where could I have possibly gone wrong?), the number one thing was lack of clinical experience. Understandable, I could see that. The second largest reason was my arrogance. At first I was taken aback by that, but then I thought about it and saw how it true it was. They called me out, saw me for what I was -- a conceited buffoon who thought he could charm his way into med school.

That was one of the rare cases where proving someone wrong made me feel terrible. I proved them wrong, alright, everyone who had told me "Oh, Seth, you'll get in for sure!" My friends. My family. My extended family. It seemed like everyone in Grand Forks would find out that Seth Zygarlicke didn't get into med school.

I had somewhat of a crisis then. Was medicine really what I wanted to do with my life? Should I even reapply? What am I going to tell people? I dreaded any thoughts of admitting my failure to people. How embarrassing. How shamefully embarrassing. I needed to leave. I needed get out of that town and escape all of its reminders of how I'd failed.

Then the Medlife email popped up in my inbox, in March. It sounded perfect. Not only would I be fleeing from Grand Forks, I'd also be gaining some medicinal experience. On top of it all, I'd have a fresh start with kids from all over the nation. They wouldn't know me, wouldn't know my shortcomings or past or reputation or anything. I eagerly signed up for the trip, though that eagerness diminished slightly when I checked the Medlife email list, saw how prestigious most of the schools were and became daunted, intimidated (the idea of spending a week with 20+ Harvard kids did not appeal to me). I had already been brought so low, now I was being handed a shovel and told to start digging.

I set out anyway, with a morsel of apprehension. But when I met Lauren in the Quito airport and found out she was from Harvard, any angst was eviscerated. Lauren? From Harvard? But, she's just like me...how's that possible? Throughout the week of clinic I noticed how everyone was eerily similar to me, but much more genuine. More authentic. Like being surrounded by 64 versions of my ideal self (except for this one guy from USC, he was kind of a douche, by most accounts).

Working with that diverse bunch motivated me, inspired me, changed me for the better. There's a load of psych research that's shown "Attitudes follow behavior." Acting like those kids, doing what they did, following their example, basking in their presence...behaving like them led my attitudes to change. I felt (and feel) more genuine. I felt (and feel) more humble. My desire for pursuing medicine was never so strong, so doubt-free as it was during that trip, and it's carried over to my everyday life (though it will take some work to maintain). I know for the first time in my life that this truly is what I want to do for the rest of my life.

In hindsight, I'm somewhat glad I wasn't accepted. In fact I'm very glad. If I had been accepted, I never would have gone to Ecuador, never would have met Lauren, or Lauren, or Lauren, or Eddie, or Pete, or Franchesca, or Tiffany, or Preston, Keon, Michael, Ryan, Austin, Sylvia....never would have been inspired, never would have been humbled, never would have so positively and fundamentally changed the way I approach the world.

I think the real reason it took me as long as it did to write about my trip there was this post. It's been in the back of my mind since I started writing the series. But it's out now, leaving me with a bittersweet aftertaste, as doing the right thing often does. Now, I'm just focused on preventing history from repeating itself.

Thanks for your understanding, Faithful Reader.

With July should also come a more regular blog schedule akin to the pre-Ecuador days.

¡Buenos días!

Ecuador: Sunday -- the equator and saying goodbye

Sorry this took so long to write. I was "busy" (finished the 7-book series The Dark Tower and started The Stand, both by Stephen King). This post was much like the events contained it, the "goodbye" that, after any amazing trip, comes with much hesitation and reluctance, a moment we deny and deny until we find ourselves sitting in our designated seats that carry us home. Writing about the partings, posting the pictures...it's very much like saying goodbye all over again and I can't help but put myself back into those places and experiences that have so impacted and sculpted me.

But, it's all written now, so here we go.

Sunday.

The last, most bittersweet day.

I fell asleep around 2:30 am and woke to my alarm at 5:30. Showered. Pete and Eddie also stirred. The plan was to get some breakfast at a nearby McDonald's, then take a shuttle or two to the Equator (about an hour drive). We had to do this so early because many of the students had to leave at 2 pm for the airport.

I went down to the lobby with an unexpectedly low amount of grog. A few of the students were running late. I just sat and talked for a bit until we all hit the streets for McDonald's.

Outside, the air smelled of rain, though the clouds withheld their drops, for the time being at least. We shuffled up to the doors of McDonald's, only to find them locked. It didn't open until 7 -- another 15 minutes. However, the manager inside saw us lingering hungrily by the doors and, no doubt seeing an opportunity for a large chunk of business, let us in "graciously."

We thanked him regardless and entered. I stared at the menu, my brain waging civil war over pancakes or a ham and egg sandwich. I decided on the sandwich and coffee and came to regret it once I saw Sylvia eat her doughy, syrupy stack in front of me. Oh well. I still had a cup of coffee that I sipped with a fervor that bordered lust.

Everyone consumed their meals merrily, waking up that much more after each bite and swig. Spirits ran high by the time we got back.

There was some delay in our transportation to the equator -- we didn't end up leaving until 9. Thus, Avery and Sharely would not be able to join us, since their shuttle to airport left at 11(?). The second and third Medlife causalities (not counting the USC group).

They saw us off to the equator and we said a premature goodbye. I took a picture with them.

Sharely on the left, Avery on the right. Bittersweet.

Off to the equator.

Got some selfy practice in on the way there.

An hour later we arrived. The clouds still refused to open up. We had to pay $3 to get in (wallet down to $1).

Inside the gate, we headed straight for line, admiring the scenery along the way. Two rows of sculpted, stone heads led us down the path, each with its own rectangular base of green grass trimmed with flowers. Various buildings circled the main park about which we walked, offering souvenirs, clothes, and food. In the distance, a pair of identical, almost perfectly triangular mountains kept each other company, blurred by the day's mist. A stately, brown brick monument loomed ahead, holding up a carved globe. Each of the four sides of the monument held a letter indicating the cardinal direction it faced -- N, S, E, W. Doorways sat its base, leading to a memorial room of sorts.

Flagpoles sporting unfamiliar flags formed a semicircle around the monument's surrounding landscape, bisected by a thin yellow line -- the equator. People congregated there, cameras in hand, capturing their friends and family straddling the line, hands on the hips. We snapped our own variations of the stance.

(Ishaan)

(Ishaan)

(Ishaan)

Andres "striking that Jesus pose" as he said.

Amalia leaning South.

Michael and Stewart leaning on each other.

Manji being boss.

Tug-o-Pete.

Equator push-ups. Courtesy of Ishaan.

Hemispheric bro-down.

Linin' up on the midline.

My fav.

After disassembling the pyramid, we figured enough pictures were taken there and went exploring. A sky blue building nearby housed a bug museum and we checked it out. I didn't take pictures (took a ten minute long video). Most of the bugs had very interesting qualities -- eerie camouflage, lustrous coating, striking color patterns, disgustingly large in size. I perused the glass casings on the wall, ensuring every bug got some screen time. The museum even allowed people to pay to have a tarantula crawl on them and take pictures. How they make any money doing this is beyond me.

We saw our fill of mandibles and chitin and continued on to the souvenir shops. Still very much broke, I simply followed others around, advising them on purchases, browsing, admiring, getting hungry. 

The shopping continued for about an hour (it was nearing 1:00 now, the hour we had to leave). I went with Ishaan, Andres, Amalia and Manji to a small café. Despite the low prices, I couldn't afford anything. Thankfully, my boy Ishaan spotted me $2 and bought me a delicious grilled sandwich. I munched, smiling.

Time to head back.

The clouds finally relented, though it more drizzled than rained. We boarded the vehicles back to the hotel. I sat by Manji and Qaren on the way back. Manji told me of his affection for basketball, something I didn't expect out of him. Fun times.

--As I sit writing this, I'm get confused on our timeline of that day. I know we woke early, but maybe it hadn't been 5:30. And I know we left for the equator later than anticipated (we were supposed to leave at 7 I think but that turned into 8 or 9). Let's say we left for the equator at like 8:00 (sounds right), and left the equator grounds at 12 (maybe), I'm pretty sure that a big group of us had to leave at 2 for their flight. So when we got back to the hotel, we had an hour to grab some lunch before seeing them off. Let's just say they had to leave at 2:30 and we got back from the equator at 1, giving us an hour and a half to eat. Sounds good to me.--

We went straight from the vehicles to the streets, roaming around for something to eat. Allegedly, a Pizza Hut could be found somewhere in the area. Indeed we found it, though Keon, Pete, and Eddie and I weren't really feeling pizza. Instead, we went back to a place we saw on the way there to grab a more authentic meal. 

The place was cheap. I ordered two items for less than $4.50. Eddie spotted me this time (bless him). I enjoyed their company as I enjoyed my food, trying to soak up the last few minutes of my time with Pete (he was part of that big departing group). 

I forget the name of this, but I want to say it was like fried yucca plant filled with cheese. Though I just Googled "yucca" and the images do not match up with the above.

These are fried plantains, a food similar to bananas only less sweet, I think. I don't know my foods that well.

Satisfied with the meal but concerned about my lack of funds (the shuttle to airport would cost $10 that I didn't have), I followed those three back to the hotel to say goodbye.

The whole group had beaten us there and filled the lobby, hugging, giggling, tearing up, and taking pictures. I quickly joined in and, although a bit sad, did my best to smile wide in my pictures with each of them.

Commence the slideshow:

Sylvia.

Mayumi.

Nicole.

Franchescha.

Qaren.

Preston (Brotein).

Jamie.

Manjinder.

Ryan, who (thankfully) was feeling better by then.

Derek.

Albert.

Ishaan.

Michael.

Supposed to be with just Pete, but we turned it into one final roommates pic.

Everyone piled into the vehicles while the drivers figured out a way for their luggage to fit. I seized the opportunity to take a few last minute selfies.

Shuttle #1.

Shuttle #2.

Alas, the moment had come for them to roll off. Those of us who had to stay behind waved and hollered and goodbyed/see-you-later-ed until the shuttles disappeared around a corner. Frowny face.

The Remainders.

We had to check out of our rooms at 1 pm, but the hotel staff let us rent out a room that we could store all of our luggage in. I joined the others in a respite there, considerably tired and emotionally wrought...well, maybe not wrought but a bit wrung out certainly. I plopped on one of the two beds alongside Eddie, Lauren, and Stew and took a much needed nap. We were out cold...

...as evidenced here in Andres's photo.

I woke about an hour or so later (around 5 o'clock; two hours until our shuttle left) to the not-so-muffled laughter of the others huddled around Andres's laptop on the second bed. I reached for my laptop and tinkered with uploading my pictures from trip, unsuccessfully. To my surprise, the internet at the hotel was usable, so I took advantage and browsed for a time.

My stirring caused Lauren to stir and we looked through some of the 800+ photos Andres had uploaded to Facebook so far (he ended up posting over 1,000). 6 o'clock rolled around and we walked back to that Pizza Hut for some dinner (I wasn't terribly hungry but I was terribly broke, mind you).

That was undoubtedly the classiest Pizza Hut I will ever dine at in my lifetime. Darkened wood, supple leather booths, dim atmospheric lighting emanating from sleek glass fixtures, fine cutlery and glassware presented in a specific orientation on each table -- that place made Olive Garden look like Sbarro. 

The menu matched the ambiance. Fortunately, the restaurant accepted credit cards, so I could order freely. Fraught with indecision, I settled on a tasty-looking salad and a flashy fruit juice (jugo natural). It was quite the drink. Tangy and pursing. 

Mmm....

...juicy.

My salad. Check out that presentation.

Our meals. Super classy. Pretty sure Eddie was the only one who ordered pizza. Note Andres reaching for his camera.

We munched down our exquisite meals and left, ending what would later be dubbed (by me, just now) "The Last Supper."

It had started to drizzle again when we exited Pizza Hut. We lugged our stuff down to the lobby. Only Andres, Tanya, Lauren, Eddie, and I would be leaving for the airport; Amalia, Keon, and Stew were staying one more night at a hostel. Amalia had plans to visit Costa Rica and Keon and Stew were going on a cruise around the Galapagos islands (jealous). I took some final pictures with them.

Keon.

Stew. Sucks how grainy these turned out.

Supposed to be of Amalia and I. Eddie fixed that.

The gentleman. And Eddie.

Another attempt at a pic with Amalia. Keon looks pretty fabulous.

Onto the shuttle we went, the five of us. The driver took us on this treacherous yet historic road down to the highway that wound the airport. He told Andres that that road had been built years ago, and the Ecuadorians of old would use it as a trade route, traverse it on foot. The narrow cobbled path twisted and turned jaggedly, all the while descending at a rapid pace. The going was faster than it should have been (our driver had a lot of confidence in driving ability) -- I guess we saved a bunch of time taking that route, averting traffic and stoplights.

The night was exceptionally dark. Lauren slept on my left. Eddie pondered on my right. Andres, amiable as ever, chatted up the driver in the passenger seat. Tanya sat alone in the far back. We pressed on through the night in a sort of reverent silence. 

An hour later we reached the airport. Andres and I were flying Delta, the other three on American or something. We split up, checked in and went through security. On the other side Andres and I looked for the others but gave up after a little while. I owed Andres a debt since he paid for my shuttle. To repay this, I told him I would purchase a bottle of booze for him from the decked out liquor store that was part of a miniature shopping mall. He decided on one, intending to gift it to his cousin or something, and I charged it to my credit card.

The others found us then and we briskly browsed the mini-mall's other wares (everything was very expensive). The UGA group had set up camp at my gate (the flight left for Atlanta). We talked with them for a bit and dropped our luggage off there before exploring the airport more. 

The Pizza Hut salad did little to fill me up; I thought it best to get a snack in me anyway before embarking on the 5.5 hour flight. At one of the eateries in the food court I found a large yogurt parfait that, to my astonishment, cost only $3. Delicious and satisfying.

Eddie got something to eat as well (I forget what). We spotted (smelled) a chocolate store within the concourse and went to investigate. Indeed a store sold strictly variations of South American cacao in the form of bars, hot chocolate mix, chocolates and other delectable looking goodies. One bar cost as low as $6. Too pricey. But, a part of the store we found instantly was a row of free samples of about 12 different types of chocolate. The samples were barely more than morsels of chocolate but we ate all 12 types, each more savory than the last, and felt satisfied.

We trudged back to our gate and luggage. The flight started boarding after a short while. We took a final round of pictures before Andres and I filed into the plane.

Tanya.

Lauren.

My man, Eddie.

Nothing says "goodbye" like one last group selfy.

Hugs. Goodbyes. A hint of tears (not in my eyes, I swear). Exhausted and forlorn, Andres and I boarded the plane. Turns out our seats weren't next to each other as we had previously thought (I mistakenly based that off of my other boarding pass, the one from Atlanta to Minneapolis). He sat a few rows ahead of me and I ended up sitting by one of the UGA girls, also named Lauren. Incredibly nice person. We talked of the trip for over an hour, reflecting, remembering, highlighting the best moments, making fun of the worst, and praising all of the wonderful people we treated and worked with.

The plane served us breakfast right after we leveled off in the air. Pancakes with orange juice, a biscuit, some water, another thing of yogurt. Filled me right up. No food coma came though, sadly. In the past 70 hours I had slept a total of 7. Not a good ratio. Yet sleep continued to elude me (plane seats are the opposite of conducive to napping). I decided to rewatch every video I had taken of the trip on my phone, a small, reminiscent smile creeping up on my face and remaining there as I relived those moments.

I must have dozed a little after that because the plane ride seemed to last only 3 hours. We landed. Shuffled out. Said goodbye to UGA Lauren. Met up with Andres. Lethargically checked in with customs. I went before Andres, carrying his booze, but as I passed the final checkpoint and turned to hand over the goods, I saw Andres being herded over to where "random" security checks were taking place. I waited for him to reemerge for what felt like an hour. When he did, I was surprised to see him calm and only slightly annoyed (I figured his obvious fatigue would predispose him to a large amount of anger after being spot-checked, but he was still his amiable self afterward). If he was angry, he hid it well.

I passed him the alcohol and we embraced. Took the final pictures of the trip -- selfies, naturally.

Andres -- Selfy Expert.

We parted. I hopped on the mini-metro that would take me to my gate. Somehow, I was hungry again. I walked around until I found a reasonably-priced bakery, ordered a sweet roll and a muffin. After eating, my brain finally relented and let me sleep. For an hour. I woke with my mouth open, slight amount of drool on my chin, and found my gate bustling with people, a few of which had, apparently, been watching me with some amusement. I caught up on some texts and emails (being back in the States allowed me to use data again) until the plane invited us on.

4 sleepless hours later, (about 10 am Monday morning) I was loading my luggage into my aunt's van and heading back to her house, suddenly forgetting the words I had been rehearsing all weekend.

End of Sunday/Monday.

End of the trip.

Check back for a wrap-up/final thoughts post later. Again, sorry this took so long.