On the question of whether I should invest the time to pick up wet lab skills during my PhD, the thing that would make this question resolve easily is if it doesn’t take that much time to pick up these skills. In that case, I feel good about skills: they’re strictly an additional option for something I can do, and I can choose to suppress them. I definitely feel good about it taking, for example, 1 month of full time work to pick up wet lab skills, and maybe 3 months. I have one data point from Ethan Alley, who said he spent 2-3 years developing wet lab skills (although it may not have been full time, given he was in undergrad). We also may be going for different endpoints. He talked about being able to look at a biology paper, see the experiments done and understand and prioritize the likely factors in an experiment that could confound it (I didn’t ask specifically, but I imagine things like the choice of primer or the time elapsed before making an observation or the temperature used). I think that sounds nice and maybe is the endpoint I want to get to, but it’s also likely that I want a pretty focused wet lab training on certain things. I think of the main goals I have in biosecurity that pertain to wet lab—maybe having the skills of an epidemiologist in the field to “characterize” a new outbreak, having the skills of a doctor or hospital to diagnose an infection, being able to contribute to broad-spectrum antiviral development, being able to contribute to vaccine technology, being able to contribute to any basic/fundamental technologies or immunology that advance the previous 2 with no or outweighed downside effects, making credible claims (both in terms of actual credibility and in terms that will convince other scientists) about the risks of new biotechnologies. Perhaps there’s a focus in wet lab here. I should restrict though. Do I need to be the doctor? The epidemiologist? Probably no and maybe no (easier for me to hire or get someone else to hire that person?). Similarly, there could be dynamics in the credible claims goal that simplify this: if I try antifragile decisionmaking and keep in mind information hazards, I may not even want to be convincing other scientists about not doing something as much as I want to be influencing them to pursue another direction that obviates the initially dangerous one. That requires an understanding of the problem being solved by the original direction (which in many cases is just “make something new”) but it has to be justified in the field. So yeah, that potentially requires skills to develop a different technology that doesn’t have the downside risk, or it doesn’t if I can find non-technological solutions.
It’s also possible that there are dumb dynamics like “to work at CDC you need to know how to do wet lab.”
Regardless, I think the next step here is to get a few more datapoints on the time to learn wet lab and the importance of it in general, and if I’m asked to specify, I can focus on virology, etc. I think Michael Mina would be a good person to ask. To get “time to learn” data, I have so many BBS cohort-mates. I would be particularly interested in opinions of physician-scientists, epidemiologists (especially with the CDC or WHO), drug and vaccine developers, and then personal/sourced opinions on more likely fundamental technologies to help with vaccine and/or drug development (this one’s somewhat hard). EIS alumni on LinkedIn, people I met at CDC on the DC trip, just cold-emailing/calling CDC, etc.
I’m trying to reduce my energy usage to the level of the average global citizen’s. [**EDIT**: I am now tracking how well I’m doing that here.]
I was inspired to do so by renewable energy inventor Saul Griffith. In 2009, he gave a talk about climate change (http://longnow.org/seminars/02009/jan/16/climate-change-recalculated/):
“[Saul Griffith]’s been analyzing his own life in extreme detail to figure out exactly how much energy he uses and what changes might reduce the load. In 2007, when he started, he was consuming about 18,000 watts, like most Americans. The energy budget of the average person in the world is about 2,200 watts… [T]o stay at the world’s energy budget at 16 terawatts, while many of the poorest in the world might raise their standard of living to 2,200 watts, everyone now above that level would have to drop down to it.”
Well, how much can I reduce my energy usage?
I estimate that I could easily be at **3,000 watts, plus my portion of heating for the dorm I live in and the places I work.** (I will update this with numbers when I hear back from my dorm building manager.)
Concretely, 3,000+ watts is:
1. *Flights*: Jet fuel for 1 roundtrip from SF to Boston each year (385 watts)
2. *Land transport*: Gas for 1 8 mi roundtrip on a bus from Boston to Cambridge each week (225 watts)
3. *Stuff*: Energy for production and transportation\* of my laptop and phone, toiletries, clothes, miscellaneous items and the trash these produce (270 watts)
4. *Food*: Energy for production and transportation\* of 1 serving of milk per day, 1 serving of fish per month and 10 servings of vegetables per day (425 watts)
5. *Heat and electric*: Electricity and gas for heating of my dorm and workplace, refrigerator, cooking, laptop and phone (34 watts plus my portion of heating)
6. *Services*: Energy for production, transportation and retail of the healthcare, education and finance services I use (1080 watts)
7. *Society*: My portion of the energy spent by the US government, notably the construction of roads and the purchases and operations of the US military (464 watts)
8. *Buffer*: Things I forgot to count, plus miscellaneous things here and there that aren’t recurring or significant uses of energy (e.g. a random drink of wine over the holidays) (151 watts)
What would I have to change in my life to get to 3,000+ watts? **I’d start by cutting flights, cars/buses and bought stuff, the highest bang-per-buck areas** for me and Saul (and, I suspect, many of my friends). I actually don’t have that much to cut to get to the lifestyle described above, minus a few things:
1. For 2019, I’m planning on traveling once to Peru for vacation and once to home over the holidays. Re Peru: In general, I’d need to do such vacation travel very infrequently, or replace the holiday trip home with one to a vacation destination.
2. I’d have to cut three trips per week to Cambridge (which I did in Fall 2018) down to one. I could accomplish this by coordinating all my meetings and activities to happen on one day per week, participating in others remotely instead of in person, prioritizing which activities in Cambridge are truly important to me and potentially staying over in Cambridge.
3. I’d have to reduce buying from Amazon (I count 19 orders over 17 weeks in September to December 2018) with the wish list method\*\* or by buying used things, which seems like a great and fair-accounting way to reduce energy usage.
4. Less important things: I could take cold showers exclusively, which I occasionally do for the thrill and am curious to turn into a habit.
5. Relatively easy things: I’d have to continue my habits of not buying recurring new things except food and toiletries (e.g. no recurring clothes!), not buying non-essential things (e.g. no physical books), not buying new big things (e.g. furniture), not using the heat in my room (wear warm clothes or insulate the room instead), etc.
I’ve posted the details of my accounting here, including the numbers I used for energy usage of each lifestyle item or action: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1c5741VO0wBtWL5ph4E6APThuwR7lF-LH6arTxPXlv3g/edit?usp=sharing.
How accurate are the numbers I’m using for energy usage per lifestyle action or item? I haven’t checked them myself, but I somewhat don’t care about the exact numbers, because the direction is correct (i.e. using/doing less means reducing your energy usage), and the general action item remains the same: **travel less and buy fewer things and services.** I *do* care about not forgetting my sources of energy usage (e.g. I forgot about electricity for lighting the first time around), and I especially care about not forgetting the biggest contributors. I also care that the numbers’ orders of magnitude are correct. I am inclined to trust Saul’s numbers because he seems to be very rigorous and detailed. You can judge for yourself by watching Saul’s talk (http://longnow.org/seminars/02009/jan/16/climate-change-recalculated/, especially 47:46-51:00) or his other talk (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ewEaTlGz4s, especially 31:00-35:00), which he apparently prepared by combing through 60,000 pages of footnotes of energy data.
If you’re interested in making these calculations for your life, I’d recommend watching 47:46-51:00 in Saul’s talk to get an overview of the process: http://longnow.org/seminars/02009/jan/16/climate-change-recalculated/ \*\*\*. Then you could use a spreadsheet similar to mine. My spreadsheet has some common line items (e.g. watts for air or car travel) but excludes others that aren’t part of my life (e.g. my room came furnished, so I haven’t bought furniture). Your lifestyle likely has different stuff and actions than mine; to find the numbers of watts for these things or actions, I’d recommend referring to Saul’s slides, which are in high definition here: https://www.dropbox.com/s/86tfvc6mm5gbbv9/longnow16jan09-090905230147-phpapp01.pdf?dl=0. Specifically, pages 75, 79 and 81 are useful for watts on overall goods and services, food and physical goods, respectively. I tried searching for an online energy usage calculator but couldn’t find one\*\*\*\*. If there’s a number you’re looking for that isn’t in Saul’s slides, you might find it in this MIT climate course lecture, although I haven’t looked at the lecture myself and didn’t use it for my calculations: https://ocw.mit.edu/courses/chemistry/5-92-energy-environment-and-society-spring-2007/lecture-notes/energy_calc_guid.pdf.
Am I uncomfortable making these cuts in my life? For me, I’ve always been a pretty cheap homebody. I spend a lot of time using the computer (for work, reading or chatting with friends) or taking walks with nearby friends. I hate owning too many things because I dislike spending mental effort tracking them. So the ideas of living minimally have been easy for me to adopt, and the environmental argument for living this way is a cherry on top. For me, the most difficult sacrifice of these cuts is not flying home more often to see my family and close friends, but I see this as solvable by making my trips home longer and getting better at having a deep relationship remotely, with gifts, cards and quality time online. According to Long Now, after Saul’s cuts, “[h]e’s healthier, eats better, has more time with his family, and the stuff he has he cherishes.” I think that many people would similarly find that living in a lower-footprint way would change their lives in other ways that matter to them, sometimes positive and sometimes negative. If those changes are positive, then these “cuts” will look more like improvements and tend to stick.
I don’t want to say that there’s no environmental motivation for what I’m doing. While I’m not under the illusion that the cuts in my life will, by themselves, put a dent into climate change, I hold out some hope that I will figure out a way to have a larger impact on climate change. Living this way is potentially educational in that endeavor and could make me more credible to have that kind of impact. Moreover, it could be that developed-world citizens *must* make this magnitude of cuts (and/or make up their carbon footprint in some other way\*\*\*\*\*) for it to even be feasible for renewable energy to scale to cover the world’s energy usage. Something just resonates emotionally with me when I hear Saul make this argument, even though he says it in such a nonchalant way (to see him say it with graphics, start at 46:46 in http://longnow.org/seminars/02009/jan/16/climate-change-recalculated/):
“So you now realize that the 18,000 watts or 17,000 watts in Saul Griffith’s life looks a little like extravagant, because if everyone in the world went from 2,500 watts to 18,000 watts suddenly, we are not going to need to have just Renewistan [Saul’s imaginary planet that produces the world’s 2009 energy consumption, 16 TW, from renewable sources]; we are going to need 6 or 7 Renewistans. That’s not going to scale. So it’s inevitable that China and India bring their power consumption per capita up, and probably we shouldn’t begrudge anyone in the less developed nations to do so. And that sort of means that we [developed-world citizens] have to go down.”
If everyone has to make these cuts, then in particular, I have to make these cuts.
\* This figure possibly includes energy for retail as well, i.e. the energy to keep open the store in which I buy food and stuff. I’m not sure.
\*\* The wish list method: whenever I have the desire to buy something, I put it on a wish list and only buy it if, 30 days later, I still feel I need it.
\*\*\* If you have time, I found the whole talk to be very informative, entertaining and inspiring!
\*\*\*\* Saul created such a calculator called WattzOn at some point before 2009, but I wasn’t able to find the calculator today (in 2019). It used to exist, because I found it on Wayback Machine: https://web.archive.org/web/20120212172149/http://wattzon.com/track-and-monitor; however, the calculator doesn’t seem to be functional on Wayback Machine.
\*\*\*\*\* For example, by planting trees.
As a Philanthropy Fellow for Harvard Effective Altruism, I had the opportunity to get dinner with MIT physicist Max Tegmark and the other Fellows on Tuesday evening. We had a fascinating discussion about existential risks and the reasons that much of the public today does not even think about the destructive potential of such risks as unfriendly artificial intelligence (AI), while just 50 years ago during the Cold War people all over the world actually felt and believed in the real possibility of human extinction. Max noted that the Cuban Missile Crisis and realistic movies about nuclear war (such as TV shows like Threads) played a large role in making the public aware of these threats, which suggests that films about unfriendly AI, the first of which seems to be the upcoming film Transcendence, could spread public awareness about current existential risks.
I also learned a lot about cosmology from Max’s fascinating talk related to his book Our Mathematical Universe; I’ve posted notes for the talk here. If you find the notes interesting, definitely check out his book, which Ben recommends as an excellent read.
Earlier this month, I posted on the Tech in the World blog about what the team and I learned about Tanzanian culture in our first week here in the country. Our team is learning more about Tanzanian culture everyday! Here are more tidbits, many taken from a conversation with our Dar es Salaam Institute of Technology (DIT) contact Ashery:
- The average marriage age 25 for men and 22 for women.
- Younger Tanzanians really like to listen to hip-hop and their own, smoother version of R&B called bongo-flava (see this song by Diamond, one of the most popular bongo-flava artists here). In fact, artists like Jay-Z, 50 Cent and Busta Rhymes have performed here. Apparently many students at DIT like Rick Ross.
- I asked Ashery about Tanzanians who are admired by the general Tanzanian public. Ashery said that Julius Nyerere, the country’s founder, ranks pretty highly on that list because he managed to instill in the citizens a pride about their identities as Tanzanians, rather than as members of different tribes (there are more than 260 tribes) and different religions (40 percent Muslim, 35 percent Christian, and 20 percent Animism). One way he accomplished this was by including each group in his government (it just happens that presidents have alternated between Muslim and Christian for the last few terms) and his socialist message for equality. According to Ashery, this has been important to avoid the tribal infighting—political and violent—that has occurred in neighboring countries like Kenya (during election time) and Rwanda. Ashery (who is Christian) got really excited when he was saying this, pointing to his friend Abdul (who is Muslim) and saying that in Tanzania, different people coexist peacefully. Maybe Julius Nyerere has a biography worth reading.
- Presidents Clinton, Bush (Jr.), and Obama have all visited Tanzania, and the citizens of Dar es Salaam got so excited that many of them left work to see the presidents.
- David Cameron, the UK prime minister, has threatened to withhold aid from countries that criminalize same-sex marriage and other activities, which include Tanzania. Tanzania reacted strongly and is in fact relatively intolerant of homosexuality, as evidenced by Pew Global Attitudes survey that found that 95 percent of Tanzanian residents believe homosexuality is a way of life that society should not accept (the seventh-highest rate of non-acceptance in 45 countries surveyed). Ashery said that there has been much debate about this.
That’s all for now!
I lie on my bed with my Macbook in front of me, writing a reflection on my first week in Tanzania. Feeling uncomfortable, I toss off my bednet, get off the bed and sit in a nearby chair, bringing my laptop over. I touch one of the ridges of my laptop. Ouch. Did that hurt? I can’t really tell, and touch it again. Is that how the ridge normally feels? It’s a bit sharp. Confused, I ask my roommate Erik to join me in touching the laptop. He (being the electrical engineering major) immediately pulls my Macbook charger out of the laptop and recoils upon touching the tip. “Static shock!” he says. “Really?” I say.
We begin to diagnose the problem. My charger is connected to a 6-outlet power strip and international adapter that we bought yesterday in a Tanzanian supermarket, which is connected to the wall. One of these is broken. Suspecting the Tanzanian-made power strip, we start testing all the outlets on the power strip and even substituting in one of our own power strips. But with each touch of the charger’s tip, we get shocked in greater disbelief. I begin to suspect my charger itself. Indeed, after plugging Ruth’s Macbook charger into the power strip, the shock is gone. So much for my Mag “Safe” Power Adapter; it probably suffered under the strain of Tanzanian humidity and the 240V outlets.
The shocking is entertaining though, so we bring another Tech in the World Fellow—Ramya—over to join in our discovery. Plugging my charger back in, I offer her the charger tip. She takes it in her hand, but… nothing. In confusion, I touch it but feel nothing! Erik finally touches it and recoils. Ramya and I look quizzically at Erik (who seems to be doubting his own senses), but he continues touching, and recoiling from, the charger tip. Ramya and I try again and again but just can’t figure out how to shock ourselves. Erik suddenly says, “Take off your shoes.” I kick off my flip flops and feel the cool tile floor, touching the tip again. Ouch!
This is the first in a series of short stories I am posting about my time in Tanzania as a Tech in the World Fellow. Stay tuned!
Bajajis (also known as tuk-tuks or rickshaws in India) are phenomenally nimble three-wheeled taxis. Ramya tells me that the tuk-tuk drivers in India are daring and skilled at navigating very chaotic traffic at high speeds. In Tanzania, these bajajis are our cheapest way to get around, so naturally they are the first type of transportation we try.
We’re going out to dinner at a beach restaurant; Google Maps says it’s 2 kilometers away. We wave over a bajaji and, in our broken Swahili, ask the driver to take the six of us to the restaurant:
Me: Mbalamwezi? Elfu tatu? [Name of the restaurant. Three thousand schillings.]
Driver: Four thousand [Tanzanian schillings]. Six of you.
Me: [Thumbs up.] [To other TITW students:] Let’s go.
We cram into the bajaji, three of us in the back seat and three of us sitting on the others’ laps. Already we get the premonition of this safety hazard leading to a road accident; our combined weight seems to precariously tip the bajaji from left to right as the driver begins to move. But the driver assuages our fears as he drives swiftly ahead—our forward velocity seems to straighten out our wobbliness (I know I’m in a safe spot in the bajaji anyway, since I am squished underneath Ruth and won’t go flying out the window).
We continue swiftly until we hit traffic, and the two-lane roads give us no option but to sit and wait. At least that’s my thought as I peek out from behind Ruth at the crowded street. But the innovative bajaji driver sees an “opening” on the pedestrian sidewalk to our left (the “sidewalk” is a 10-foot wide dirt strip on either side of the road). Seven men and women walk towards us on the sidewalk 200 meters away, but the daring bajaji driver decides to plow ahead on the sidewalk, passing the sitting cars to our right. He accelerates swiftly left and immediately we drop onto the sidewalk (which is not quite level with the road). The ride on the rocky, unpaved sidewalk is precarious—our heavy bajaji, stuffed with six people, tips ominously from left to right between a sewage ditch and other vehicles, including these big dala dalas. Each of us holds in the simultaneous excitement and terror we feel (with the exception of a few shrieks) as we swing from side to side, narrowly miss the oncoming pedestrians, and turn back into an opening in our original lane.
As exhilarating as driving on the sidewalk is, it feels safe to be back in the correct driving lane. But we hit slow traffic again. This time, our driver sees a new opening right about 10 feet wide, right in between the two directions of traffic. We swerve into this “lane” as cars brush by us on both sides as quickly as 40 mph. Our lane is so narrow that I can touch the dala dalas on our left as we pass them.
Our roller coaster ride ends as we see the beach restaurant on our right. As we continue to use bajajis as our main mode of transportation, I wonder how much more dangerous it really is to ride a bajaji here than it is to take a taxi in the United States. The notion of personal space is relaxed here (in fact, it is considered rude here to stand too far away from someone you’re greeting), and personal space on the road has been no exception. I have a hunch that the probability of getting into an accident in a bajaji here is not significantly different from the probability for taxis in the US, but that many of my US friends would perceive the difference to be pretty high upon reading this story or watching a video of a bajaji ride because of the close quarters in which Tanzanians drive and live.
Just as my US friends would perceive a bajaji to be much less safe than it actually is because of their discomfort with lack of personal space, I think that I and many of my friends overestimate our personal need for our own space, possessions, and privacy in the US relative to how much we actually need to be satisfied. An American culture that supports having your own car, house, and computer doesn’t help; examples of my desire for privacy this past year included the need for a single in my dorm, the need to have my own laptop (which I realized I didn’t actually need for most of my life while using a school computer), and the need to do yoga in my private space of my room (instead of at the gym). Yet living in Tanzania has showed me that I can live without “personal” everything and not lose much in the way of my values of personal growth and achievement. I’ve acclimatized to intimate working conditions, public transportation (including the people packed onto dala dalas—imagine 30 people fitting into this Toyota passenger bus), and dependence on the environment outside my possession and my fellow students for everything from food to sunscreen, power adapters, and money. I’m curious to exchange personal space and possessions for other things that may achieve my values better when I return to life in the US.
From what I hear, one reason that startups fail is that their visions don’t line up with their investors’. A vision disconnect between the people who are the startup and the people feeding money to the startup leads to an end to funding, replacing some founders, or some other kind of nasty outcome.
The disconnect’s origins make perfect sense. A team of founders and a team of investors both spend lots of time developing their own hypotheses (about business opportunities or the direction of technology or a specific industry), and by the time startup meets investor to raise funding, there is often little overlap. Founders spend their time executing the details of specific visions, while investors meet with many companies and hypothesize broad visions; it’s easy to see why the two sides’ hypotheses don’t often overlap. Unfortunately for the startup, whether the investor funds the startup is exactly the same question as whether the two sides’ visions overlap!
Let me give an example. One of my friends (let’s call him Adam) is building a company that makes data visualization software for wealth managers. Adam told me about his first interaction with one of his prospective investors:
He got really excited when I first explained my company to him, especially when I told him about the partnerships we’ve landed. Then he started asking me these weird questions that had nothing to do with the company. “Are you guys incorporating social?” he asked. “Not in the near future… that doesn’t really fit in our product,” I said. “OK… how about mobile?” “No… not yet.” “Local?” “I don’t think our product has synergies with location either…” After each “no,” he looked more and more disappointed, and I was confused about his questions and dwindling enthusiasm, until I realized it was because he really wanted to invest but my company didn’t fit into any of the theses of his firm – social, mobile, and local!
So Adam didn’t get money because his vision for data visualization for finance didn’t overlap with an investor’s vision for social, mobile, and local.
Interestingly, there is a very parallel relationship in the global health world between non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and donors. Just like startups, non-profit global health NGOs need to raise money to fund their worldwide personnel, materials (any medicines or malaria bed nets, for example), administrative costs, transportation, and any physical capital. So they turn to (often international) private donors to raise money. But just like investors, these donors have their own personal visions for what kind of health solutions they want to see.
One example I picked up in my global health class is the influence of neoliberal philosophy on donors in the 1970s. (Take this interpretation of global health solutions with a grain of salt, but consider it.) According to Professor Salmaan Keshavjee at Harvard Medical School, the economic crisis in the 1970s led to blaming government regulation as the crisis’s cause, and a “justification” to revive a decades-old philosophy of neoliberalism – which argued for the free market’s ability to distribute resources and questioned efficiency of most government intervention. This neoliberal spirit manifested itself not only in the election of conservative leaders like Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher, but also in the shifting policies of global health leaders like the World Bank president Robert McNamara. For health policy, the neoliberal current was the call for free market instead of public sector solutions to distribute health care. The example of people like McNamara set the tone for pro-neoliberal donors.
One instance of this is the influence of international donors in swaying the Ugandan health care system to implement user fees. User fee programs required citizens to pay for medicine, a reversal of medicine previously freely offered by the government. As you can imagine, in a poor country like Uganda, user fees had the effect of substantially reducing access to healthcare, and many families ended up unable to pay to maintain even their basic health. User fee programs were part of this broader neoliberal philosophy that called for free market rather than public sector health care solutions. Even though Uganda’s national health care system worried about the risk of such programs on citizens, it had to implement them because the alternative was to have no money at all, and some Ugandans were worse off because of it.
What are the lessons between the NGO-donor relationship and startup-investor relationship? One key takeaway is that so long as both sides’ priorities are matched, such situations don’t have to occur. The next question, then, is whether or not there exist enough donors with priorities closely aligned with those of NGOs and developing nations (I’m going to focus on the problem for these actors because they seem to be the worst off). And based on the dreadful state of health in many developing nations despite billions of dollars of funding, my guess is that not enough of these vision-aligned donors exist. If that’s true, how can we create more of these? Building potential donors’ awareness and empathy to win them over to the priorities of health organizations on the ground (rather than the donors’ intellectual priorities) might be the answer.
One of my obsessions is to learn how to learn. I constantly experiment with new ways of learning more efficiently and expanding my capacity to learn, understand, and memorize.
One of the practices I’ve found most helpful for learning is – to quote my high school physics teacher Bill Dunbar – to know “where I’ve been, where I’m am, and where I’m going.” In other words, it is incredibly helpful to put any learning experience in the context of what I’ve previously learned by reusing and building upon this previous learning in my current learning, and in the context of what I seek to learn by giving current learning some motivation or direction based on this envisioned destination of future learning. Another way to say this is that I translate and simplify everything I learn into my own language, whether that language is a mathematical language (e.g. I picture my theory about relative happiness as an absolute happiness curve minus its moving average over time), an athletic one (e.g. I view most traits, including my own productivity, as capable of being trained through a planned schedule of concentrated rituals that are designed in the same stress-recovery mindset as weightlifting and interval training), a Bayesian one, or a photographic one. As mentioned in Moonwalking with Einstein, this helps with memory due to the chunking phenomenon – by building each piece of new knowledge in terms of a few chunks or concepts that I have already packaged into a few words or images (e.g. one already packaged chunk is my image of the graph for quantities that are relative over time in the happiness example above, and another chunk is my conception of the word “training,” which encodes my experience with training in sports as a set of highly focused stress-recovery rituals), I can more easily remember and draw connections between different parts of my learning. And isn’t that was learning is – just remembering new information and synthesizing and connecting it with what I already know?
A big part of this translation is taking what I learn during class lectures, talks, reading, or interesting conversations with friends and chunking a lot of information into a few big ideas. Taking notes to articulate what I just learned right after coming out of lecture is a good way to do this, but I’ve yet to chunk as well and as often as I’d like (it takes time) in addition to taking notes just to record my learning in general. To ritualize chunking and (as an auxiliary benefit) spark some conversation regarding what I’m learning, I will begin to open source my notes from all of my learning experiences and chunk the interesting thoughts on this blog from this point onward.
You can find my (raw) open notes here, which include class notes from this semester at Harvard as well as various talks that I’ve attended and found interesting.