On my new endeavor

Soon I will be taking up my new post as a full-time student in a Swedish folk dance course. I guess I don't have too much more to say on the topic, actually.

I am really super excited.

The culture of the folky world is sort of the opposite of the culture of the academic world. This was an important change I wanted to make for myself, and I seem to have done so to the extreme.

There are many things I'm looking forward to, and also a few things I am nervous about. I hope I can keep it a place where I commit to speaking mostly in Swedish and seldom in English. I haven't had many opportunities to make first-impressions while only speaking Swedish, and I'm curious how I will come across. Mostly I don't want people to think that my bad Swedish skills mean I am unintelligent.

To be honest I hope the course improves both my dance skills and my language skills. I am interested to see which has greater improvement after the year is over.

So that is the new endeavor. I was a physics post-doctoral researcher, and now I'm becoming a Swedish folk dance student. Ta Da.

On leaving the field

I am technically no longer a part of the academic system of scientific research.

It is often the case that if you are in the academic system, there is an expectation that you will stay put. Talking about leaving is reserved for quiet conversations among friends. The expectation comes in both the form of 'what you ought to do' and 'what people assume you will do as it is most likely.'

It is hard to break the expectation - to tell people you aren't going to do what they think you ought to, or that you aren't taking the path they suspect you will take. Probably most people can hear that I have chosen to leave the system and just say 'okay.'

But to me, it feels like I will get much stronger reactions.

And it is sort of the case that I am getting much stronger reactions, and these few are the ones that stick with me.

In the extreme case, it feels like I am letting people down and that I am disrespecting those who I worked immediately under. It is hard when you have a lot of respect for those people, and yet, making a choice about your own personal life can reflect just the opposite of that. In the not-so-extreme case, you know that people will judge you. You will now always be talked about simultaneously with "that guy who decided to pursue a career in photography after getting a PhD in physics … why even bother getting the PhD??" (not a hypothetical quotation, sadly)

I still like science. I still think my area of research is incredibly fascinating. I just have more compelling reasons for knowing that a career in the academic world is not for me.

And so I am leaving.

I don't feel like a failure and I don't feel like I am making a bad decision, and I'm trying my best not to absorb those feelings from people who think I should feel that way. It is an emotional and strange time, but I certainly don't feel sorry for myself and I hope no one else will either(:

How can I be an introvert who gets energized from going to a folk dance with a large group of people, many of whom I don't know?

I love reading about and thinking about introversion and extroversion. I've always known that I am a pretty extreme introvert. I definitely do not get energy from being in a large group of people. However, I've recently noticed that there is one huge counter-example to this generalization. When I go to an evening of folk dance, I leave with so much energy - far more than any other typical introvert activity (jag älskar hemmakväll) would give me.

How can this be?

I've been pondering this quite a bit lately. Maybe this is a sign that I'm sliding more toward the middle of the introvert/extrovert scale? But by any other measure, I'm still an extreme introvert. So, really, how can this be?

My initial thoughts are that folk dances are different from most activities involving a large group of people. Of course, they are different in so many ways, but specifically, I think that the important factor is that there is sort of a prescribed way of interacting with people.

If I get invited to a big party where I will not know too many people, I have to spend a lot of time mentally preparing myself to have lots of small talk with new people. I have to try super hard to not be incredibly awkward. Honestly, I am happiest sitting and primarily listening to conversations, while contributing minimally. Or perhaps I'll get into a more involved conversation with one or two people, and not really talk to anyone else the entire night. Maybe I make this sound harmless, but most people can get uncomfortable with this, thinking my silence means I am having an awful time.

Now, if I am being entirely honest (and Greg would confirm this), most of the time before I head to a dance, I actually get a bit anxious and have second thoughts about going. My heart is just shouting, "Are you crazy, don't voluntarily go to an event with a bunch of strangers, especially if no one is expecting you to be there!" Most of the time, I have to rely on my brain to be the voice of reason, to remind myself that afterwards I'll thank myself for going.

My heart is so quick to judge all large gatherings of people equally. I so easily forget that folk dances have this prescribed way of interacting with others, compared to any other generic gathering of many people. You go there, you ask a person if they want to dance, and you dance. It is simple. There is usually not a lot of time for conversation. There is no expectation to continue conversation while dancing, since most people become worse dancers while trying to talk and dance. And while you may be in a large crowd of people, you are primarily only interacting with this one person, who you don't even have to talk to. To me, it feels like such a healthy reminder that there are ways of connecting with people other than through conversation alone.

Thinking about a lot of my friends who are also folk dance enthusiasts, I'd say most of them are more introverted than extroverted. Perhaps folk dances are events more suited to the introvert - a gathering of people who are all just interacting with only one other person at a time? Perhaps.

As I said, these are just my initial thoughts. I'm curious to hear what others might think. Is there agreement? Disagreement? I've also been trying to think of other examples of situations that we would typically expect an extrovert to thrive in, but secretly the introverts are thriving. I'd love to hear any thoughts you might have!

2012: My trifecta year

Probably one of the best remarks I heard this year was a congratulations on my trifecta year. In 2012 I finished my PhD, got married, and moved to Sweden to start a new job (in order of occurrence, not importance).

Finishing graduate school was an amazing and magical thing. Just look how happy I was.

Mainly I am smiling because I love my giant hat. Too bad it was just a rental.

(Sometimes I feel bad that photographers are just trying to do a good job of photographing people, but that is really hard when everyone is turning away from the camera. Usually I end up making a goofy face at the camera, but somehow this person got a genuine smile. The result was me appearing on the Dartmouth Graduate Studies homepage for a bit of time.)

And one quick week after the graduation ceremony was our wedding. As much as I love the phrase "trifecta year" I am guessing that it won't take long before I only remember 2012 as the year that Greg became my husband. 

The actual day of the wedding was a bit of a blur. I remember being awake in the middle of the night and painting my fingernails or toenails. I remember hearing Greg talking with someone before he walked in, when I was still in the basement being unseen. I remember not knowing some of the songs because we kind of got the music program together at the last minute and managed to pick some versions that I didn't know. I remember being bolstered by the lovely loud singing of The Gilbert family. I remember Father Justin giving an amazing homily (and also remember seeing his thumb shaking, even though his demeanor was completely relaxed). I remember being told that there were no plates, but that Bette & Andy just happened to have a ginormous amount of them, so that had been taken care of. I remember dancing, with everyone, but particularly waltzing with Greg. And I remember that he and I were the absolute last two left at the reception hall, and his car was so packed that I was sitting in the front seat balancing leftover cake on my lap.

Here are some of the photos captured by our amazing photographer. 










Oh those Dominicans!




Why bother feeding each other cake when there is a pig roast?


Lamby!

Did Garren get a picture of that face I made just at the end of this little video clip, you ask? Why yes. Yes he did.



I have to cut myself off with wedding stuff, or this post could become outrageously long.

Finally, in mid-August, was my move to Sweden to start my new job. I am incredibly pleased with the work, and with making Sweden home. 

All in all, I'd say the year was quite good!