Posts Tagged ‘expectations’

2.4 The Search for Happiness

Monday, April 20th, 2009

Life and experience of each of us can be so diverse that is often difficult, if not impossible, to describe them in general terms. It is only by drastic simplifications that we can describe general reasons and motivations for important choices, such as that of choosing to pursue a university degree, choosing a new job, or moving to a new town or country. Rational motivations are often present, but can be also biased by less  fathomable aspects. Important choices are often influenced by a complex web  of personal experiences and factors. Unconscious feelings, hidden aspirations, subtle external pressures, our family, moods and one’s temperament all act as driving forces in deep, unsuspected ways.

Despite such an intricate picture, an important principle that can be found often and drives the choices of many is the search of happiness. We apply this principle nearly every time we make a choice, from the small choices of everyday to the big important  steps in our life. What wine should I buy for tonight dinner? Will a certain red wine meet with the taste of my guests and therefore satisfy my need of appreciation? If I make the right choice, my guests will be pleased and in turn I will feel happy by the end of the evening.  On a grander scale this happens for more important choices.  Will I be happy if I move far away from my home-town to take a job or study at university? Will I still have the chance of being happy by making new friends and inviting  them for dinner? Or will I be happy in different ways by pursuing and studying the subjects of my interests? Will I be happier if I stay here where I have already all I need?

When we think of starting a PhD, a many-year project that will drastically change our lives, are we considering only aspects such as the topic of our study, the salary, the facilities at university? Or do we interrogate ourselves on deeper questions  such as that of whether our choice would make us happy? Very likely, a well-pondered choice is based  on general issues related our general mood and happiness more than a number of details. When choosing to start a PhD, in many cases it is because we think that, with respect to other options, that is what we feel will make us happy. I asked the question to my friend T, whose story was told in a previous section. I asked what were the aspects he had considered when he was choosing between a PhD position in Lausanne, and a research job in industry in the Netherlands. Was it about career prospects? Money? The country where he would have preferred to live? The type of job? He said that he considered all the aspects I mentioned, but in the end, he confessed, he chose what he felt  would make him happier. Another person at his place might have made the opposite choice for exactly the same reason, for the way with perceive happiness is different for each of us.

Here one could ask if happiness could  not be more easily achieved by other means than doing a PhD. For example one could imagine that a happier life would be associated with jobs that pay more money, or that allow one to have long holidays in beautiful destinations, or jobs where one meets successful men and women, or travels much, or again where one is respected for covering an important position. Those jobs could be certainly appealing, but happiness is not always achieved with precisely the same means by everyone. Indeed many different jobs, even simple ones, have appealing sides, and thanks to the diversity in taste and inclinations, young people can pursue happiness along very different paths. Doing a PhD, despite some drawbacks, could represent for some a way to happiness just as much for others could be to posses money or driving an expensive car. Appealing aspects could be the challenges felt in  being appointed a position where the main task is contributing to human knowledge in some original way. A researcher strives to discover new things, wants to use his or her skills and intelligence to assert ideas, believes, personality. A researcher can see oneself as an artist, as a creative mind, as an independent thinker and free mind, as a member of an advanced scientific community. A researcher could draw pleasure from reading and discovering new concepts, from understanding how certain things work, from discussing and brainstorming with people with similar interests. All those ideals commonly associated with academia could be appealing beacons to attract people in their search for happiness

If the choice to start a PhD is then driven by evasive reasons such as the search for happiness, how can we hope to draw a general principle that capture the essence of such an important choice? The answer is perhaps that there is no essence or general principle, but rather there are many situations, many stories that constitute small pieces of a greatest puzzle. Each story is an interesting human story, and each contributes to unveil facts and contingencies. It is worthy sometimes to leave a descriptive, general approach and delve instead into particular stories and cases, to ask our friends and be amused by how differently everyone thinks or acts for their own happiness. The example I know best, and the one I can more carefully report here, is that of my own choice.

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2.5 A vicious cycle

Thursday, April 23rd, 2009

I used to be a hopeless undergraduate student. I would have never dreamt of becoming a researcher or a lecturer. By taking a step back into the past, one can see how my marks were mediocre. In the third year of undergraduate studies, I lagged considerably behind the schedule, and I was far from finishing.
What was the matter? I didn’t consider myself dull or slow. On the contrary, I grasped concepts fairly easily, and I enjoyed many lectures. Sometimes I was sitting in the rear among the less interested part of the audience, sharing their boredom and dejection. Other times though, I advanced to the first rows, and stuck around the small group of outstanding students, those handful over hundred, admired and even feared by the others for their unmatched brightness and sharpness. I liked them. They were enthusiastic about what they heard at the lectures, and used to discuss the topics at length in the corridors, at pubs, at home. They were indefatigable workers. Boredom never touched them. They saw opportunities everywhere. They discussed the power of ideas or how to start a company. When spending time with them, I liked the intellectual challenges that presented continuously, I shared their enthusiasm.
It all seemed fine, but when it came to take exams, all that could go wrong, went wrong. On the exam days, professors and assistants turned into evil, sneering enemies. I perceived hostility. I struggled, I felt ashamed and shy. I might have experienced once or twice that bold optimism that leads one to walk upright into the exam room, grab the exam sheet and fill in the answers with conceited nonchalance. Most of the time I felt uncomfortable, insecure, and lacking confidence. Often there were some  topics I did not master, and I was in a fearful hope that those topics would not appear in the exam. At first I had some good marks, but immediately  I found myself in disagreement with the assessments. Some marks deluded me deeply. I thought they were nearly random, and depended entirely on which teaching assistant would examine the candidate. I soon got the idea that good marks were not obtained by knowledge in the field, but by perseverance in discovering the tricks and the ways of the professors. I started believing less and less in both my skills and in the value of marks. Why should I  have complied with a system that judges and classifies students on criteria I despised? Unfortunately for me, the less I believed in the system, the harder it was to study, to concentrate, to learn and eventually to obtain good marks. I noticed soon that I was being dragged into a vicious cycle. I determined to shake it off for my own interest,  but no matter how much rational effort I would put in my studies, my subconscious would not believe my effort. I could learn little, my attention drifted away continuously, and marks were plunging lower and lower each term.

With time, as I lost confidence and enthusiasm, my marks became lower and lower

With time, as I lost confidence and enthusiasm, my marks became lower and lower

Initially I was struck by how unfair were the marks. With time, as I studies less and less, I became convinced I deserved low marks

Initially I was struck by how unfair (in my judgement) were my marks. With time, as I studied less and less, I became convinced I actually deserved low marks

Was is all gloomy and sad? Not all. In that period, when I had no faith in the university, I cultivated a number of other interests. I started playing guitar and improved very quickly. I even made new friends among professional musicians, spent hours in recording studios. I took up the hobby of photography. I read a lot, and wrote poems which I would share with equally minded young “artists”. Without being fully aware, my desire for success and appreciation was causing a change in my interests that shifted further and further away from my university courses. Whereas university would give me a feeling of inadequacy and oppression, my hobbies gave me satisfaction.

Yet, my attempts to find an escape in hobbies were clumsy. I was not a musician, nor a photographer or a poet. I was simply a student  who, as many other classmates back then, had been demoralised and inhibited. I take the chance here to say a word to all those students that have felt like me: whoever treats us with  scorn or expresses judgements on our work with  disdain and derision, as it happened many times during my undergraduate studies, fail miserably in their task. Whilst their mission should be to stimulate the intelligence and desire of knowledge of all students, they instil insecurity and dislike for their subjects.  My guilt was that of not belonging to that five percent of smartest minds. I did not shine,  and I was unhappy.

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