The Inadvertent Intern

   I worked for nine weeks as an intern at Molina Healthcare, and not once was I asked to get someone coffee. I've even offered! My supervisor even told me I could go to Starbucks if I wanted, though she didn't want any.
   Color me disappointed.
   I really hoped that I'd get to do so before it finished, that I'd get to do one typical intern task. But I didn't. Probably because it wasn't a typical internship. In fact, this summer has been anything but typical.
   So far this summer I have:

• Gone to Honduras on a mission trip
• Got fired
• Painted our family room
• Wrote a novel 
• Worked an internship

   You know. Normal summer stuff.

   But of all the things I did not expect to do this summer, it was work an internship. Other than Honduras (which you can read about at Five Years Of Spanish Led Up To This Trip) and maybe painting the family room, none of the others were expected. Yet they could have at least been anticipated. 
   It started as a suggestion for a summer job by my mom's best friend who had recently been hired at Molina. Only when I was sitting in my interview did the word 'internship' actually come up. And, mind you, I filled out a very long online application. Never. Not even once.
   But nevertheless, I went through with it. I called a few weeks later, as I had not heard anything, and I needed a job. Luckily, I had been of the twenty chosen. 
   And on my first day in my first professional setting, all dressed up for this new job, with my new swipe badge and everything, I sat down in the new hire orientation and... promptly fell asleep. To this day, the only other intern I ever had contact with remembers me as the girl who fell asleep in orientation. 
   Anyways, the first day and part of the second were completely dedicated to iLrns, these awful powerpoints with questions that had to be completed. The tough thing was that my computer wasn't ready (in fact, it wasn't ready for two and a half weeks).
   After I finished those, I started training to schedule.
   Molina focuses on Medicare and Medicaid supplemental insurance. As of July 1st, the Duals program for members with both insurances went live. Because of that, Molina hired a ton of new employees. The big thing was compliance visits. For hundreds of members, there was a requirement that they needed to be seen twice within 30 days by Molina nurses and social workers.
   My job was to schedule those visits. And apparently, no one had ever caught on to the scheduling process so fast. They were planning on having me train for a few days. I needed two hours. 
   I'm not really one to brag, but they loved me. Within two weeks, I was scheduling for two different people, which was a two or three weeks earlier than they had anticipated. By the time I finished, I had scheduled for 5 different people. And actually, my bosses were very sad to see me go. They bought me Panera and gave me a card. I will miss them. They were both very nice and loved having me around. 

   I tried to keep a list titled "&#@! the Intern Thinks", but I got too distracted to finish it. So here are a few I remember:

• I love Defying Gravity so darn much. 
• I wonder if anyone would notice if I started doing calisthenics right now.
• I &#$@%&! hate technology [x16]
• The way is clear. The light is good. I have no fear nor no one should. The woods are just trees. The trees are just wood. I kind of hate to ask it, but do you have a basket? 
• I wonder what people think when I stand in front of this window at the same time everyday. 
• I smell popcorn. 
• POPCORN
• I wonder if you have to type '91' in the phone in order to call out to 911.
• I got chewed out by a member and a case manager today for the two things I don't know how to do. I'm only an intern. I hate this job.
• It's a good thing people can't see my face while I am listening to showtunes. 
• [whistles] Wait. Why am I whistling the theme to Monsters Univeristy?
• [looks at tuition fee during break] &*@#. How am I going to pay for that? 
• Control C. Control V. Control C. Control V. [ad nauseum]
• I got twenty five people scheduled for visits today. I'm only an intern. I love this job. 

   The thing about the Affordable Care Act is that, no matter how you look at it, it is working. I realized that every day.
   Whenever someone got mad at me over the phone about Molina or not getting the healthcare accepted, I stopped and had to think "these people have never had healthcare before." When people were pleased to have people come out and get equipment and appointments set up for them, I stopped and thought "these people have never had healthcare before."
  I myself, as well as numerous others, have never doubted our healthcare before. We take it for granted because it's always been there. But when you talk to the people who have never had it before, even if they are a bit annoying or are even switching to a different provider, you can tell that this is not something they take for granted. Many of them can't take this for granted because they have such severe health problems, problems that can be cared for, but are very expensive. And though I would occasionally get disappointed when someone said they were switching from Molina, it was okay  because I can understand that for the first time they have options. 
   The Affordable Care Act, despite its flaws, gives these people the security of care they have never had before. 
   And that is what it is meant to do.
   You can argue against it all you want, but you cannot deny the truth: people can actually afford to have health insurance for the first time. Affordable healthcare.

   I'm sorry that it has been so long since I have blogged, but given my list above, I am sure you can understand that I have been busy. But it was a good busy.
   But just as I had a busy summer, I look to a busier school year. I would say "To OSU? To OSU!" but that would be kind of weird, as I am already there. But stay in tune, as I am quite sure I will have many more "I Wasn't Told This Before College" entries to come...
   

Five Years Of Spanish Classes Led Up To This Trip

Please forgive me if I messed up the Spanish part. Yes, it's simple, but five years of Spanish class did not prove nearly as helpful as I anticipated.

   En el año 2013, mi abuela y mi abuelo, los padres de mi madre, se murieron. Unos meses después de la muerte de mi abuela en octubre, mi mamá me dijo que ella quiso ir a Honduras en el mayo próximo  por un viaje de la iglesia. También, ella me dijo que  me quiso ir con ella. Le dije sí.

  Pero durante del segundo semestre de este año, tuve estrés porque tuve problemas con la clase química y un trabajo nuevo. No sentí que pude creer sobre el viaje. Había otras cosas más importantes.

   Unos meses luego, tomé los exámenes finales, y repentinamente,  era el mes de mayo. Estuve saliendo por el país en solamente unos días. No pude creer o ajustar. No había tiempo. Estaba en el aeropuerto en Columbus, y Atlanta y finalmente San Pedro Sula, Honduras.

   Conducimos por tres horas a un lugar que se llamó Las Conchias. Deshacemos el equipaje y organizamos la medicina en los arcones.  Todos los arcones tuvieron un tipo de medicina como vitaminas, dolor o antibióticos. También, había bolsas llenadas de provisiones dentales y lentes.

  La primera aldea era la iglesia hermana de Liberty Presbyterian de Powell. Se llamó El Olvido, y el edificio de la iglesia de El Olvido había construido por miembros de Liberty. Después de la clínica, servimos la cena a la gente de la iglesia, y asistimos un servicio de iglesia.

  Por una semana, viajamos a aldeas diferentes. Cada aldea era única . La segunda tuve una escuela buen.  La tercera tuve arboles de coco y un hombre lo escaló. La cuarta tuve una iglesia casi como una de los estados unidos, y la última era más pobre de todos.

  Había cosas que yo quise como mi teléfono celular y mi enamorado. Pero Honduras era una experiencia que no puedo describir. Vale, no puedo describirlo en español. Lean el resto y probaré describirlo en ingles porque es mas fácil.

   In the year 2013, my grandma and my grandpa, my mother’s parents, died. A few months after the death of my grandmother in October, my mom told me that she wanted to go to Honduras on a mission trip. She also told me that she wanted me to go with her. I told her yes.

   But during the second semester of this year, I was stressed because I had problems with chemistry and a new job. I didn’t feel that I could think about the trip. There were more important things.

   A few months later, I took final exams, and suddenly, it was May. I was leaving the country in only a few days. I couldn’t think or adjust. I was in the Columbus airport, Atlanta, and finally San Pedro Sula, Honduras.

   We drove for three hours to the place in which we stayed called Las Conchias. We unpacked the luggage and organized the medicine in the bins. Every bin had a type of medicine like vitamins, pain, or antibiotics. Also, there were filled bags of dental supplies and glasses.

   The first village was the sister of Liberty Presbyterian of Powell.  It was called El Olvido (The Forgotten)  and the church building had been built by members of Liberty. After the clinic, we served dinner and attended a church service.

   For a week, we traveled to different villages. Each was unique. The second had a good elementary school. The third had coconut trees anda guy scaled one. The fourth had a church almost like one from the United States, and the last was poorer than anything else.

   There were things that I wanted, like my cell phone and my boyfriend. But Honduras was  an experience that I cannot describe. Okay, I cannot describe it in Spanish. Read the rest and I will try to describe it in English because it's easier. 

   The only time I have ever been out of the country was to go to Nova Scotia a few years ago with my family. And though the Canadians were very nice and kept apologizing for the 70 degree F "heat", it really didn't feel like another country. Honduras definitely did.

   I had about three days to get excited about the trip. I was on tenterhooks about my chem grade, and was working in the lab, so little time was spent thinking about it between moving out of my dorm and leaving.

   Now, I haven't really mentioned religion at all in these blogs, mainly because it hasn't really mattered. I also haven't mentioned it because I have been doing a lot of questioning over the past few years. I know I believe and trust in God and Jesus, but I have had some struggles with the church. I hoped that this trip would give me the opportunity to forget all of the struggles and just feel and share the love of God through service. 

   And it did. About sixty times over.

   As I mentioned previously, we visited different villages each day. I was on the pharmacy team, so my main job was to count and bag pills to hand out. That included antibiotics, parasite meds, ibuprofen, Tylenol, and four 28,000-count boxes of vitamins. So by my estimate, our team counted and bagged approximately 125,000 pills. Thankfully for the vitamins, we estimated using cups. But if you divide the total number vitamins by the approximated 90 per bag, that is still 1244+ bags of pills. 

   Since I was in the "pharmacy" during the clinics, I didn't get to work with the families very much, but my mom did. She was the assistant to one of the doctors on the trip. Each team consisted of one doctor, one assistant, and one translators. And side note, our translators were incredible young men who made the trip very, very enjoyable, and we probably would not have had such a good time if they hadn't been working with us.

   Luckily for me, I did not have to wait until the last day or so to have a "God moment". That happened at out first village. 

   It's been almost six months since Dahgo passed away, so though I miss her a lot, I don't find myself getting teary very often. The exception is when my mom starts talking about it. Then comes the waterworks (for both of us). In this case, my mom and I both offered to give testimonies as to why we went on the trip and our journey and stuff. She went first. 

    She spoke how when she lost her mom her heart broke,and she went to Honduras in honor of her mother (cue crying from both parties). She also mentioned how seeing the families at the clinic, specifically the grandparents bringing the children, made her think about her own mother and how Dahgo was so vital in raising us. But it was the end of the testimony that truly made the trip.

   She asked for the church to pray for her, which is to be expected. What we were not expecting was for the entirety of the church to stand and lay hands on her. They called me up too, and we stood as they began to pray. But they didn't just listen to the pastor the way we do at Stonybrook. Each person began to pray out loud, quietly at first and then stronger and stronger until my mom and I were standing midst  a crowd of raised voices calling upon the Lord.
   I probably could have tried to catch bits of what they were saying (as they were all speaking Spanish), but I was crying too hard and the only thing my brain could process was this is God, this is God.

   As the week went on, we saw many different villages and people. Twice we set up in schools. The first one was a lot nicer, with colorful walls and drawings. My favorite things about it was that there were drawings of the Earth on the wall by students in honor of Earth Day, but instead of a drawing of North America like we're used to, there was a drawing of a strip of land running vertical through the ocean. I realized that that must be how they see Honduras on a map. 
   The other school was in a lot worse shape. The rooms looked unused and dirty. The highlight of that day was when I tried coconut water for the first time, straight from the coconut. A man climbed straight up the tree, no harness or anything, and then pulled a machete up on a rope. He used it to chop down a bunch of coconuts and then other men used their machetes (everyone has a machete) to break them open for the kids to drink. 
  The fourth clinic was made of a better stone and had a pretty decent bathroom as well. I could tell it was a village that had a more money as the church had a few speakers and an amplifier. That day I took a lot of pictures, mainly of the kids and families. Momma particularly liked taking pictures of kids wearing Batman t-shirts and frequently said that she wanted to bring hers, but wasn't sure if it would be culturally appropriate.
   The last day was a half day clinic, but by far it was the poorest place we went to. The place in which we set up was a tin roof held up by two-by-fours. Dogs, chickens, and children were everywhere in Honduras, but in this village, we kept having to shoo dogs out from under the tables. The two pastors daughters were hanging around, so I asked them to put the labels on the bags, and eventually they were helping me to count the pills. This was also the day in which I got over my embarrassment of speaking Spanish. It must have been the fact that they were kids. 

   By the end of the week, I was ready to see my friends and family and to use the internet. But there is something about Honduras that draws you. Part of it is the people. Part of it is the beauty of the landscape. But I think most of it is delving into a different culture. We had many conversations with the translators about different ideas and objects and how different and how similar our cultures are. To quote Albus Dumbledore in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire: "though we come from different places and speak in different tongues, our hearts beat as one."But something I believe and that this trip has emphasized is that we are all humans, and by that we are all God's children. And I hope that that is something other people think and live by too. 

   

I Wasn't Told This Before College #7: An Inconvenient Truth: College Edition

   When I came into college, I thought it would be an amazing place of freedom, learning, and happiness. But I've come to learn a few things since the day I moved in:

1. Sharing bathrooms for the sake of not having to clean them is not worth it.
2.  Avoid the ice cream place when the temperature exceeds 70 degrees F.
3. Chemistry is unspeakable.
4. Grief doesn't mix well with the college transition.
5. Schools leading up to college do nothing to adequately prepare you for college.

   The first two points are pretty self-explanatory. I chose to live on a specific part of campus so I did not need to clean the bathrooms. I'll spare you a detailed description and just leave you with the fact that two weeks in, I was willing to clean the bathroom. As for avoiding the ice cream shop, you see, Ohio had it's own April Fool's Day trick called "Heat Columbus to Nearly 80 degrees." I walked into the cafe that sells ice cream three different times during the day and  each time the line stretched almost all the way out the door.

   I do not wish to explain number three because Chemistry is unspeakable. I guess I do have to mention it later to explain number 5, but the less I have to think about it, the better. Oh look. Someone threw that textbook across the room. Huh. Wait.

  Numbers 4 and 5 are the most important points though.

  Number 4: Grief doesn't mix well with the college transition. Everyone tells you before college that it is a big transition. But no one tells you how massive the transition is. And grief is hard enough. No need to mix them.

   Unfortunately, that's what happened to me. 

   My grandpa, affectionately called Poppy, passed away in March 2013. His wife, my grandma affectionately called Dahgo, passed away seven months later, in October 2013. They were incredibly important to my entire family. They babysat my sister and I while my mom worked. They were present at every birthday party or family gathering for the entire 18 years I knew them. I miss them more than I can say. 

   But there comes a problem with grief and living on your own. Now I don't live that far from my family, but I still am removed from them. They are surrounded by Dahgo and Poppy's belongings and pictures. As my mom puts it, 2013 was a tsunami, and I managed to escape to a little refugee camp called Ohio State. But this semester, the water has started to trickle in, with flash floods occurring more and more frequently.  

   But before I delve more on that, let's talk about number 5.

   Number 5: Schools before college do nothing to adequately prepare you for college. You're probably thinking "whoa, whoa, whoa. That's a bold statement, especially coming from someone who has only been in college for a year." Yeah, well, it doesn't take more than a month to figure it out.

   The entirety of high school is devoted to getting into college. High schoolers join clubs, volunteer, work part-time jobs, take AP classes, etc. All to get into college. But once you're in college, no one cares about that. The professors don't treat you differently because you got a 32 on your ACT. 

   What you do realize is that you suddenly are tossed into a lake and you don't know how to swim. People stand around telling you to grab the life preserver, but every time you get close enough to reach it, it gets dragged away from you. 

   I've been over my not knowing how to study. I was kind of prepared to have to tackle that. But no one ever told me that I wouldn't know how to fail.

   I am currently clueless as to whether or not I'll pass chemistry. Grades and curves and points. Nothing makes sense. No one knows anything. I work incredibly hard and I don't get anything from it. 

   I got a research position in a lab. Me. A freshman. I beat out all these sophomores and juniors who are far better candidates then me. And I feel blessed to have it. But I can't get through one project in the lab without feeling like a screw up. It's nothing that the grad student I work with said or the PI or anyone. It's the fact that for the entirety of my life so far mistakes were punished. You lose points. You get cut from things. And now making mistakes frightens me. 
   That's how school doesn't prepare you for college. They want you to get to college, so they punish you if something goes wrong, but they don't instruct you on how to fix it. They praise people who get good grades and test scores, and those who don't are left behind. I got pretty good grades in high school. I did really well on tests. But I am suffering in college because no one told me how to make mistakes. 
  And when you combine numbers 4 and 5, it's like you are reaching for the life preserver and suddenly a boat speeds by and the waves not only drag the life preserver further from your grasp, but they're so powerful that they drag you under water for a time too.
   That's how I felt a few weeks ago. The week after I got back from spring break, I was overwhelmed by the amount of work that didn't get done over break. And trust me, it wasn't laziness. It was "I just worked in a lab for 8 hours, I honestly have no desire to think any more today." But when I got back and realized I had so much to do, I panicked. But I got it done. And then I panicked about something else. But I got it done. 
   And then that Thursday, my professor discussed the previous exam, which I flat out failed. That set me crying. And then I went to the lab. I was okay, but shaky. And then I messed a few things up. Small things not worth the stress. But then I started crying again. And this time I couldn't stop. 
   Later when I was able to have dinner with my mom, we discussed everything I said above. We discussed the idea of the tsunami. She pointed out that the week before had been one year since Poppy passed away. The women of my family have the ability to be calm and helpful in chaos, and then react later. My reaction was just a bit later than the rest of the family. 
   And this is why numbers 4 and 5 should never be combined. Leaving your family  to live on your own( no matter how close you live to them), learning to control your own finances, struggle to do well in class, and still find joy in life is what the college transition really is. That's what being an adult is. That's the life preserver.

   This time, I don't have to explain my continued struggle. I just did. I am fighting an uphill battle. I have suffered a meltdown. I get frustrated daily, nearly to the point of tears because everything I have known to this point is different.
   My very wise mother told me that college is a new part of my life. Until now, everything has pretty much been determined for me, but now I am in control. Don't get me wrong, I like being in control of my own life, but it doesn't exactly come with an instruction manual. Perhaps that's why I keep writing these; so someone else doesn't make the same mistakes I did. Or maybe, just so someone else knows they aren't alone in feeling the same way. Because that's part of it. You start to think it's just you, and that everyone else can catch the life preserver. And I feel that way a lot. Everyone else seems to be okay in chemistry, or can pull their feelings together, and I am going mad because I can't.
   But that's the inconvenient truth about college. No one can catch the life preserver. They can only convince you they're already saved. 

MORAL OF THE STORY: The transition to college is 1000x harder than anyone will lead you to believe, and only a very small part is because of shared bathrooms.

I Wasn't Told This Before College #6: Getting Cut From The Band Was Not The End of the World

"Everything happens for a reason."

   That sentence is a very good sentiment, and one that I have known and lived by long before I ever started college. But hearing that twenty times when you were just cut from the OSU marching band that you had worked incredibly hard all summer for and had ultimately chosen a band instrument in the fifth grade for hopes of being in, you really don't want to hear that. Yet everyone says it.
   I've said before that my first semester was really hard. But as hard as the whole semester was, nothing matched the first week.
  Sure, there were distractions from my sadness. Meeting the RA, getting to know my roommate, an activities fair where thousands of people walked around the Oval and not once stepped into the grass. But it didn't change the fact that I had been cut from the band less than a week before I moved into my dorm. And it also didn't change the fact that I was faced with the band in a (basically) mandatory convocation. I broke down. I couldn't help it. 
   And it continued to hurt. Despite warnings, I did make friends, some of whom were in the band. Football games made me cry. I couldn't look at my TBDBITL t-shirt for months. I sobbed when the band was featured on The Today Show. It slowly got better, but for a long time, anything related to band was either accompanied by tears or pangs in my heart.
   Oh, and that reminds me, nothing I am saying is anything bad about the band. Some people choose to cuss about it, or say mean or hurtful things, but I can't. I love the band, and will continue to work to get in it. The reason it ends up being so good is because of the competitiveness of those who tryout. But that being said, getting cut from the band is one of the most painful experiences of my life. It is topped only by the deaths of my grandparents, and I swear I'm not being dramatic. Every reaction I had was real. I cried for months about it. It was my dream since I learned about the band in fifth grade from my older siblings.    People who don't know TBDBDITL or are band people in general might think "wow. It's just a band. Get over it. " Um, excuse me. How dare you think that about TBDBITL. They ARE The Best Damn Band In The Land. Need proof? take my favorite TBDBITL show, the 2012 video game show, as proof.

   See? They live up to their name. And you can see why I want to be in it so darn badly. 

   The first week, music wise, didn't get any better. I signed up to audition for a concert band and ended up missing the audition by a whole day. And so I ended up in the non-major concert band, which ended up being fine, but at the time, it just seemed to make matters that much worse.

   But God really does work in the strangest ways sometimes.

  If I hadn't missed that audition by a day, I wouldn't have run into the jazz trombone professor. We knew each other from my attendance at a university jazz camp and my being a member of the Columbus Youth Jazz Orchestra and his being a member of the Columbus Jazz Orchestra.

   And if it weren't for meeting him there, I wouldn't have ended up taking lessons with him. And if I hadn't signed up for lessons, he wouldn't have thought of me when the second university jazz ensemble needed another trombonist. 

   I ended up as that other trombonist.

   It wasn't until I attended a jazz rehearsal, and got lost in the music that I realized how everything that seemed bad worked out well in the end. No, it wasn't making TBDBITL, but I love to play jazz music, and I ended up in a really great ensemble (without an audition, I might add.)

 

   I've noticed a theme in these posts. I always end with some paragraph explaining how I still feel a struggle with whatever problem I am discussing and how I will continue to work on it. 

   But you know what? It's true. Bad things happen all the time, but something good will always come of it.

• I had given up on getting  a date in high school until I was in college because I was tall, geeky, and outspoken, and high school boys seemed intimidated. When I accepted it and was sad about it, I ended up meeting the young man that I fell in love with who loves me for the reasons listed above and so much more.
• I quit softball because of politics after my sophomore year of high school. Even though it was my choice, it was really difficult because I loved the game so much and had sacrificed so much. But I was able to turn to theatre and ended up having such a better time with the people, and having twice as much fun with the activity. ( I even wrote a theatre piece about softball.)
•  My parents were divorced when I was six years old, and, no, it hasn't been a walk in the park, but some incredible things have come of it. Namely, a truly amazing blended family I have been part of for over eight years now that I love so much, it's not even funny. 

MORAL OF THE STORY: Bad things will happen throughout our lives, but something better is coming. It could be a work of God or the universe, but everything has a silver lining, even if it's almost impossible to think of. 

WONDERFUL NEWS!

This isn't really related to anything, but I am really excited... I wrote a play! It's titled "Paint Washes Us Out". I wrote it because I needed some way to get out feelings after a tough week. It's pretty short, just a one-act, but I'm excited about it!

Note: The play has nothing to do with me or anything I have ever experienced. It is purely fictional.  It does involve violence, so please do not continue reading if that is a problem for you.

A star baseball player named Larry Collins is caught trying to pass of the research of his friend Maria Santino, and is kicked out of his university. Realizing he lost baseball, his scholarship, everything, he gets drunk, and goes to her house. When she finally agrees to come outside to meet him, he attacks her. Flash forward eight years, where Larry and Maria end up on the same park bench in Central Park. Both have changed significantly from the events of that night. Both have things they have waited to share and waited to know. But fate has a funny way of intervening when we least expect it. 

So, yeah. I am going to work on editing it and fixing up stuff. But I just wanted to share that I wrote it, and I'll keep you updated on wherever it goes from here! :) 

I Wasn't Told This Before College #5: Creativity Is Not A Dirty Word

  Like it or not, we create every day. Scribbles turn into doodles turn into works of art. Babbling turns to words turns into performances. Piano banging turns into scales turns into free-form jazz. We constantly are changing and making and living in a new world, every second of every day. So why doesn't it feel that way?

   The beginning of my recent musings on creativity began with my Valentine's Day gift from my boyfriend: a subscription to the computer game Minecraft. If you aren't familiar with Minecraft, let me explain. You are dropped into a world where basically everything can be "mined". You use the "blocks" that you mine to build basically whatever you want. Just don't let the Creepers blow you up. 

   Not very much after I received that gift, I read a New York Times article about Alan Alda's love for science communication . You know, Hawkeye Pierce from M*A*S*H* ? (Cue theme song. Haha. Now it's in your head). Well, he says he has always loved science, but knew that he wanted to be an actor since he was eight. The article talks about how he learned it from magazines, and how he is now really big in a field that is starting to get some prevalence: science communication.
   It all peaked today in English when we watched a TED Talk by Sir Ken Robinson entitled "How School Kills Creativity". It's really interesting (and pretty funny). And, of course, it got me thinking.
   Sir Ken made a point about how everyone has been told at least once that they can't do what they love because they'll never get a job in it. And as much as I love science (and that is a hell of a lot), there is always going to be part of me that wants to be a screenwriter or an actor or a novelist. Of course, the part of me that fangirls over electric pipettes and gets overly excited about enzymes wins out. But that other part is always there.
   So how do we continue to create in a world that treats creativity likes it's a dirty word? What can people who work in STEM fields do to express their artistic side? But even simpler than that, how do we get scientists to take off the goggles and talk to the world?
   Mr. Alda says "...Scientists often don’t speak to the rest of us the way they would if we were standing there full of curiosity. They sometimes spray information at us without making that contact that I think is crucial. If a scientist doesn't have someone next to them, drawing them out, they can easily go into lecture mode. There can be a lot of insider’s jargon."
  This is incredibly true. Those who work at the bench end up pretty isolated. We immerse ourselves in statistics and test tubes and end up unable to communicate our work with everyone else. Another point Mr. Alda makes is that if scientists can't communicate our work, how can we teach the world it's importance?
  How about science communication? It's a fairly new field where people (mainly actors) are developing new ways to, well, communicate science. But it's more than that. It's teaching scientists to step out of the lab and onto stage. Actors like Alan Alda and Stephen McGann from the BBC's Call the Midwife are branching out into a new way of communication. In brief, it's science for all, not just those with PhD's. 
   Of course the biggest question is how do we change the way scientists present? One way to do this is to increase funding for the arts. In my senior year of high school, I spent 90 minutes a day for three months doing research and writing my senior project thesis. During those same school days I spent 136-156 minutes in a performance based class: jazz band, concert band, and theatre appreciation. When all was said and done, I placed in second in one competition and first in another. Coincidence? I think not.
  Performers, especially actors and jazz musicians, are taught how to improvise. Actors are given a few vague lines and a scenario. Jazz musicians are told a few chords. We create something from barely anything. No practice. No knowing anything before hand. 
  So imagine if you had an entire research project to present. Months of hard work. So many tests ran and papers edited and little holes punched out of filter paper. If working in the lab is all you do, how are you going to explain this to someone who didn't do it? And more importantly, how are you going to convince them that you are worth giving money to? (That's another conversation, but still relevant.)
  I am utterly convinced that the reason I did well in those competitions was because I can perform. Sure, I had great research and muttered practice questions to myself occasionally, but everything I answered was on the spot. But it wasn't just being able to answer the questions. I had to know how to present it too. There is a distinct difference between whispering "Hi, I'm, ______. Let me tell you about my research," and smiling, standing up straight and saying "Hi. I'm __________. Let me show you my research and basically explain why it's important and why I am awesome." Okay, not the last bit, but you get the point.

Haha. I got so immersed in performance, I forgot the main topic: creativity. Well, I think that kind of speaks for itself. I mean, when was the last time that scientists were told to sit and draw a picture that wasn't of a cell and its organelles? In fact, when was the last time any  of us sat down and drew a picture that was not in the margins of our chemistry notes? Or when was the last time a professor said "for your next assignment, you must make up and interpretive dance to explain the meaning of the short story you read last night." Okay, that one only applies to dance majors. 
But really. After the fifth grade, you start switching classes and having homework and you get lost in the preparation for this magical thing called "college". Play time is replaced with calculus. Recess is replaced with English. Arts classes are given the boot to make way for science and engineering. The biggest problem with this idealism is (yet another rhetorical) question:

How will we move forward when no one is creative anymore?

I'll let you ponder that for a while.

In short:

SCIENTISTS: TAKE PERFORMANCE AND ARTS CLASSES GOSH DARN IT. 

ADMINISTRATORS: STOP CUTTING ARTS PROGRAMS FOR THE SAKE OF SCIENCE GOSH DARN IT.

EVERYONE: STOP TREATING THE ARTS AND CREATING THINGS LIKE IT'S TABOO GOSH DARN IT.

  Yes, science will one day cure cancer, stop (or start) the zombie apocalypse, and invent a flying skateboard. But if you don't know how to present it to an audience, or, God forbid, there is not longer creativity and we run out of new ideas, we are basically screwed. It is all important, and it all goes hand in hand. 

MORAL OF THE STORY: Draw! Play! Create! Invent the things Back to the Future says we will have in less than a year! Just please don't splice Mad Cow Disease with Rabies! ( Oh crap.I shouldn't have said that. Please. Really please don't.)

"I Wasn't Told This Before College" #4: Not Knowing is Not Half The Fun

  So you've got that being "gifted" has been wrapped up in my identity since elementary school, right? And that, deep in my subconscious, I am always thinking about being the best, because I was taught that was the most important thing?  Well, anyways, it apparently is a lot more deep rooted in my conscious mind that I thought.
  I am anxiety ridden. Some of it is caused by stress about things I can't control, but most of it just seems to happen for no reason. Many times I can fret about things that have no chance of happening. I have honestly fallen asleep worrying about what would  I'd actually do in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. (Answer: lawn equipment and acid-filled water guns.)
  One new development in my anxiety is fairly recent. In the past few months, I have actually had physical anxiety reactions to being asked questions when I'm not sure of the answer.
  Knowing the answer has always just been something that defines me. Not only do I seem to have academic answers, but my friends always come to me for advice. Even relationship advice, which was funny since it took me seventeen years to go on a date. 
  Anyways, it wasn't until college until I realized I had a pretty huge fear of not knowing the answer. But it wasn't just that. It was that I was scared of being judged about not knowing. I have always been confident in my knowledge. But when I got to college and suddenly it wasn't there when I needed it, I didn't know what to do.
  The first time I had a reaction to it was last October. I was sitting at a presentation about drugs held in my dorm building featuring a campus policeman and a professor of pharmacology. Somebody asked a question and I thought I knew the answer so I answered. And I felt confident that I was right until I realized the professor was watching me. And I had a tiny little freak out.
  I started stumbling over my words, which, if you know me, never happens. But it did. I sort of stopped mid-sentence, my voice fading until nothing came out. I had small, frantic gestures to the professor to correct me. He laughed a bit and finished the answer, but it didn't matter. My ears burned and I couldn't make eye contact (another thing that I never have trouble with).
  A few weeks later, it happened again. This time, it was in Taekwondo class. My instructor asked why we start certain kicks from back stance. Again, I started off confident and ended up shaking my head and breathing hard. But this time was slightly different. It wasn't just that he was watching and that I knew he knew the answer. It was that he wasn't giving me any kind of sign that I was even on the right track. 
  This is another thing I haven't quite gotten control over, but I do know that it has made the little voice in my head shut up a bit. Things like worrying about body image ( which I don't do much of anyway), or what people think of me when they don't know me stopped bothering as much. But they haven't stopped all together. My anxiety still sits in my head and whispers things into my ear when I try to fall asleep.
  But there's another voice in my head that helps me stop the stupid one. It's called "My Wise Woman".
   Some might call it my "conscious" or "the Holy Spirit", but my mom calls it the Wise Woman, so I call it that. It's the little voice that reminds me what the right thing to do, say, think, etc., is. I imagine a very strong super heroine who has one foot on the chest of a criminal, bruised and bleeding on the floor. 
 Unfortunately, sometime the criminal gets up and runs around. It takes a while for the Wise Woman to catch him again, and in that time, he runs amok, spouting lies. But she catches him. I just hope that someday, she might lock him up for good. 

MORAL OF THE STORY: anxiety sucks, and I am still trying to figure out how to combat it.