In order to discover something truly
new, one of your fundamental assumptions has to change.
This is an idea that I stole from a
Ted Talk. I mean, I kind of stole it
from a Ted Talk. It's not uncommon
knowledge, but its implications are pretty profound. This idea represents a barrier: the barrier
between what you know and what you don't.
As a student, this is a barrier which I encounter often. In fact, I claim that my full time job is to
take a hammer to this barrier every day of the week. However, students aren't the only people who
run into this wall. Have you ever put
together a puzzle? There comes a time in
the piecing together of any puzzle when you feel like you've been given a bad
box-- the puzzle-maker is out to get you, so he gave you a thousand
ridiculously similar pieces that just don't fit together the way they should. In the end, you're almost always wrong, and
the feelings of frustration, hopelessness, and betrayal (because the
puzzle-maker was supposed to be on your side) that you encountered at your
lowest moment now contribute to the sense of accomplishment you feel when
you've put together the picture that probably shouldn't have been broken up
into a thousand tiny pieces to begin with.
That's what I want to talk about-- the dichotomy between despair and
excitement and the way the former magnifies the latter once the barrier has
been overcome.
A topic of conversation that often
comes up when I'm talking with my fellow science or math majors is the luxury which
other students take for granted that is not needing to find a specific answer
all the time. Writing papers sucks. It does.
But when I sit down with a blank Word Document in front of me, at least
I know that in six hours I'll have about ten, sparkling pages that I can fork
over to my professor, even if it's the worst paper I've ever written. With science and math, you don't have that
assurance. There was an evening when
Jacob and I sat down and spent hours struggling with a problem to which we
never found the answer. I filled three
pages with algebraic manipulations for that one question, but eventually, we
just had to move on. There's something
horribly depressing about sinking hours of time and energy into a problem which
you never solve. But I can guarantee
that there was a physics student, we'll call him Jimjam Flimflam, sitting
somewhere on the campus of William and Mary that same night who, after pulling
out the majority of his hair while his roommate slept soundly in his warm,
comfortable bed, landed on a solution that made sense-- and I'm sure it was
glorious. I bet Jimjam Flimflam gently
set his books aside, stood up from his chair, ripped off his shirt, and quietly
danced around the room punching the air and yelling silently in celebration,
careful not to wake his snoring roommate.
Do you know why he solved the
problem and Jacob and I didn't? He found
a crack in the barrier, and he exploited it, smacking it with his hammer as it
spider-webbed across the whole surface, until finally, he broke through. That crack is the knowledge you have. That hammer is your textbook and your
notes. And the other side of that
barrier is a deeper level of understanding.
The thicker the wall, the greater your frustration, but the greater your
frustration, the more magnificent your victory.
Some people go out and look for the thickest barrier they can find and
start chipping away at it. Some people
start chiseling away without realizing just how deep they'll have to go. Some people turn around at the first obstacle
they encounter. It's my job as a student
and as a scientist to learn to see the barrier as a chance to accomplish
something. It's my job to embrace the
challenge of a problem that I haven't solved.
One day, it will be my job to embrace the challenge of a problem that no
one has solved.
However, embracing the challenge
does not mean overcoming the obstacle.
There are humans who have spent their entire existence on problems that
they never see solved, just like there are students who spend their entire
evening on problems that they never see solved.
But that's okay. There can be joy
in the struggle. I've never won a race,
but I loved running track. I've never
finished writing a book, but I've had a great time writing chapter one. I've never beaten Arjun in Melee, but I enjoy
playing him. You get the idea.
Here's my advice to you: learn to
appreciate the puzzle. Have fun taking
every likely candidate for the gap in your sky and twisting it every way
possible before putting it back on the table.
Smile at the ridiculousness of the notion that the puzzle-maker is
pitting himself against you (but don't completely discount the idea). Laugh at the simplicity of the solution when
you find it. Breaking down the barrier
isn't about scribbling down the correct numbers on the page-- it's about the
understanding you gained from finding them, and that's something you can't get
from an answer key.