Flashes of Panic

Yesterday, I talked briefly to the head of the department where I may be doing my assistantship. It was the first stage in the complicated modem-squeal process by which technical people negotiate a level at which they can communicate. (This is, in fact, what the squealing noise of analog modems is: two pieces of hardware patiently negotiating a speed and protocol which they both understand.) At my current office, my direct supervisor understands a significant fraction of what I say, and I can usually explain concepts needed to understand the basics of what I’m doing. With most everyone else, conversations are a frustrating series of false starts while I try to find a level where they’ll understand what I’m saying. (Or, I could just be condescending:)

These folks, on the other hand, are pretty confident at a high level of discussion; heck, they’re running a Tru-64 server and a Beowulf cluster. I don’t even have a Xeon in my webserver, and half my public servers are either recycled or have been with the company longer than I have. They’re figuring out how much they need to talk down to me, which is exciting; I can’t learn anything if I only work with systems I already understand.

The discussion is showing me how, even as I committed to making this jump to graduate school, I haven’t really spent any time looking at how big a change it’s going to be. I think I’ve been mentally lazy, letting my work and my activities (or lack thereof) define who I am to myself, and not thinking about how the picture is changing over time. This is a chance for me to shake off some of the old ideas I’ve allowed to harden around me, and open my mind up. I’m not idealistic enough to imagine complete transformation, nor do I think that’s really necessary, but perhaps an environment in which I’m constantly required to be learning new things will prompt me to stick my neck out a bit more in the rest of the world—and look back at myself.

Now Playing: Jam from Pale by Toad The Wet Sprocket