With a sense of wonder...

Four years ago today I sat around a wonderfully crowded dinner table in the home of my Syrian hosts and their Iranian guests enjoying a lavish holiday meal enjoying the overlapping conversations about politics, history, agriculture, and education abroad. My hosts were Sunni Muslims, their guests were Shi'a, and while I was raised a Lutheran my beliefs could more accurately be described as being of logic and science. One of the things that had drawn me to Syria was it's status as a secular state and the seeming ease with which various branches of Islam, Christianity, and to a small degree Judaism could coexist in a region where co-existence is rarely easy.

I spent two months living in Syria and have regretted leaving so soon since the moment I realized my plans for an imminent return trip were falling through. When this conflict started almost two years ago, I'm ashamed to admit I avoided the news and tried to ignore it. In the short time I was there I became quite attached to the place and the people. The thought of violence and warfare upon streets which I knew by heart was simply too disturbing. But mostly I was stupefied. I couldn't understand how a country that had seemed so stable and was in the midst of a slow but visible modernization could fall into such chaos. I have more thoughts on the politics and the fallout, but that is not what I wish to write about today. Today is a day of hope and love.

Grandmother and children in Idlib, Syria, January 2009.

Last night while watching my nephew's face light up both literally and metaphorically
with the candlelight church service I was reminded of a little boy I met in Syria who had that same unfiltered joy and wonder in his eyes (upon seeing his own face on my camera). That little boy lived in Idlib on a small rural farm with his siblings and cousins. While visiting with a fellow researcher, I had tea with the men of the farm while my colleague, Micheal, translated. Afterwards, I had the unique experience of visiting with the women and children. Michael was the only person in the group who could translate, and he did not accompany me. I spoke only a small bit of Arabic, enough to talk about family and my travels, the inevitable first questions. For thirty minutes the children and I pantomimed and giggled while my camera played a central role as entertainment. Their grandmother watched quietly, her eyes smiling to see the children playing.

I have a print of this photo at my parents house. I caught myself staring at it the other night, wondering where these children are, if they are safe, hoping the eldest hiding in the background is not now old enough to be involved in the fighting. Yet these children give me hope. It is always the way, but it will be the children who grow up in this internet connected world, making friends with people worldwide without politics/race/religion in their minds that will bring about change. As long as there are children with that look of unbridled wonder in their eyes, there will be a better tomorrow, for with a sense of wonder great things are possible.

Definition of a journey

"I suggested that a journey was a kind of story in itself, providing one had the will to read it, just as a story too could be a journey, providing one had the experience to bring to it, and that both found their mark differently in different people." - An Unexpected Light, Jason Elliot.

I just spent twenty minutes searching old journal notes, blog entries and emails to find this quote, as I left the book behind with a friend in Syria 4 years ago. A new copy will be arriving on Wednesday as I think I must read it again. I originally stumbled upon it in a corner bookshelf overflowing with books in this wonderfully cramped used bookstore, itself lodged in the corner of a zig zagging Istanbul market street. Elliot was a young audacious traveler who decided at the beginning of the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan that he wanted to help, to see the war for himself and document it. He managed to get himself smuggled into the country and his tale was a well written, heartfelt textbook of sorts for my own endeavors to understand the Middle East as an outsider.

Rereading this quote has me thinking about the meaning of the word "journey." Before I left back in 2008, every time I'd head down 19th ave on my way to Target or Belgrade it was all I could do not to hit the highway, run, take what cash I'd saved and not look back. It wasn't that my life was bad. I loved it, actually. I had two jobs I enjoyed, was making enough money to save towards travel, I had awesome friends (still do!) and my family was almost all within a few hours drive. But I needed an adventure. I needed a story to tell. I needed a journey.

About the time I returned I discovered another great quote.

"There is a special sadness at the end of a journey. For it is only when you get to your destination that you discover the road doesn't end here after all." - Two Caravans

About twenty four hours after I returned, I itched for another adventure. I needed a journey, I just didn't know what it was. A year later I left again on an open roadtrip, no destination, no plan, choosing directions by the flip of a coin. It was a short lived journey but one which redirected my paths. Fast forward a while and I find myself a semi-proud owner of a Massachusetts drivers license, living in Cambridge, earning my PhD, yet constantly on the lookout for my next plane ticket. And I've done quite well on that count, in a way. Since moving to Boston barely a year ago I've traveled to Montana four times, Utah, Colorado, New York, DC, Pennsylvania twice, and Virginia. I have plans for Utah, Montana, London, and maybe Michigan, Colorado and Scotland as well in the next six months or so. But each trip has been set, planned, short, complete with itinerary and return ticket. I'm starting to crave an open ended runaway, the tantalizing dream of disappearing abroad with no return ticket and a coin to flip.

But when I read the Jason Elliot quote again a new thought struck me. Perhaps "journey" doesn't have to involve TSA, bag checks, customs agents, passports and one way tickets. A little over a year ago I packed up and move from the state where I've lived my whole life, minus travel time, and moved across the country to a city where I knew no one to start on the biggest goal I've set for myself yet. I've learned more about life and myself in the last year than I ever did abroad or in the "find yourself" college years. I've struggled to change parts of me I didn't like and realized that some of those things don't need to be changed. I see my goals getting closer, morphing, and the challenge is wonderfully thrilling.

Perhaps a journey is what happens when you strive to make your life into a story worth telling.

An hour well spent

I met an interesting man today. I was slacklining in South Boston near the water and noticed an older man with one leg walking past me on crutches and watching my antics. He sat nearby and after I took down the line he complimented me on my unique activity and asked about slacklining. Though I was planning on returning to work, I was intrigued.

He told me about how he'd lost his leg to cancer as a boy and how surviving had taught him two things; that he was lucky to be alive, and that he was different. Doctors told him he'd never ride a bike. With the simple addition of a stirrup to the pedal, he was soon faster than his friends. He had never skied before, but decided to try that as well. He has been a 9-5 robot, a magician, a comedian, a business owner, a writer, a producer, and all times an adventurer. We talked about how fear holds people back, how meaningless it is to work for a paycheck rather than a passion. We commiserated on the pandemic known as 'boredom', rejoiced at the magical thing that is the human brain, and agreed that the most beautiful things in life just seem to come together of their own accord.

His simple question turned into a nearly two hour conversation. And to think, I could have spent that time at my computer in an air conditioned office reading papers and drinking coffee.

~~

'The point is to play a beautiful game.' - Patrick Rothfuss

A scientist's perspective - Animal rights

On nice days around campus it is nearly impossible to walk down the street without being accosted by someone from one group or another wanting you to support their cause. So let's get this straight. I'm all for gay rights, planned parenthood and the red cross. Just leave me alone when I'm trying to get from point A to point B.

Warning: Science rant approaching.

A couple of weeks ago the flavor of the day was an animal rights group handing out pamphlets about animal research. At first I walked past, but on my return trip I took a pamphlet out of curiosity. It was far from well designed, but it got their points across I suppose. The gist of the message was that animals used in research are lonely, mistreated, and abused. Additionally, they are unnecessary due to "alternative research methods." I want to clear this up. There is no adequate alternative research method. None, nine, zip. Yes, we can test new drugs/antibiotics/etc. on cell culture. Yes, we know a lot about biochemistry and drug metabolism and gene networks. And yes, we can make predictions based on that information. Predictions. If you wish to be treated with a drug that is predicted to work, by all means, have at it. I won't even get started on studying diseases in animals. That's a whole other story.

So here's the deal. Say someone has found a new chemical that they suspect might treat cancer based on the chemical structure, it's similarity to previously developed drugs, and a fancy computer system that analyzes potential drugs and drug targets based on decades of research. The next step is to test it on cell cultures. For non scientists, a cell culture is generally a single cell type that has been immortalized, which means they will continue to grow (read: replicate) in the laboratory indefinitely as long as they are provided with appropriate nutrients. Cell cultures are generally created from cancerous cells as growing/replicating is what they do best. So while these cells were originally liver cells, or heart cells, or brain cells, they are not normal cells. This is because healthy cells don't generally like to grow and replicate outside their normal environment (i.e. the human body). Cell cultures can tell us a lot about what a new drug might do in the body, but I stress, might.

See, cell cultures don't have liver enzymes and all sorts of other bits of human biochemistry. A lot of drugs do one thing in cell culture, but something completely different in the human body because the human body is complex. The human body is not just one cell type. When you eat something, it goes to your stomach which is highly acidic. Well, a pill you swallow follows the same path. The acids in your stomach may modify the drug or change how it works. Likewise, your liver's primary function is to take up foreign chemicals and process them. Often, this means the liver enzymes will modify the drug you just swallowed in an attempt to get rid of it, but sometimes this has side effects. For example, part of the process for getting tylenol out of your body is for the liver to modify it to make it easier to get rid of. As a side effect, a fraction of tylenol is changed into a chemical called NAPQI which damages healthy cells. Normally, the liver can handle the small bit of NAPQI and get rid of it too, but if you take too much tylenol, you produce too much NAPQI and this can cause liver damage. This effect would never been seen in a cell culture, however, as they do not have livers and would not make that byproduct at all.

Animal use in research is highly regulated, though these regulations differ by country and (to some extent) by institution. I will say that my experience is academic. I don't know the procedures in the industrial setting. In academia, however, you can't simply say "I wonder if..." and go inject chemical X into a bunch of mice and see what happens. It is a weeks long process of writing proposals, justifying the experiment, and providing background information to a panel of reviewers consisting of community members, veterinarians, and other scientists and waiting for approval. In addition, there are strict regulations on how animals are treated designed to minimize pain and discomfort. Unfortunately, animal research is necessary in order to provide any reasonable sense of security in chemical testing and even more necessary in studying disease and infections because human beings generally don't like being test subjects and they are too damn complex anyways. So yes, animals are cute. Yes, they feel pain. Yes, I've killed mice in the name of science. No, I don't enjoy it. But there is currently no alternative to using animals in research.

Bike lanes

Disclaimer: Mom, don't panic. I'm fine. Oops, that probably doesn't help.

When I first arrived here and was biking to campus to meet professors, etc., I was constantly warned about biking in the city. One of my professors saw my helmet, practically shuddered, and commented that at least I had the helmet and to be very careful. I shrugged off their comments as those of people who don't bike and only hear the horror stories. I saw billboards for bike activists trying to improve biking in the city and figured I don't have time to take up another cause at the moment and they are probably exaggerating.

Fast-forward a month (which I suppose is rewinding a month now as I write this belatedly). I headed out of the house on a rainy day expecting to take the T (public transit = T) to work but when I stepped outside the rain let up and it was actually fairly nice. I knew if I went back inside to grab my helmet the rain would return because that's simply how life works, so I decided in a moment of haste to forgo the helmet just that once. Of course, I was nervous as hell biking to and from work even though there are bike lanes along my entire route. I simply don't trust drivers.

So the end of a long day I'm heading home, in the bike lane, and of course now it's rainy and wet and cold. I'm distrustfully watching traffic like a hawk but that does me little good when the driver of the the SUV parked along the bike lane, who must have been just hanging out in his car for a while, opens his door at the last possible second before I pass by. My bike hits the V made by the door and his car, and my momentum plus the force of the door opening throws me into the car lane where I landed rather painfully on my knee. Thankfully, no cars were currently careening past and a couple good bruises and surge of aggression were my only ill effects. The second of which waned upon returning home and pouring a glass of whiskey.

A week later on a bright and shiny day I'm late for a meeting at work and biking as fast as I can when the door of a parked cab opens unexpectedly. The problem with cabs is that in the time it takes the passenger to pay before exiting, any bikers coming upon it don't have the visual ques of seeing it park or flashing tail lights to note that someone might be exiting the vehicle. So the passenger opens the door right across the bike lane and I swerve nearly enough to avoid it. Nearly. The door caught the handlebar just above the grip, shattered my gear shifter and ripped the grip clean off. Again, I found myself sitting on the road, though in the bike lane this time. I wasn't hurt, having had enough time to almost stop and only being clipped by the door. In fact, I remember scowling and mumbling "seriously?" as I gracefully landed on my ass. A passerby picked up my grip and I replaced it, not noticing how badly damaged the shifter was at first. The taxi driver very sincerely grasped both my hands and asked me repeatedly if I was ok, apologizing at least three times that I recollect. He was so concerned I couldn't really be mad. I picked up my bike and rushed off but was still in earshot to hear the driver begin chewing out his passenger. I hope he had already been tipped.

I'm even more careful while biking lately. And now I wonder at the logic of bike lanes that don't extend past the reach of an opening car door. However, I'd still rather bike than take the T or walk, or deal with driving in the city. So, *shrugs*. And as a side note, here's a picture of my bike. I've cleaned it up a bit since this picture, so imagine less rust.

The road is home

Since I arrived in Boston I've been planning to rent a zip car and get out of town for a day, explore Massachusetts a bit and indulge my wanderlust. So last Saturday at 7am, fresh from a short nights sleep after a long exam and a long days work, I hopped in a bright red Ford Escape and headed North.

Halibut point

I took longer than planned to get out of the city as I was bent on avoiding highways. Apparently, this is a bad idea at least within the chaos that is urban life. I did eventually find my way to winding seaside roads, however. I perused a library book sale, bought pumpkins, walked along the waves. My main goal, beyond my wander-fix was to scout potential highline and waterline sites to appease my slackline addiction. I did find one potentially amazing site, an old quarry with sheer man-made edges dropping off into deep water. Unfortunately it is protected land and far too public regardless. I guess I'll have to take another scouting trip soon.

Not for the first time, I noted something interested, however. Like initials carved into trees or in more frustrating cases, carved into Stonehenge and Greek temple pillars, we humans seem to have this undeniable urge to mark our territory, to anonymously announce to future visitors that "I was here." In this case, however, the markers made me smile.

I hadn't been myself for the past couple weeks. Exams, work, and trying to continue my slacklining, photography and life in general can be a bit exhausting. Lack of sleep had caught up with me. But on those winding roads draped in autumn leaves, I felt at home.

These city lights

I'm tired, I haven't much to say. But I was biking home from dinner at a friends house tonight and had my camera with me. I grabbed a few shots along the river and wanted to post one before the thought gets lost in my to do list.


A long aimless photo walk is on that list. Fortunately and unfortunately, due to a dinner date with a long lost friend (the fortunately part) and an upcoming midterm exam (the unfortunate, of course) it will have to wait for the weekend.


Elisa - City Lights