Author: Anna

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My first impressions of Barad

Reading the first chapter of the “Entangled Beginnings.” OMG, I had to stop and write my first impressions out because her words are so profound. In the first portion of the chapter, as she rounds up her argument about how the Quantum Mechanics Theory is being used in other contexts, such as the play that features the meeting of two famous physicists in Nazi Europe. She makes an importnat disctinction between the purpose of the play and purpose of the actual quantum physics studies. Barad goes on to hypothesize why we as a race are so smitten with QM, and I now totally get it: we simply do not understand it, but are drawn to it because of its potential to explain the numerous messy connection, relations, structures that traditional science and qualitative methods cannot explain. Or even worse, due to political reasons:

“Public fascination with quantum physics is probably due in large part to several different factors, including the counterintuitive challenges it poses to the modernist worldview, the fame of the leading personalities who developed and contested the theory (Einstein not least among them), and the profound and world-changing applications quantum physics has wrought (symboized by the development of the tomic bomb)” p.6.

Because ” The interpretative issues in quantum physics (i.e., questions related to what the theory meansand how to understand its relationship to the world) are far from settled.” p. 6

Barad’s next point about how we just use QM concepts, though we do not even understand them, hits very close to home. This the question of rigor and integrity. This is why I raised my brown at Manning’s (very liberal) use of music theory when she first introduced the Minor Gesture, this is why Hein’s reference to sound as a molecular structure (which he, in turn, seems to have picked up from Deleuze) is misleading. I think in our pursuit of crossing interdisiplinary boundaries we forget to check facts or at least make an attempt to gain some expertise in the field we seek to incorporate in our studies. Great point, Barad!

She next brings forth the problem of analogical thinking that results in “unsatisfactory understandings of the relevant issues” This one cuts me deep because my sense-making strategy is amost exclusively dependent on creating analogies. Guilty as charged, for sure. So how do i change that?

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Thinking with imagery

I woke up this morning thinking about my “movie running the background as I think” discovery that I made a week or so ago.  This was a lightning bolt type discovery (as almost all my discoveries are, anyway–I think this is what makes me neurotic).

Since then, I asked several other people if they “think in images.” I thought for sure Eddie would say yes because he is an artist, too. But he said no. Yesterday I met a person who thinks visually, like me, in an unlikely place–the front desk of the car dealership. Before she had kids, she went to school to be an artist… I would love to study this thing with her if I ever end up pursuing this research this phenomenon.

So this morning I woke up dreaming (envisioning) myself at a lab, and a participant wearing a sensor cap. I was wondering what technology would allow me to explore what regions of the brain light up when they process language, auditory, sensory, visual information. I am a bit skeptical about this, though: so say, I have the hypothesis that only SOME and not ALL people process information like me. So I would hook up my participants to sensors and have different types of conversations with them: ask them about some episodic memories, discuss a topic new to them (so I could see, if possible, if they use internal imagery to make sense of new concepts), ask them to explain something to me (to see if imagery is involved in their sequential thinking), I would have them watch a movie… and do other things, then analyze the data (which will be collecting information about what regions of the brain are most active during those tasks in different people). The problem is… what if what we know about the mapping of the brain (which parts process what) will change, like the discovery that left and right hemispheres are not involved in different functions, after all. So if I tie my hypothesis testing strategy to the assumption that the brain is processing visual information when it lights up in this particular region, then my research maybe obsolete. Too bad I know so little about neuroscience… I could totally learn more, but how will it affect my objectives now? I could see if a test like this is doable in the Psych department. Gretchen took a class there, so she could tell me more.

So by the time I did the dishes and cooked breakfast, I realized that language would probably be a good tell-tale sign of how the brain is processing information. I hypothesize that a person who is thinking visually will use more descriptive words, that the speech pattern will reflect a lack of direction in a story, but may be very sequential in reasoning (if a person is describing an internal visual concept, she or he will simply describe what he/she sees in no particular order). This thinking will even probably reflect in the type of questions he or she asks because as the person will be asking questions to create a more detailed mental image–this is what “making sense” of something ultimately means–to create a detailed picture or movie as possible so that it will be accessible for further examination or recall at any time. This is why (I suspect) a person who thinks visually takes longer to process and may be asking seemingly useless questions that other people would answer be inferencing. Perhaps, there is an auditory input that creates a distraction or a loop (or serves as one of the major channels of information input; it may be playing a major role in translating information into visual data).

So here are some implications of my discovery: for one, I feel better about myself. For years, I have been trying to find a way to feel “special.” Now I do. For years, I also felt horrible about myself because people thought I was nerdy and they were irritated by the great number of questions I ask. I thought all this was a character flaw. I tried to remedy it by putting my curiosity to good use in the research field, to find redemption, find a niche to fit in, but I now think of all the others who do not have this opportunity. Those who go through life trying to find ways to cope, not embrace their thinking type.

In this version of reality, intelligence tests look like they would be governed not by the Newtonian physics, but quantum mechanics–that is unable to predict or to quantify with any dose of reliability.

What of learning and instruction, too? God forbid anyone misconstrues this as a proof of learning styles theory. I imagine there would be some overlap, but I would not say that I, a visual thinker, prefer to be shown or verbally explained what I do–making an internal image takes ALL modes of input. Hearing uses language which gets processed, then assigned to a visual, then fitted into the larger picture or cast out (which is what creates the confusion). Manual manipulation of things or learning by doing get processed to make the picture richer, more detailed. There does not have to be a preference for any mode–it all goes into the processing grinder to make that puzzle more complete.

I also suspect that everyone thinks visually, but they may not be aware of this. I asked Jenni if she thinks with a “movie running in the background,” and she said no. Yet, she often uses words like “spaces” when she talks about thinking. For example, “I work and think in this space…” To me, it is a totally appropriate way to describe thinking. I often imagine myself roaming a huge mansion where each room is a concept, an activity. I quite literally roam and look in different rooms when I try to make sense of something new. I go through filing cabinets placed in these rooms where my facts and memories are labeled and stored. Funny thing, though, if I were to pull out a memory out of a drawer, I would not end up with an actual object that it visually represents– the picture of the room and the file cabinet would actually dissolve into the new space that gives the recalled concept life–it becomes a new room or a place, only this time, it is not confined to my “mansion” of thought–it transports me to visual memory of this concept. For example, if I thought of Moscow, I’d have a slide show of different visions of Moscow that I obtained from my personal visits, bits that I saw on TV, books, and elsewhere. My personal memories are more vivid because I also use memories of smell, temperature, and other memories of sensory events. I can stretch these memories into a continuous slide, compare different memories but putting them side by side, pull additional images out the stack labeled “Moscow,” interact, visually explore details, make inquiries into other related concepts…

Some this process is not so obvious, it is as if my back is turned to the imaginary screen. Sometimes it feels like I am in a planetarium…. other times, the screen is in front of me. If a conversation is fast, or if there are other sensory events that overwhelm me, the movie is a blur… yet, it always seems to be there, even if it is in shadows…

It would be interesting to record and analyze a verbal account of a thought process of a person blind from birth.

Also bilinguals–I rarely translate from Russian to English. I almost never have to–all information goes in and gets processed visually (even language. If it is a language I do not understand, my brain records the place where my encounter takes place. My language processing channels go into the background mode and get reactivated when I pick up on a word I think is familiar). It all creates a picture anyway even as my mind plays movies of other similar encounters and situations that resemble the one I am currently processing. Comparison of available memories happens simultaneously until I find the closest match or two.

When I speak Russian, my native tongue, the words seem to get translated into imagery seamlessly because my vocabulary is vast. If there is a word I do not know, there is a little hole in the image (similar to a missing jigsaw puzzle piece that is surrounded by other pieces, and therefore, is not always a big deal), or blurred piece. Eventually, the piece is complete and stored. The same happens when I speak English because I have enough vocabulary to create an image of meaning and comprehension (if it is a language I do not know, the image is of the actual event, the place where it is happening). So when I speak to translate, I just translate the image into the other language. The process slows if I did not speak the other language for a while, and cannot find appropriate words. So clearly, expressive and receptive language processes are supported in my discovery the way I see it. Maybe this could be another angle to examine my discovery? To split the concept further?

This could also be an interesting pathway to study autism because it is frequently described as verbal- non-verbal.

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Initial questions for online learning

Discussions are a convention. Why?

There are rules and student participate in discussion because it is a graded activity. They are mini writing assignmentes. I am concerned that for some students it is just busy work. They go through the motions, regurgitate the reading material or (if they have not read the assigned texts, try to sound like they did read.

I my experience, online discussions are rarely a space students use to think something out together. Often, questions posted are probes that seek a confirmation that the student read the material. Discussions are an accountability measure and one of the venues for assessment. They are easy to facilitate as long as the software allows for the message board type exchange.

What if they are structured to function the same way face-to-face meetings function? As a way to gauge what students think about the material they are learning…

There are often rules: use a collegiate tone, academic writing conventions, initial post minimums and deadlines, two meaningful replies must be posted by the certain date. These seem to pass from one instructor to another via training, with little challenge to convention.

In my online psych program, I had an opportunity to participate in various classes from a wide range of content specific areas. Some discussions were exciting, stimulating, they challenged me to look up additional resources, go above and beyond the required readings. I was able to reflect, synthesize, and apply the learned material, make it my own. Other discussion were mechanical. I learned more from doing readings on my own. What was different? How can it be a different experience?

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Methodologists: Who needs them? POST TQR thoughts

From: Anna Gonzalez <annagonzalez@mail.usf.edu>
Sent: Friday, January 18, 2019 2:16:21 PM
To: Wolgemuth, Jennifer
Subject: A few thoughts about Methodologists: Who needs them?

It is a bit long, so I bolded the word conclusion  🙂

This was my first conference ever. The “Methodolosts: Who needs them?” presentation was the first and only session I was able to attend. It was an excellent experience, and I am glad I made it.

Methodologists… who needs them? The title meant to stimulate thought and to incite a debate. It accomplished both. People argued and framed the discussion around another question: What is the purpose of research? Is it about answering the research questions, or about asking them? If we can answer that, then we can answer who methodologists are and maybe even figure out who needs them.

In me, the presentation stirred up pride: as one of the USF tribesmen, I was thrilled to see so many people come to hear what the leaders of my qualitative clan had to say. I loved the tour into their thinking headquarters and appreciated the invitation to think with them. I could not be more pleased!

Yet, I also felt like a homeowner who discovered cracks on the stucco and opened her eyes to the reality of a possible sinkhole. I WANT to be a methodologist, but the ground on which this vision stands is apparently shaky, and so I felt frustration and fear of uncertainty for my future.

I know some people in the room were just as conflicted about their thoughts on the matter. Others immediately picked a camp. On the drive back, my co-presenters and I reflected on the experience and even argued a little bit. One student expressed her discomfort with the presentation because it brought USF’s dirty laundry out for everyone to see. It made her feel vulnerable and irate. I disagree–transparency in education is important.

I am still reflecting:

Thirty years ago, my 4th-grade teacher called me a “class advocate” for sticking up for troublemakers. She did not mean it as a compliment. Ten years ago, a very close friend called me a contrarian, and I agree–I love a good debate. Yet, as my husband frequently points out, I like to argue both sides. He finds it frustrating; I, on the other hand,  believe this is how I make sense of things. Some people argue to prove they are right. To them, having a winning opinion is important. I argue because the process helps me to organize information retrieval, to weigh facts, and eventually to arrive at a conclusion or another argument. I could care less whether I prove anything to my opponents: opponents are just helpers, anyway. Of course I like being right, but I enjoy the process of sense-making even more. I am no advocate, I am a discoverer. So how does this relate to the question of who needs methodologists?

Well, I argued every side I could come up with. I enjoyed the stimulation. I also loved the chance to demonize our neo-liberal education and the conditions it creates (it appears I am more of a socialist than I think. Oh wait. I was actually born and bred one, although I cannot say I hate the capitalism entirely–otherwise, why am I here, in the U.S.? Sigh…clearly, it is complicated.) I loved playing “find the label” because it is an exercise in the identification of ideological oppression and a chance to analyze linguistic phenomena (I am thinking Derrida).

Then I read this article and it occurred to me that I do not have to be a social microbiologist all the time. Apparently, astronomers get to have fun, too! In fact, swapping a microscope for a telescope sounds like a welcome change of a perspective. From humans to aliens, just like that…

Conclusion: 
I cannot shake the feeling that the question “who needs them?” promotes the neo-liberal order because it uses the language of demand and supply. This certainly explains Manning’s shift from major to minor (gesture) I felt while contemplating the topic. It soured my inquiry with fear, and I did not care for the shift. Knowing you, you probably did this on purpose, to set the mood. Clever!

…or maybe the person who suggested that methodologists know whether they are methodologists was correct? I wonder… perhaps, for many of us, this presentation was about an identity crisis rather than the utility and purpose of research, as Johnny Saldana had me believe at first. I deem it appropriate, then, to conclude that our post-presentation exchange in the room was the product of a generational (in academic, not chronological sense) divide, not ideological or even personal differences.

So much to ponder, so little time…

I want to thank you and your colleagues for your courage and leadership. God bless us, everyone 😉

Anna

 

On Fri, Jan 18, 2019 at 2:32 PM Wolgemuth, Jennifer <jrwolgemuth@usf.edu> wrote:

Thanks Anna! Glad you were there!

Being provocative was surely one of the aims. And if so, it succeeded wildly.

For me, bravery had nothing to do with it. This is a large part of my scholarship — I seek to open up spaces of discomfort and discord, to provoke, trouble, and unsettle. Not everyone likes that, not everyone is as attracted to difference as you (in both the literal and Deleuzian sense). At the same time, what a great opportunity to reflect on divisions between what we allow to be public and what we relegate as private. Also on shame and disgust. I love that one student felt ashamed. I do think that pedagogy and learning is a kind of sullying. Spitting in people’s soup so that they can no longer eat it unproblematically. Infecting them with ideas. Perhaps that student is the one who got the most out of the session!

You can be a methodologist if you want to. And, we should talk about your career aspirations at some point.

Cheers,

Jenni

Jennifer R. Wolgemuth, Ph.D.
Associate Professor of Measurement and Research
Educational and Psychological Studies | College of Education
Affiliate Faculty Women’s and Gender Studies
University of South Florida
office:  +1 (813) 974-7362
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I have no idea what the author is saying

This snippet ended up being the core of my Transmediation presentation at TQR 2019.

Here is the packaged PDF version.

“I have no idea what the author is saying!” I have uttered these words on numerous occasions, typically reading texts that require familiarity with definitions, principles, formulas, rules, and other bits of prerequisite knowledge. A while ago, I read an article about a quantum physics concept that appeared like an impenetrable wall rather than a written piece. My brain struggled to render the abstractions into useful images, and I walked away from it more confused than enlightened.

Works of philosophers are laden with abstractions as well; yet, I do not encounter them as walls. Reading philosophical texts reminds me of a working textile loom with an automated flying shuttle. Bit by bit and row by row, I weave numerous threads of the authors’ discourse with the weft of my experiences to transform written abstractions into new cognitive schemata for future scaffolding and recall. Back and forth, back and forth. I read an excerpt, then search my memory for a suitable illustration of what I just read. Sometimes these illustrations remind me of dreams–dynamic, faint or vivid, familiar, yet strange, often nonsensical–visual abstractions of text abstractions. Other times, images are still.

When my search successfully converges with an interesting or profound thought in the text, I accent it with a highlighter. I follow no color code–I simply ensure each thought stands out from the others as much as possible. Back and forth, back and forth. I rarely perceive the fabric’s pattern until I labor well into the text’s interior. Intricate patterns take longer to reveal. Back and forth, back and forth; the shuttle has a rhythm.

To say “I have no idea what the author is saying!” is to cut a thread in the warp and to cause my fabric of comprehension to unravel. This I dare not do, so when my shuttle struggles to come back to the other side, I slow down. When weft tension threatens a break, I relieve it through text transmediation.

For example, in “The Minor Gesture” book, the author Erin Manning asserts that “body-world split” is “endemic to the neurotypical account of experience” (p. 111). When I first read this passage, I had to pause my shuttle of thought to relieve the tension: I am wary of reinforcing boundaries around neurotypicality and neurodiversity because my daughter has autism. She uses these boundaries as a an excuse when she does not want to do something. Yet, the idea of a body-world split is intriguing–as if there is another way to be. Is there?

I reach into my memory for a suitable example of a body-world merge. A recent hike in the mountains of North Carolina comes up immediately: rays of the afternoon sun filtered through the thick branches of a fir-tree and split into thousands of sparkles. I captured the moment on my phone camera, and here it is, right in my palm. Easy! I immerse myself into this memory: the scent of firs and the fresh air fill my lungs with elation. I do not breathe, I drink it. A faint wisp of smoke rising from the chimney disrupts my timeline, allowing my childhood and my present to coexist: when I was little, I lived in a house with a furnace–smoke meant warmth and supper. The memory of burning wood is so powerful that it instantly takes me back forty years ago. The mountain, the smells, the sights, the memories and I are one. I am dissolved. Then I shiver. The cold reminded me of the body-world split even as I fixed my scarf to stop the air from touching the skin on my neck and chest. How funny. I do not mind the air on my inside… On the outside, my body and the world a clearly separate. This example almost worked.

I skim through photographs in my camera gallery, looking for more experiences of body-world merge. Obviously, skin is a powerful barrier between the two–it feels temperature, touch, pain… What if it is somehow made to feel less? I imagine floating on my back on a summer day in the pool. I need to conjure up sensory memories to help interrogate my body-world separation, so I reach for my tablet and search for a stock photo to aid recall. I quickly find a photograph that matches my mental model. The woman in the image looks serene. Only her head is above water, her hair, shoulders, and arms are immersed. Eyes closed. I try to imagine what she feels, but I am aware the image documents another woman’s experience, not mine. Visuals are an efficient way to access the brain of a seeing person, but the process is too quick for what I am trying to accomplish. A veteran advertising graphic artist, I  routinely evaluate scores of images for use in my designs. My eyes are trained to look for specifics and make selections as quickly as possible. If I am going to use images to help me with deep reading, I need to suspend my habits. An idea comes to mind: what if I sketch the photo and transform the model’s experience into my own. I find a pencil and some poster board. I begin with an outline. My hand follows the curves of the face profile, and it puts me in the mood. Unlike straight lines, curves are liquid, and I think of the water, as intended. Next, I work on the shading: first nose, then chin. Hair is last because half of it is underwater, and it looks like a mistake with its clearly defined, but oddly shaped boundaries. It is unrecognizable. I resist the urge to heed my brain’s suggestion about what an eye or long hair should look like, and  try to draw exactly what I see–shapes, lines, shadows and highlights, and their proximity to one another. The activity forces me to process each element separately, in isolation from the whole they are meant to represent. From this angle, drawing reminds me of linguistic analyses. Drawing also disrupts my perception of time and creates a mental niche where I can gather my memories and interact with them. This time, I am focused on floating in the pool. I recall the muffled sounds, ears underwater; skin is quieted, except for perceiving the soothing, radiating warmth on my face and chest. Eyes closed; they feel the assault of Florida sunlight and dare not to unsheathe. With  dominant sensory channels arrested, other sensory experiences flood in. The gentle rocking of the waves. Gravity reinvented. The sound of my heart is solemn; I am amazed that it has been beating for so many years without a pause. Some day it will stop, but the thought does not upset me, it simply punctuates my experience of now. I hear the air traveling through my lungs as I breathe–it is noisy underwater–I imagine myself as a bubble. Volition is loitering somewhere on the boundaries of my self-awareness. Good. Is this how relaxation feels like? A vacation from an obsession with self-purpose? No needs, no wants, no chatter in my head. Body-world split is irrelevant. In fact, I am very much aware of my body, it is the world that disappeared.  I decide my drawing is complete.

I step back, examine my drawing, and cringe. I want to share it with Janet, Jenni, and others, perhaps–but I do not want to be judged as an artist. I did not mean to create art, or engage in art-making. I do not know the first thing about drawing techniques. I feel I am a step up from a stick figure artist, but I am also a flight of stairs below professionals. The flaws are obvious. One can tell I had no idea what to do shade the nose or how to make the water look liquid. I did not even attempt to draw the immersed arms because I kept wanting to somehow draw water over them–my brain refused to see only shadows and shapes. Yet, I am proud of this sketch because I did something authentic. Above all, I managed to slow time and help my weaving shuttle make to the other end of the fabric in the making.  I still do not know what the absence of body-world separation feels like for autistic persons, but I examined my own experiences, and I am better tuned in to Manning’s narrative. I am more alert. 

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Why I draw to transmediate text

This is not about making art or communicating ideas. I did not draw to express myself. In fact, I do not feel comfortable being judged as an artist because I was not trained in the fine arts.

I look at the sketch and see numerous mistakes. It is obvious I had no idea what to do with the nose… the color and shading look odd…  I used a photograph as a reference, but did not finish the arms…. they are underwater, and I lack the skill to make look believable. Positively, this is not about art or the activity of art making.

I was reading a chapter from “The Minor Gesture,” and became drawn to the concept of body-world split referenced by Manning as a “neurotypical account of experience.” When I think of my body, it is always different from the world. Why not?

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Quality and Good Grades

Growing up in the U.S.S.R., I heard the word “quality” a lot. To an average Soviet family living in a non-competitive economic environment, “бракованые товары” (defective goods) were a fact of life. Quality was a relevant topic.

My father, a professor of auto-engineering, had similar concerns about quality of education. He often sighed that many of his students were not adequately prepared: they lacked both knowledge and  motivation to become the kind of engineers our country needed. I took my father’s comments to heart, feeling anxious: “what if I grow up to be a charlatan?” The thought of disappointing my father, my family, my country, and above all, myself, was painful, so I put my trust in teachers (and later, professors) to teach me all I need to know to become a quality professional. I also found comfort in protocols and methods as I worked to earn my early childhood education, then graphic design, and finally, psychology degrees. I graduated Summa Cum Laude from all three programs, driven by natural love of learning and the fear of being branded a fake.

As a graduate student, I re-examined my fears and questioned my philosophy early in the program. Yet, self-confidence is still stumbling stone. I registered for Interviewing Theory and Practice course as a doctoral student because I recalled my experience in Clinical Interviwing course as an undergraduate psychology undergraduate.

As I progressed through my online psychology program,

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Ghosts in your genes

  1. I enjoyed The Ghost in Your Genes video and wondered if any new information became uncovered in the decade since it was published. So I searched for  recent projects by Professor Pembrey, and came across his editorials that peer beyond the PTSD-like symptoms  in children of Holocaust survivors,  stress levels of children born to 911 victims or incidence of diabetes in Sweden. Pembrey references studies pointing to fear, muscle memories, social cohesion and cultural continuity, and even choice of friends as but a few of many evolutionary legacies best explained by epigenetics.

In the context of resilience, epigenetics fill an important gap between what we know to be biological, hereditary risk factors and the effects of protective environmental factors, including therapies and interventions. If risk factors can be explained objectively by the patterns and sequences in the molecular chains of nucleotides, then many protective factors are conceptually separated from the risks: until recently, genetics were approached with determinism, while interventions, by definition, work against this view.

Epigenetics bridge the divide because they illustrate how little is determined. If famines can be measured by both the amount of available food and prevalence in diabetes in grandchildren (and vice versa), then we should perceive anxiety, depression, alcoholism, aggression, or any other factor that threatens well-being in the context of generations, and not just family history but looking forward.

On the macro level, the knowledge of epigenetic mechanisms spells the need in policy and even cultural changes on the global level. We should continue to invest money and effort to combat the mental health epidemic of NOW, but knowing what we know about epigenetics, we also must be proactive. For example, we must examine our policies and cultural values and beliefs. It should no longer be just the question of what demands we place on our teachers and students when we ask them to perform at or above certain academic standards; it should also be the question at what price (paid both in currency, as well as physical, and mental health) and who will pay this price for how many generations.

However, I cannot help but wonder: will learning to control genetic switches bring us the happiness we yearn for? Will mental health problems mirror the history of leprosy or say, typhoid fever, as epidemics extinguished by the discovery of effective treatment? Is genetic manipulation the panacea, or a gateway to more problems? Our understanding of resilience came a long way from seeing it as the ability to “pull oneself by the bootstraps” (Daugherty Write, Masten, & Narayan)  to discovering risks and protective factors, to creating interventions, and finally, to learning about the genetic factors. With so much more to discover, we certainly have enough to stay busy and to keep imagining what-ifs. Meanwhile, I think resilience is the matter of personal responsibility to self and to others-we are all connected deeper than we think.

(word count: 480)

 

2. 1:
The subject of resilience fascinates me particularly because I discovered a parallel between the resilience studies and autism research, my personal topic of interest. ASD often co-occurs with anxiety, depression, and other mental health problems that are also present in the resilience discourse. During my recent epigenetics reading escapade, I came across the idea that autism should not be viewed as a disorder, but as a set of risk factors that can either develop further or diminish, depending on the environment and support.  Thus, the module devoted to epigenetics in the context of resilience opened new horizons for my academic development, and I plan to read about this topic further.

2. 2:
I appreciated the overview of resilience field development, and was very interested in the types of studies and designs that informed each stage. For example, longitudinal designs that helped extract the list of protective and risk factors and provide an eagle view of developmental timeline for a more comprehensive understanding of the resilience phenomena. Similarly, I enjoyed reading about experimental studies that guide the design of interventions. The lesson on epigenetics pointed out the need for phenomenological designs. If our biology can change in response to what is happening around us, then our lived experiences are important sources of clues to how these genetic switches operate.  I think the key here is not just what is happening, or when, or where, or for how long, but our subjective experiences of these events.

2.3:
I thought the discussion of various definitions of resilience was interesting and  helpful. I admit I started with a view of resilience as a personal quality that is either present or absent in each individual. I think I perceived resilience as the ability to “suck it up and keep going.” This view was nurtured by my native culture because growing up, I felt the burden of personal obligation to persevere for the greater good of the society. Our class discussions and readings helped me evaluate alternative views and to expand my understanding of resilience beyond my culture-informed defaults. Therefore, our last class, when we discussed individualistic/collectivist societies in the context of resilience, was a natural reinforcement of what I now perceive resilience to be. Needless to say, I really enjoyed the topic of individualism/collectivism because I have experience living in both cultures, so  class materials helped me externalize some of the