Caution: Tears and Insecurities Follow

Dear Reader,

Sometimes little things orchestrate themselves in such a manner… that they hurt a great deal.
Even now, with teary eyes, soiled Kleenex, and periodic sniffles, I recognize that the cause for the tears and sniffles is silly. And not really worth crying over.
...Unfortunately, my feelings sometimes ignore the prudence of my more sensible thoughts, and this is such a case. Nonetheless, sometimes it's good to weep a little weep and ride through the pain, even if it is silly.

Alright, so here’s what’s up.

A friend of mine posted pictures of me on facebook. A number of them are kind of fun pictures, and I’m not upset that they’re there. I don’t care. 

However, and this is very vulnerability-revealing, I will admit to being disappointed by them. Well, not by them- by me. This is going to take some explaining...

 See, I wonder whether there isn’t some caveat to the reasonable and hope-inspiring concept that attractiveness follows confidence. Hmm. It makes sense that, by and large, attractive people are confident, but, in my experience, it would appear that confidence -/-> attractiveness. That is, confidence is necessary (though that itself is suspect, as there are those who seem god-gifted with bounties of beauty), but not sufficient for attractiveness.

The thing is, I usually don’t mind picture-taking. This is kind of unfortunate. It is unfortunate because my internal representation of myself seems to match horribly with what is actually there.

It’s this terrible system, really. Annette feels confident à Annette confidently takes picture à Annette sees picture à Annette realizes picture does not at all align with her conception of beauty, nor with what she so well-meaningly believed it would look like à Annette feels incredibly STUPID. Needless to say, the confidence then breaks down and she feels like hiding in a small, unpopulated corner of the universe.

A classic, embarrassing example of these proceedings followed my senior pictures. When I took those pictures, I (foolishly?) believed I looked passably attractive. I was pleased, I was fairly excited. I still remember my growing feeling of disappointment, shame, and finally great pain when I finally received those pictures and flipped through them with increasing panic, as each one failed to be satisfactory. By the end of it I very quickly- but as calmly as I could- slipped to the bathroom, locked the door, and cried my heart out in a strange feeling of shame and pain. Pain for feeling unattractive and stupid enough to believe I looked good, shame for having the audacity to walk around feeling as though I was passably attractive, and an incredible amount of shame and disappointment for being so silly and superficial as to be crying in a bathroom about it all. It was a good time, really.

Happily, this time around flipping through those pictures did not end in tears and extreme pain. More like moderate disappointment at the disparity between what I hope I look like and what I actually look like. I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but when I take too long before a mirror, or on a day (such as today) when humidity has rendered my hair wild (in the not-attractive way), I’m glad that 1) I’m not the one who has to look at me all of the time and 2) at least other people are used to looking upon my very interesting form—and thus are not too surprised by it. 

And it’s fine. (Usually.) 

Perhaps it is a convenient self-defense mechanism,   but I can say that the vast majority of the time, I am unconcerned by my looks. Sure, sometimes I get frustrated and wish I were a bit thinner, etc. etc. but those are instantaneous concerns that don’t really get to me. I really just don’t care all that much, and my insecurities center much more on feeling like I don’t do enough or that I’m not sufficiently intelligent or that I am lacking sufficient quantities of x substance.
(Wow. I really am mostly about abstract concepts… it’s great!)

Anyway, back to the story. So flipping through those pictures, it was a little like “Well, that’s kinda disappointing. But they’re fun pictures. Oh well, keep moving through feed.”

AND THEN.

Someone decided to post this on facebook (you know, for the lolz):

Reaction #1: Jawdrop.

Reaction #1.5: …Are people really THAT douchey?

Reaction #2: What the fuck? Please tell me this is a fake add.

Reaction #3: People think this is funny… ? !

Reaction #4: Absorbs evilness and hurtfulness of ad and bursts into tears, with all sorts of unhappy thoughts flooding through, spoiling Kleenex whilst feeling that this is all stupid and not worth my time.

And at this point I’m not sure what to say.

I could say that what had been most disappointing about those pictures of myself was the fact that my ever-persistent and, at this point, hella annoying (I know. Hella is a terrible word, and I’m ashamed. But if the time calls for it…) acne remains ever-persistent and hella annoying despite my recent optimism that there may be hope for the near future….?  (Ouch.)

I could say that it prompted thoughts of, but I do have a boyfriend, and he’s freakin’ amazing! But that in turn prompted strange thoughts that seem to accompany my femininity—largely regrets/pain at then making him be the guy with the acne-ridden, not-quite-attractive girlfriend…

I could say that it prompted memories of bitingly hurtful comments from my mother- who I know loves me, even if she doesn't always do so in the way I would like...

Or I could say that it made me realize that in a very strange way, I was just bullied. I realized that I form part of the butt of that joke… that I am one of the shameful, non-beautiful members of society to be pitied or laughed at.

I could also say that it reminded me of the disappointment/despair I sometimes feel at the very strong suspicion that I will likely never fulfill the requirements of beauty. Maybe this is the foolishness of a twenty-year-old giving itself away, but my teens were "wasted" with, at first, being "not thin enough," and then the onset of braces and acne, my late teens/early twenties are embarrassingly acne-marked, and the future looks bleak between acne, scars, and aging.... 

Confession: All I really want is a beautiful wedding picture, and sometimes I'm afraid I won't have that.

In half an hour maybe I'll sit down and try to think of a list of my redeeming qualities, or of reasons why I can still try to count myself among beautiful people, or something nice like that....

For now, I’ll take a box of Kleenex and cry my heart out in a small corner of the universe until the pain bleeds away and I can return to a non-superficial, non-silly, and lovely world of abstraction.

Love,

Annette

P.S. Yes, I am okay. A little hurt right at this moment, but I'll be fine. I'm stronger than this.

Enter that Lovely Maiden, Beauty

Hello Reader-Dearest!

The summer is now well underway.

I am now a competent Fortran-er and somewhat literate in the zeolite world.
Wait, now that I think of it, I don't think I ever mentioned what specifically I am researching this summer. Well... as specifically as it gets.

A model of  LTA, one of the zeolites
we shall be focusing on this summer. 

I am working on simulations of these lovely aluminosilicate minerals called zeolites. "Zeolite" is a fairly broad category. There are a number of different crystalline structures and zeolites can have different chemical compositions, but we're mostly dealing with silicon, oxygen, and aluminum. The cool thing is, their microporous nature makes them good molecular sieves. In particular, zeolites have been found to selectively adsorb carbon dioxide over nitrogen, hydrogen, methane, and other gases. This makes zeolites very promising materials for a number of processes, most notably carbon dioxide separation and sequestration. In the past, my professor and her students have studied pure silica zeolites (well, Si and O actually, but the key point is no aluminum) with varying structural properties, so as to examine the importance of pore structure to selective CO2 adsorption. This summer, we are going to start working on introducing aluminum into the mixture.

A structural model of MFI, another cool zeolite.

As for my own contribution... well, I only just received "the code" on Wednesday... and was immediately utterly lost in the dense network of files and the endless sea of Fortran lines contained therein. Yesterday I managed to calm some of that despair and anxiety so as to make fair progress in getting a better idea of how things fit together, but there is a very, very long way to go. However, I did submit my first few runs today! Yay! Look for more updates in the future!

I must say that, overall, I have been rather pleased with the path my summer has taken. I think I may say that I have successfully rekindled my devotion to the fair goddess, Beauty.

I cannot assure you of the existence of an omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent, benevolent God, but I can attest to the presence of this lovely maiden. I have caught glimpses of her darting swiftly between trees, and placing blossoms in flowing hair strewn over sun-kissed prairie grass; I have seen her floating serenely on the river and heard her joining in on birdsong whilst I make my way through the arboretum. I have heard her at turns laughing at me and soothing me with her song as I feebly attempt to coax music from the keys of a piano. I have seen her hand in gorgeous sunsets and clear blue skies, in giant dandelions, and in graceful, swooping little birds. I have yet to see it myself, but I have heard that she has even taken some of her beauty and placed it within tiny creatures, that they may bring light to the summer sky even when she has gone to her slumber or joined her sisters in distant lands for merrymaking.

Yes, piano adventures and arb runs have made it a lovely, beautiful summer indeed. The arb runs are unfailingly splendid- the piano, less so. But I think I have fallen in love with it nonetheless. I cringe whenever I play a false key, and I feel terribly embarrassed when I stumble over pieces like the too-familiar "Jingle Bells," but my soul begins to thrill when a piece which initially sent a series of winces shuddering through me comes together to resemble something which I may call music. Granted I can only play short and very simple pieces, but I am easily enraptured by the lovely sounds which that instrument is capable of producing when properly encouraged to do so. All in all, I am pleased with the progress I have made in two weeks of playing for about an hour a day, and I am very excited for the next seven weeks! I dare not strive for beauty, for something deep and soul-striking, but I do hope that by the end of it I can play something which may be rightly termed lovely. Nothing crazy or complicated, but still charming.

In addition to the beauty of piano and the natural wonders surrounding Carleton, I have found great pleasure in the social benefits of a Carleton summer. It is wonderful to be at Carleton, to be learning new things and challenging myself intellectually on a daily basis, and to still have time for casual hour-long chats with new acquaintances, for skype sessions with old friends, for cooking adventures, for Sayles slumber parties, for movie-watching, and for pioneering a summer social dance club. I have great hopes for this Summer Social Dance Club (hereafter to be referred to as SSDC), despite what appear to be administrative attempts to crush it. Well, not exactly. But it is very frustrating that the school insists on shutting down all of the buildings after work hours. Nonetheless, this week was very successful in bringing together new and old social dancers, and I now feel like I have dance children to teach and tend to and befriend this summer. It is very exciting! Hopefully logistics will not prove disastrous... but I have high hopes. I look forward to making friends with these new people and hopefully incorporating them into social dance culture!

In short, summer is lovely and sweet. I have been reminded that life has great potential for beauty, if I only toil faithfully to seek her out. She is a shy creature, and must be treated tenderly, but she is sweet and devoted if you patiently cultivate her friendship. I do hope that we may become fast friends.

Happy Summer, dear ones!   

The Awkward Nerd Girl

Let us briefly consider a unique creature: the awkward nerd girl.

The awkward nerd girl subsists on a hearty diet of scientific articles, literary novels, and exercises in mathematical abstraction. This is often supplemented by strong doses of fine art and poetry, philosophical discussion, and close reading of historical texts.

The awkward nerd girl is not pretty. She is not gorgeous, she is not beautiful. She is definitely not "hot." 

At best, she is "kind-of-cute-in-an-awkward-way"-- but mostly she is overlooked. 

By and large, the awkward nerd girl rejects the 'shallow societal obsession with physical beauty' (the claim that something is fashionable is a strike against the item, more often than not)… but when the time for public procession actually comes around, she stands awkwardly in her less-than-fashionable selections, torn between loving and hating herself for the rebellion.

In her heart of hearts, the awkward nerd girl wishes she were beautiful.

The awkward nerd girl is appropriately situated in settings of a very particular nature: a library, a classroom, a coffee shop, and the confines of her own book-laden bedroom are prime examples. Other sites are nerd-girl-neutral: a grocery store, a public restroom, or a swing-set at the local park, perhaps. But certain sites are strictly forbidden: fashionable boutique stores, large parties, and, most certainly, steamy dance floors.

Let's face it: the image of the awkward nerd girl dancing (awkwardly) to music with a strong beat and highly questionable lyrics is offensive to the sensibilities of all parties.

My own role, unsurprisingly, is that of the awkward nerd girl. When placed on a dance floor pulsing with the latest tunes in pop culture, a large red exclamation mark quickly appears over my head.
 Does not belong! Warning! Awkward nerd girl has entered the dance floor!

I rigorously avoid eye contact. I grimace in understanding of the pain others must experience at beholding the taboo sight. My mind and body quickly cave under the torrential pressure of public disapproval, and I steadily crumble into a small pile of awkward self-consciousness.

Awkward nerd girl does not belong.

In the way of dance, this awkward nerd girl has turned to a sneaky refuge.

Ballroom dancing is beautiful. It is graceful. It is classic.

But the key point for the awkward nerd girl is another. Ballroom dancing is structured-- and therefore, it is safe.

My family expressed all sorts of surprise at the idea of my doing any sort of dancing.

I am stiff, terribly self-conscious, less-than-coordinated, and… awkward.

I am pretty sure they still don't buy it.

But what they don't understand is that ballroom offers a layer of protection for the awkward nerd girl.

Consider the following:

Waltz demands you trace out boxes. Cha calls for tetras shapes. Squares, line segments, circles… 
Geometric precision.

All in all, it seems like a perfect task for the awkward nerd girl.

It is only later that the stiffness melts away. We lose the simple  rigidity of basic geometric shapes and introduce more complex curves, rotating waltz boxes in ballroom frames evocative of ln(x).

It is geometry and vector calculus.

It is precise and fluid.

We are anchored by structure... and so we feel safe to introduce "Latin hip motion" under discussion of proper mechanics. After a while it's not too hard to sneak in flirtatious winks and intense passion and butterfly fragility. It's not too difficult to slip into lovely gowns (though sexy Latin skirts still defy us-- they are not fooled) , and to dream of personal beauty whilst tracing out elegant patterns with mathematical precision. The awkward nerd girl knows that it is for those elegant structures which the audience claps, not for her… but still. At that moment she is free to dream of beauty and sophistication and black-lace evening-dresses.