Tears in the workshop

Some months ago I attended a workshop celebrating the 60th birthday of a computer scientist. This kind of events usually consist of talks given by people who are academically and/or personally close to the honoree, say former students and coauthors. A workshop is only one possibility for celebrating a scientist's life and achievements; the most common thing I have heard of is to organize the workshop and/or edit a festschrift--- a special volume of scientific articles. Sometimes there is no workshop and only the festschrift is published. Some other times the potential honoree refuses any kind of celebration.

The workshop itself wasn't very interesting from the scientific point of view; the honoree works in a field relatively away from mine, so the talks weren't that relevant to my research. It was, however, a rather emotional experience: all of the invited speakers told very nice and positive experiences about the honoree at the personal level ---the guy couldn't avoid the tears at the end.

The emotional part of the workshop made me reflect a lot. The immediate question is, of course, will I have such a workshop? Being not particularly brilliant (I consider myself a little bit above the average, but not too much) I do not have too many hopes. And then there's the issue that I am relatively young, so I should wait almost three decades before having 65 years, and being a potential honoree. So let's say I still have time to become a brilliant computer scientist (or more realistically, to get brilliant students who would have to include me as coauthor in their papers :-) ).

The really insightful issue here is that a good scientific career appears to me as something very difficult to have. Let's put aside the issue of employment (if you're reasonably smart and active you'll find a permanent job sooner than later). The thing that seems really difficult to me is to be constant during your career; to maintain the same curiosity and inquisitive spirit for years and years. That's the real challenge, I think. One hears of people who were very productive and successful in the past but that now are depressed or sad, sometimes without a good reason. And that makes you think: science is already frustrating, and if you add to that the regular frustrations of life then it could be an unbearable burden.

Perhaps more importantly is the human aspect of research. In science you're surrounded by extremely brilliant people who are well aware of that. The issue is how they manage (and project) their talent to others. As in life in large, there are two possibilities: either you find arrogant pricks or you find humble, modest researchers. I have had the pleasure of working only with people in the second group, but you can easily find people in the first one. It can be annoying. Instead, it is a joy to find experienced researchers and professors who are always available, ready to share their knowledge and learn new things. Those who are able to motivate, appreciate, and get the best from their students. Those who at the end attend (and deserve!) workshops in their honor.

A day like today, three years ago

Curiously the most vivid memory I have of that Tuesday is the temperature shock I got as soon as I got off of the plane. A little gap between the plane and those tunnels that connect it with the airport was enough to hit me. It was the European cold in Barajas hitting me and welcoming me at the same time; a cruel but necessary slap in the face. After that shock nothing was the same. It was pretty much like waking up after a comfortable dream, just that the "dream" was actually a part of myself that I had just left behind at the other side of the ocean. Perhaps it was only then, after that shock, that I realized that I had indeed started a new period in my life. You know, I have always had difficulties digesting significant moments or news, both positive and negative. I am a slow guy: at first I remain notoriously unaffected; when I realize the actual meaning of things a lot of time might have passed.

It was a slap in the face indeed: once trying to find my connection to Bologna my reactions were completely clumsy. Of course, I was tired: I had woken up very early the day before, and had waited in Caracas for about six hours. Then, the intermittent sleeping time till Madrid. So, now that I think about it, the clumsiness it was somehow justified. After going out a very gently passport check, I went through the security check in sleeping mode. I was such a zombie that I forgot the plastic bag I was carrying with me. Usually I am not forgetful in airports, and this is another evidence of my bad shape. I realized my mistake I don't know how many kilometers after the security check. I still recall an extremely kind Argentinian girl, working for the airport, who confirmed me that I had left the bag at the security check. I remember running in the airport like a desperate kid; after that experience running in airports only means anguish to me.

I was very calmed once I reached the gate for my connecting flight. I used my time (and a few euros) to buy souvenirs from Real Madrid, possibly the only thing I really like from Spain. I got a keyring (a little RM tshirt, with the number 4, that of Sergio Ramos) which was useful during the first year of my PhD. Once in the plane I felt differently, like a mix of nostalgia with hangover. I read the latest developments in Marca ---one of the sport newspapers I follow online--- and that relieved me a bit (in those days it was announced that David Beckham's contract was not renewed, and that he had decided to go to the US because of problems with coach Fabio Capello). I kept with me that copy of Marca till a few days ago.

Once in Bologna's airport I remember being happy about the fact that my luggage arrived all together without a problem. The other thing I remember is Davide waiting for me, with a piece of paper that read 'Perez' with a handwriting of a 5-year old kid; later I would discover that it was indeed his handwriting. He took me in his car to my student residence in the center; I remember him teaching me what a 'tangenziale' is, and getting lost inside Bologna. Upon arrival we had lunch, and I installed myself in my new room. I remember sleeping that afternoon till the following day, when I would finally recover of the temperature shock in Madrid.

Metapost

Explaining how I handle this blog might be useful to understand why I haven't posted anything recently. If you must know, I am continuously writing posts for this blog. The thing is that lately, without a special reason, I have become much more selective with the things that actually go online; that's why you haven't seen posts since November. My list of draft posts that will never be published therefore keeps growing.

It is surprisingly easy to ruin a good idea for a nice post. Ideas for posts arise in weird ways; sometimes I have a good idea but I don't know how to develop it properly, and sometimes I have a cool title which looks like a potentially nice post but I fail in realizing it. I has happened that I am happy with a post, but it is too long. Being a blog consumer has made me an enemy of long posts. Many times I have had a good idea but not the time, energy, or inspiration to turn it into something readable by others.

Quite recently I have finished some posts but I wasn't fully convinced to put them online so I didn't. Sometimes posts end up being too personal, and after all, I am a reserved guy. Sometimes they're too radical or I repeat myself in some absurd topic. I do not regret, however, spending time in writing and not posting things online. It is certainly not a waste of time: after all, this blog exists because of my desire of writing and not because of the desire of reading of my many fans around the globe. Writing is useful in that it helps me to confront with my ideas and random thoughts. The confrontation is not always graceful, as you can imagine.