"MY IDEA OF FUN (IS DATA MANAGEMENT)"
[18/10/2024]Is playing off a Pat the Bunny song name two weeks in a row for my blog post title too extra? I think not! I can do what I want and no one can stop me!
I've been putting off writing anything for a proper blog post since it's been one of those weeks where a lot of stuff happens, too much to stuff all into a summary or proper thoughts. I hold a bunch of this week's laundry in my hands and all I could really do is drop it all on the bed in a messy pile. I'm the kind of person who has the bad habit of washing my dirty laundry too late to all fit in the washing machine, and then I also have the even worse habit of not folding and putting away the laundry the same day. What a mess! I often have to put myself into a corner just to do the whole process, front-to-back.
I started using a program called "Obsidian" the other day. This software thing makes me feel like a mad scientist. And what to use it for? Anything! But what do I end up using it for? Bulleted notes I'd otherwise put on sticky notes, mostly. Beats trying to sort through all the garbage on my desk. Oh, and helping my fiance compile all the notes for his plants class. This thing is exactly what we needed for that; cross-referencing data points across several hundred pages of scattered notes with ease. I can look at the same data a hundred different ways, and it's fantastic.
It's funny to listen to my fiance complain about the reference textbook for this plants class. It makes me feel like we really share common interests when he gets to complain about how terrible (and I mean absolutely, bizarrely TERRIBLE) the formatting for this textbook can be. He pours over and brainstorms with me all the ways we could format the data better, to help understand more easily the minute differences in ecology to ID similar plants, to make the knowledge that already exists easier to understand and digest. Turns out Obsidian had us covered (I am not sponsored, don't get it twisted.)
In exchange, we get to talk smack about the curriculum and testing format about this plants class. We hate brute-force education! To make someone forcibly learn the Latin scientific names of over 200 plants in a semester is still wild to me, even if it is still valuable information. I don't think I'll stop complaining about it as we study until the day I die.
And yet, I think on what I could be doing versus what I'm not. I talk big about all the ideas projects I have swirling around in my head right next to the knowledge that I have the skillset to even make these things a reality. First-time videos about graphic design, half-finished illustrations, and essay notations in the margins of books, all flittering in and out of this head of mine. And yet, I burn myself out before I even get on the computer. The passion, an intrinsic motivation, is hard for me to muster most days. It feels strange to be reading old academic papers for fun when no one is making me do it, when the highlighted quotes are for no other reason than my thoughts. My fiance is in school, why aren't I? But it doesn't help when I'm my own worst critic; I often forget how far I've come, for no one but myself.
In the distance from my old self, there is a small sadness that begs a big question: what have I forgotten, and does it matter? Does the richness of memory get a more rounded, robust flavor with age, or does the sweetness of the present moment taste best when tasted only in the moment?
I watched the leaves drift away, saying goodbye in a bittersweet rustling raspy voice: "we will be apart for a while, but I will be back come Spring." I let the goodbye last; I sat with them in hearty joy with a heavy sigh, taking comfort in knowing that even though the wind carries the voice away for a short while, the tree will always be there. There is joy in the leaves, there is sweetness in their presence and sadness when they leave. But there is a new appreciation I have in knowing the tree is always there, growing more solid day by day with me, even as the seasons change with our emotions.
I have come a long way. There is still much to look forward to, feelings I do not know.
I have a lot of thoughts. They're the thing I've had the most of. Yet, my head is heavy. Maybe it's better to offload these all into some computer program for later, when my memory gets weak. Even as I stare at the graph of all my notes start to build up as I transcribe old ideas into digital files, the question of its ultimate value eludes me. Does it matter all that much when I'm having fun?