Statistical Slump

An introduction to me, my love of science and wanting to save the world

Dear me,

 I regret to inform you that, no, beginning the Masters has not immediately solved all of your problems regarding what you are going to do with your life, nor has it managed to bring clarity and structure to how you will become a successful scientist. What it has done, however, is reaffirm your panic and hatred toward chemistry, obtain another £10k of debt, and cause me to buy a yoga mat and download a meditation app in a last bid attempt to find guidance from a random voice talking at me whilst I start to drift off – which some would say is really what the university experience revolves around for many a student.

Now I don’t want to sound bitter. I am aware that I am lucky and must have some capability if I am able to even make it onto a Masters course in the first place, but sore eyes, a dreary mind and frazzled neurons lead me to a place I like to call, “Self-pity Central”. Today’s topic; Statistical Slump – how the mean, median and mode are making me mean, maddened and moan. Hilariously, these are the only terms I can in fact take the piss out of because I don’t understand the others. So, whilst I listen to the world’s smallest violin, I am going to vent onto my keyboard about how the trial and tribulations of a wannabe up and coming science person are seemingly never-ending.

Let us begin with a small venture into why statistics is causing a silly amount of stress. I am fully aware, thank you very passionate lecturers, that statistics is the lifeblood of many a published paper. That statistics, though painfully complicated to some (me) and a frighteningly large task to others (also me), is in essence what enables scientists to understand and celebrate how the world goes round (not me). I recognise that trying to learn a coding language simultaneously alongside a maths-language is always going to have as many ups and downs as the dumbo ride at Disneyland, but the other and more irrational side of my brain still likes to inform me that if I can’t master a skill in a day then the world is over, I may as well be on fire and I would probably stand a better chance at survival if I decided to relocate to the coast and take up life as a beached whale.

Though me flopping onto my bed at the end of a long day does somewhat resemble that of a hopeless and dying cetacean, it is always then that I am able to remind myself that actually it’s not all that bad. The reason it feels so utterly shite is because of the sheer amount of effort that is put in daily to try and help myself that feels as though there’s no immediate pay off or any obvious end goal for those of us that want to research the wonders of the world, the reason so many of my peers probably feel the same way. Maybe I still haven’t mastered the skill of being able to explain the intricacies of my thoughts onto paper, restricted by a word count, and only being able to consider that a hindrance on my genius (ok maybe not a genius but no harm to think of it that way… they just don’t understand me), but when do we know if what we are doing is going to bring us the results we want to see for ourselves?

I have a lot of learning to do, and I am set on it. It begins now. Readily attempting to absorb as much knowledge as possible. Some days it will take 5 repeated readings of the same piece of text before I give up, where the words “Introduction” or “Method” no longer have any meaning and I begin to question if those are in fact real words. Other days I can half-arsedly glimpse at a piece of paper and retain a scientific theory that has taken years to conjure up. The journey of someone who is trying to make a change, trying to understand theory, themselves and the world around them is never the simple A to Z, and we get told it a lot, so why do I consistently read stories of people who were “in the right place at the right time” and are now living the life they dreamed of? I understand that people are constantly greeted with opportunity at the wildest of times, to anyone and everyone at various stages in life, but this doesn’t make the seemingly never-ending graft feel comforting when my reality may have to involve me constantly stressing about doing anything and everything that may get me to the “right place” at the “right time”. I’m not convinced. Science, to me, is a world of intrigue and inspiration, of exploration and excitement, and of frustration and fear – I am absolutely determined to fully invest myself into this world along with those who already have the pleasure of being a part of it, and not by waiting until the right place or the right time…I mean, look at the world we live in, we keep being told the time is now, don’t we?

Becoming a master at anything is not easy, I have no reason to believe it is supposed to be. I will spend the next few months being infuriated by inability, stressed by the scientific status quo and crying due to the cute, the critical and the congratulatory (I cry a lot ok, I always have and I always will – let me live).

So here it begins. The diary of a determined doofus (and drama-queen who loves alliteration).