David Hume once asserted that “reason is the slave of passions.” I think he is right. Nietschze’s Apollonian and Dionysian dichotomy of intellect and pleasure, of self-restraint and disinhibition, of prudence and folly, is not a binary choice, nor a uni-dimensional spectrum. These may reinforce. Reasoning begins with curiosity, and ends with boring blandness. Curiosity is the eros of the mind.

Want to pressure-test this hypothesis? Whenevr you face writer’s block, figure out what makes you angry and use that as fuel to arrive to calm, incisive, well-reasoned writing.

I’m reflecting on different ways of instruction. Some of my intellectual heroes have a knack at lecturing. When they are at their best, they teach their students how to arouse their curiosity within a disciplined scaffolding. Among these are Richard Feynman, Timothy Snyder, Vincent Scully, Salman Kahn, and Michael Sandel.

I describe their lecturing style as follows, starting with a non-starter.

“I’m just here for the pay” TA

• Relies heavily on over-saturated slides. The slides speak for themselves. Pure recitation of text.
• Visuals are low resolution and/or pulled down from the internet, makes the lecturer look careless or uninterested
• Relies heavily on notes.
• Usually speaks in monotone, does not seem to enjoy himself.

Richard Feynman

Feynman is the real deal. His passion on the subjects he instructs is contagious. He believes in his students. Listening to his lectures makes you fall in love with physics. How does he do it?

• Draws on a chalkboard
• Dresses for the job

Tim Snyder

• Teaches with no slides. Eye contact with the audience.
• Speaks with his body (hand gestures to illustrate and enliven his speech). Manages to transmit bodies of knowledge
• Teaches without notes. It feels almost like a stream-of-consciousness. Makes connections from seemingly disparate topics in real-time.
• Uses simple and funny real-world analogies so that his audience “get it”
• Sprinkles lecture with clever jokes. Treats the subject seriously, but does not take himself seriously.
• Simplifies complex ideas and builds from first principles of logic

Vincent Scully

• Teaches without notes, lets his emotion and passion overflow his speech
• low tech (a slide projector and stick to point out)
• Uses photographs, no text
• Best way to learn is by “absorbing” his slides, no note-taking
• His cadence reinforces the severity of his subject

Salman Kahn method

Salman Kahn of Kahn Academy. I always admired his humility and low-tech approach to instructing. This creates a psychological safety net where students feel there are no stupid questions. The most complex explanations often flow from deceptively simple questions: why is the sky blue?

• Starts from scratch. Draws on a digital chalkboard. Makes a connection between your brain and his by seeing in real-time him how he begins with first principles to develop complex ideas.
• Uses color strategically to enhance the absorption of his diagrams

What I want my instruction to be:

• AI-proof by teaching skills that cannot be replaced
• Develop an intuitiveness on materials.
• Hit all the concepts in the hierarchical list through a story or narrative way so it doesn’t feel like a linear/. mechanical progression
• Have the hierarchy as a skeleton on the side
• Energy pockets as a fuel for finding things out on your own

There is this feeling of digital burnout from having so many calendars (Google, Outlook, Apple) and so many passwords, and data being stored in multiple browsers. I trust Safari more than Chrome, but the browsing data does not transfer to Microsoft’s Edge when working on my work computer. Files are scattered in OneDrive, iCloud, Google Drive, and countless flash drives. So many systems to keep up. It is exhausting! Can we please return to pen and paper, snail mail, and physical folders?

Today I spent the afternoon cleaning and patching the walls of my bathroom and bedroom in preparation for the primer coat. You learn a hell of a lot about architecture and conservation by doing stuff like fixing your home.

Cleaning the walls, one becomes intimate with the apartment’s imperfections : the crooked wall indicating settling of the house, the holes of bygone nails that used to support artwork of a past tenant , the cracks from the expansion and contraction of the season, the blistering of paint from a hot-water heater.

The putty knife demands specific hand postures. A paint layer will not fill cracks beyond 1/16” and open windows help flush VOCs from the air.

Today I tried a swimming class with my local chapter of Master Swimming. I find swim training an essential activity, part of who I am. The mood, however, is in the nature to “just get by”, rather than a complimentary activity that adds on to a cumulative ball of successes.

Something magical happens when you are in the water. All your problems disappear and all that matters is the water and you. And your teammates. It is almost spiritual.

This evening I watched the first episode of the series “Dance Life”: a documentary of dancers competing to make it to the “Jazz 1” cohort at the Brent Street studio in Sydney. At the end of watching the episode, I was full of zest. Watching those dancers express themselves on the screen rejuvenated my evening: it was an antidote that changed the mood of my day from the burn out of the job. Should I make space for a beginner’s class in ballet or other foundational dancing class? I read somewhere that dancing is one of the best activities, if not THE best, to keep at bay depression and other mental illnesses. I am intrigued by the idea of discovering unknown skills in me, while at the same time to be humbled by experienced dancers. New beginnings.

I just spent my second night in my new apartment. I keep thinking of the precariousness of these first few nights. A new environment provides an opportunity to set new habits. The behaviors I set in place in the next few days will solidify in the course of weeks, like a river carving the earth that after years of activity form canyons.

I want this new home to be closer to what I consider the ideal home: a place for nourishment and replenishment. The hobbit Bilbo Baggins of The Lord of the Rings had nailed this aesthetic in his underground dwelling: warm lights, carpets, wooden floors, plenty of books, a fireplace, a kitchen full of baking and cooking… I would add to this a cat as companion, artwork, plants as deco, good chill music, and perhaps more importantly, an intentional absence of technology (phones, television, computer). All of the above seem doable to obtain, except the last one. Is absolute removal from sight the only option? Wondering what other alternatives may exist…

I just returned from a trip to Puerto Vallarta with a group of gay friends. I was invited at the last minute, and I decided to join because, why not? In this pod of friends we all share a professional background in addition to the gay label: an academic, a psychiatrist, a resident psychiatrist, a computer engineer, a business analyst, and a physician –if memory serves well. We all seem to lean towards the nerdy side of personality: we watched Lord of the Rings, played board games, and solved puzzles.

I often think about the influence that your group of friends have on you, and the influence you exert on them. It seems a bit odd on the presence of responsibility in friendship, and the pressure to keep up. During this trip I felt the least intelligent in the group, and I’ve learned to be increasingly comfortable with that. English is my second language, so I try to forgive and give myself some grace.

If you’re the smartest one in the room, you’re in the wrong room. You are better off surrounded by people more accomplished than you. Friendship provides a mirror of yourself: it makes clear your own limits and imperfections.