Toronto, in transition

Here I am, Toronto.

This is the third city I live in North America, after Ann Arbor and Cambridge. Although the stay will be brief (10 months), it is long enough to get a real taste of the city, with all the commotion of re-settling. I am a guy who is slow to adjust to a new environment. The initial excitement is often followed by a period of melancholy and withdrawal. This is how I feel now. The transition has duel meanings: physically I am moving to a new place, and professionally I have left my student life behind and become a scholar. Hence the need for double-adjustment. For the former, it is a matter of finding my favorite spots in this new environment and re-establishing my daily routine: the café to read and think, the grocery to shop, the gym to swim, etc. I am sure it is just a matter of time, though I am a bit under time pressure. The latter is more challenging. Most important, I am on my own now to pursue a career that I find both interesting and meaningful. Although I often think of my former mentors as role models, now it is time to develop my own ideas and guide my own students. 

It is almost winter here in Toronto, nippy and crisp. Leaves are changing colors, so is the politics of the country (the national election just finished with the change of power from the conservative to the liberal). What is my impression of Toronto? It is a fairly large city with lots of interesting activities. My territory is pretty much restricted to the downtown area, close to the UT campus. Life is convenient. I live close to the Korean Town and the China Town, so I have no difficulties to get decent Asian foods. I see more 24-hour shops here. Toronto probably resembles Boston more than Cambridge; although the university is large, it is engulfed in city life. In general, Torontonians are more patient and laid-back than Bostonians, easy to talk to. Making friends is the first step, and perhaps the key step to get immersed in a new place. I am still navigating to find the right people—I don't need a lot; just a few would make my life different. My cultural adventure has just started: several cool museums to visit, a fantastic independent movie theater (TIFF), and some enjoyable biking trails along the lake. Have I ever mentioned that there is a lake nearly—Lake Ontarian. A déja vu of my Ann Arborian life. Indeed some people here say that Toronto is a mid-Western city, not really Canada's New York City, as often portrayed in popular imagination. In that sense, my life has circled back. 

Although the downtown area is populated, it is easy to go to somewhere that is quiet and pretty. Last weekend I visited the Toronto Island, which is just off the lakeshore. From there you can have an open view of the Lake Ontario. It was a cold and windy day, so the island felt vacant and vast. Maybe that is our impression of Canada, a huge country with sparse population. Cold weather too. What would be like standing on this island two hundred years ago? I have little knowledge of the history of Canada. Considering it is a politically more liberal country, I cannot help musing upon the historical roots of that political consciousness. Something I am yet to explore.

Time goes fast. If this whole year in Toronto is a transition to my next stage in Buffalo, I am at the transitional stage of this transitional year. Looking backward, or nostalgia, is futile; I must look forward. Transition is not always easy, but if my current uneasiness prepares for a better transition in Buffalo, it is all worth it. This prospective attitude is all I need now.

Toronto, looking forward to knowing you more.

Post-graduation thoughts

All of a sudden, I graduated.

The whole process feels incredibly fast: the defense, the Hooding Ceremony, the Commencement. Although they span the whole month of May, they seem to happen over the snapping of fingers. Surely it was a happy and memorable moment as I had the chance to celebrate it with my family and friends, including some special ones from far away. I wish I could hold that moment longer so I can enjoy it more fully; after all, it took me six years to reach this point. But it disappears as quickly as it comes, like the dissipation of the mist by the morning sun—the campus becomes quiet again, family and friends have left, and life goes on.

I already feel nostalgic, not just for that fleeting moment of happiness, but for a way of living I am too familiar with and too used to. Now I must leave that comfortable student life behind, and start the new career as a scholar and professor. Although I try to make this transition slow and smooth, it is a change nonetheless, which creates both excitement and anxiety.

To alleviate the anxiety, I initially planned to travel to Europe to take a break. This plan didn't work out because of an unexpected logistic issue (my passport is not with me). This is rather frustrating because I do want to travel after two years of staying in Cambridge, and this is a rare opportunity to enjoy myself. But bureaucracy presents a formidable barrier, and I have to learn to live with it. At every turn of the rosy moment of life, reality strikes back.

I should not complain too much considering what is ahead of me in the following years. It is a fortunate year after all. But sometimes I feel that underneath my docile and gentle facade lies an independent and rebellious soul, a free spirit. I like to explore both the physical world and the world of books, to learn more and experience more. But as I enter the next stage of my life, I wonder how long I can sustain this way of living, to live life the fullest. On this matter, I often think of Frank Capra's movie "It is a wonderful life." In one scene, the protagonist George is waiting at the train station for his brother, who just graduates from college, and, as George expects, will come home to take over their father's bank so George can be free. George has big plans; he shows a bunch of brochures to his friends and tells them that he will travel to many beautiful cities in Europe and fulfill his dream. George didn't go because later he realizes that his brother has a job in the factory of his fiancée's father. Neither does George go anywhere for the rest of his life. He stays in his hometown, and enjoys a wonderful life there.

I love this movie, and cry every time at the end. It reminds me that freedom always comes with restraints, without which freedom becomes purposeless and disorienting. Opposite to freedom is sacrifice and responsibility, string to stability and source of happiness. It is a fine balance between the fulfilling of self and the caring of others—too much of the former makes one detached and too much of the latter becomes a burden. It is a balance I will continue to learn and test out in the following years. Between soaring to the sky and sticking to the ground, where is me?

Birthday thoughts

Today I turn 38.

This birthday feels special as it heralds a new stage of my life. Looking back to almost four decades of my life, the path is straightforward but with twists: first six years, pre-school life. Not much memory; from six to now, more than thirty years of school life. Ridiculous long but also extraordinarily rich; from now to the following years, probably decades, post-school life. Challenging yet with lots of hopes.

Age is an interesting thing precisely because we all know that life does not last forever. So the central question is: what truly matters? I spent quite a while to contemplate that question. More than a decade ago, while I was studying biology at the University of Michigan, I read Ray Huang’s autobiography, Yellow River, Blue Mountain. Ray received his PhD in history at UM at the age of 46. That inspired me. A concrete role model was a driving force for me.

Making decisions, especially unconventional ones, requires strong inner power. In the fall of 2005, I went to a small state park along the Lake Michigan, walking along the lakeshore, drawing on the sand, thinking hard, interrogating my soul. In the epic movie Lawrence in Arabia, there is a scene that Lawrence sat on the edge of a vast desert, his eyes intensely gazing into the horizon. He was thinking hard to make a decision, an extremely dangerous one to cross the deadly dessert for a military action. Finally he made up his mind to do the impossible. So did I.

It has been a long journey from that critical moment to where I am now. Making a decision is a highly personal act, but to implement that decision requires lots of support from others. In that respect, I am blessed. Many memorable moments well up.

On a quiet Saturday morning in December 2005, I had a heart-to-heart conversation with my boss Ken about my change of career. Impressively, he never asked why I wanted to make this change, but rather eagerly offered all justifications for such a transition. The script I prepared was not of much use. He understood well the importance of respecting others’ decisions.

Later when I was pursuing a Master in China Studies at UM, I attended a lecture by a renowned historian Timothy Brook. After his talk, Christian, my MA advisor, introduced me to him. “He has a biology PhD,” Christian whispered. Hearing that, Tim looked into my eyes deeply, “Now you are doing something you really like.” Sometimes a few words encompasses the whole universe.

During that period, I also met a junior scholar Yiching, who spent many years at U. Chicago to find a project he found driving and meaningful. Naturally, he understood my decision well. “You don’t have a choice,” he opined. It is interesting to think about the decision-making process: we exercise our power of free will, only to find something we are destined for. The process is powerful, and transformative: to find a path for our life, with great confidence, is an integral part of our growth.

Another moment with my dearest friend Margo, my colleague at Harvard: We all become accustomed to our ways of living, making redirecting of a set trajectory hard. But once a change is initiated, no matter what the outcome would be, people rarely regret. Change is a positive action. My own experience is a good testimony: Before I changed my career, the most intimidating thought was whether I would regret later. A decade has passed, and I never regretted.

There are many more friends, and moments that touched my heart and motivated me to move forward. If my career has changed drastically, one idea has become more affirmative and sturdy: my dependence on others; my positive, even innocent, belief in the goodness of people.

Now I am about to close up my long life of a student and move on to be an adult and a scholar. The future is full of challenges and possibilities. Right now, I can just enjoy this moment of quiet happiness, with a sense of accomplishment and closure. I always think that true happiness is a temporary feeling, and it often happens when I anticipate something rather than actually doing it. I tend to believe that for a good life, happiness is like small islands floating in the ocean of contentness. Sitting on one of these islands now on my 38^th birthday, with the waves in the past flapping on my back, I look ahead to an exciting new sail to an adventurous and promising future.