Eric Tian

I am stuck in a room with two cats.

Well, stuck is the wrong word. I forced myself to stay in this room to write a blog post, and my Airbnb’s two cats just happen to be in the same room with me.

One of the cats is a British shorthair called Pinot. Pinot is lazy and demanding. It likes to lie in an armchair and either sleep or stare at you with its yellow eyes.

The other is a ragdoll called Baijiu. Baijiu is curious and active. It likes to follow you around and jump on the kitchen counter when it smells something cooking.

I was in the middle of writing a serious post, but these two cats kept distracting me. One time, I looked up and Pinot was staring at me with a deathly look in his eyes. I was very amused. A few minutes later, Baijiu kept walking in circles around the room and knocked on the furniture. It was impossible to stay focused. And so, I gave up writing my post and just watched them instead.

I’ve never really observed cats up close before, so the last ten minutes have been educational. And the biggest thing I’ve learnt is that it is impossible to understand cats.

Pinot and Baijiu are very different creatures. One purrs when you scratch its head; the other shies away. One walks up when you call; the other ignores you. They are almost complete opposites to each other.

Asking “what are cats like?” is like asking “what are humans like?”. It depends. Just like people, there are smart cats, dumb cats, shy cats, outgoing cats, quiet cats and loud cats. It is impossible to generalise. To do so would be disingenuous and lazy.

The possible personalities are endless.

Material objects have half-lives.

We know how old things are because carbon-14 loses half its mass every 5,730 years. Measuring this radioisotope lets anthropologists and geologists date fossils and specimens up to 50,000 years old.

Ideas have half lives too.

The Old Testament was written over 2,000 years ago and is still being discussed today. There were many texts written that time as well, but most have been forgotten.

On this blog, there are posts from years ago that still get traffic, and others that barely get read at all.

How an idea is presented is important. If we hope to change the world, we should plan to find a medium and message where the impact lasts more than a few seconds.

Anything less, and it will be forgotten in no time.

Are not the most righteous. They are not the funniest, the smartest, nor the most charming.

My favourite characters are the complex ones: those with contradicting natures, where one part of themselves is at war with another. The moment you think you understand them, you are proven wrong.

They make you feel uneasy because you do not understand them, and you never will.

Rasknolnikov from Crime and Punishment is an amazing character. His desire to murder a wicked pawn-broker for an altruistic goal is in conflict with the moral consequences. The tragedy of the book comes from this chaotic dilemma. If he was too far leaning one way, he would be too one-dimensional, and the story would lose its magic.

It feels natural to like predictable characters, ones that always behave in expected ways. We feel safe around them, reassured by our mastery over their behaviour. They are also often the boring ones.

A person who can hold multiple morals at the same time is much more impressive. Difficult? Yes.

Interesting? Certainly.

We tend to only notice the bad ones. Injuries. Death. A stroke of terrible luck.

But we’re surrounded by plenty of good accidents as well. And often, we neglect them for these grim ones.

To be born where we were. To have had the parents we had. To be able to read and imagine. To have friends to connect and laugh with. These are all accidents with amazingly good outcomes.

A few days ago, I landed a new job. It’s one I’m excited for as it’s related to my interest in oncology, has many learning opportunities and pays well.

It’s also one that resulted from the most absurd circumstances, involving me moving from Perth to Melbourne, taking a gap year, meeting my partner, and having my clinical placement at one particular hospital.

There are many accidents we could rage at. But also many to be thankful for.

A few months ago, a friend was expressing his recent love for Murakami. He asked me if I had read his works before.

I smiled and told him to tell me all about him.

He proceeded to express his admiration for Norweigian Wood and Kafka on the Shore. “I don’t know how he does it,” he said. “It’s like living in a dream; a beautiful, chaotic dream.”

The truth was, I had read Murakami before. He was my favourite Japanese author. But because I let my friend talk that day, I found my passion for literature reignited. His enthusiasm was intoxicating.

That day, I resolved that if I knew less than 90% on a topic, I would say I don’t know. Although I had read Murakami before, I was no expert and hadn’t analysed his works or style. I had much I could still learn. And when I listened, it was very refreshing to listen to someone with valuable insights to share. The beginner’s mindset is open to new possibilities and inspirations.

This rule also allows others to express themselves more freely. Imagine how discouraging it would be if I said, “Oh yeah, I’ve read those too.” My friend may feel disappointed at not being able to share his treasure. The magic is lost. The power of inspiration is gone.

What I’ve found since then is world becomes more interesting in general. If you start from the premise that you know nothing rather than you know a bit, your task becomes discovery rather than recall. You becomes curious rather than stressed.

If what you learn aligns with what you already know, then great! That is reassurance of your knowledge. But if it is different, then suddenly you have a challenge; and challenges are seeds for growth.

A few days ago, I received my end of year exam results. I achieved a 84%.

This result surprised me for two reasons.

1: It was one of the best scores I had ever achieved in medical school. Given this year was pass/fail, I found myself aiming no higher than 60-70%, and being content scoring here.

2: I studied with minimal intensity in preparation. For this exam, which covered material from the whole year’s lectures, tutorials and practicals, I rarely studied more than three hours a day. This was in stark contrast to how I traditionally studied, which involved high intensity cramming the week before. 12-hour study days, coffee naps, all-nighters, you name it – that was me.

So what happened?

I realised that intensity is overrated. Consistency matters more.

For the last three months, I committed myself to doing 300 Anki cards a day. If this sounds like a lot, it isn’t – this rarely exceeded one hour, and I felt quite able to do more if I needed to. Watching lectures, attending class and doing practice exams made up the other three hours per day.

The key was doing this consistently. Day in and day out. I made a deal with my partner: if I ever failed to study 300 cards per day, I would pay her $50. And since I didn’t want to lose money this way, it held me accountable.

In the beginning, I didn’t feel like I was learning much. I watched my colleagues study harder, longer and I wondered if I was keeping up.

But within a few weeks, the consistency began to pay off. I had more energy each day to study, found a routine for my revision and felt my knowledge slowly compound. I began to contribute more to tutorial discussions and felt prepared for every class. All of this was largely new to me, where burning out before an exam was standard practice.

The problem with high intensity work is that it’s rarely sustainable. Which is fine for a once-off deadline like a thesis: once it’s over, it’s over. But for lifelong excellence, consistency is what pays off in the long term. Daily writing beats short bursts of inspiration. Consistent exercise beats one enormous workout. Frequent study beats cramming. What looks like skill is often just consistent discipline.

Intensity is overrated and consistency is underrated. Anybody can show up one day and smash out an enormous workout or study load. The real high achievers are the ones who show up each day, put in a good amount of work and repeat tomorrow. Believe me: I’ve seen them.

I don’t write this to brag. There are people who scored higher than me and objectively know more about medicine.

But in a world where “I studied 10 hours today” is sexier than “I started studying 10 weeks ago”, I cannot help but wonder if we are sending the wrong message.

A few weeks ago, I smashed a hole through my bathroom sink. I was applying deodorant when it slipped from my hand – when I looked down, there was a gaping 5cm hole in the corner of the white ceramic.

I was very annoyed. Firstly, how could my deodorant smash a hole through a sink? It barely weighed 200g and was the size of my palm. Secondly, how much would it cost to fix this? My mind ran to the worst possible scenario: getting it replaced. Which would cost close to $100.

This mood plagued me for a few days until I shared this to my family and partner. Chatting to them revealed a different way of framing the situation: by treating this as an opportunity, not a setback. They suggested that I could try fixing the sink myself, or use this event to teach myself something about sinks.

Framing my situation as an opportunity rather than a setback changed everything. I became less moody and more curious. The thought of the sink made me excited rather than guilty. It turned the whole situation around.

Our attitudes to circumstances are everything. A “setback” mentality sets one up for misery and wallowing. An “opportunity” mentality makes one excited and curious for any challenge.

The choice is yours.

Over this year, I’ve realised that most medical students don’t read books.

When I ask why, the most common answer is I don’t have time. Instead, their time is spent doing other things like working, watching lectures or exercising.

What’s the common denominator between these other activities? They are productive. Let me explain.

Productivity, in its most basic form, is more output per given input. If factory A produces five boxes per hour and factory B produces fifty per hour, factory B is more productive than A. There is more output (=boxes) per hour of input (=work).

Working, watching lectures and exercising are productive exercises. They all have a product, such as money, good grades, or better health, and this improves with time. The more you work, the more you’ll eventually get paid. The more you study, the better grades you’ll get. The more you exercise, the better health you’ll achieve.

Importantly, these parameters are measurable. Systems are in place to track how these parameters change with time.

Reading, or art generally speaking, is the complete opposite.

What happens when you read a book?

Nothing.

You have nothing measurable to show that you have improved as a person. If a spy watched you through secret cameras, they couldn’t see anything tangible happen to you at all. They would see you pick up a book, flip some pages, then put it down when you’re finished.

Art is not productive. There are no outcomes that can be measured; no way to track productivity. You look the same, your social standing is the same and your net worth hasn’t changed. And since we live in a hyper-efficient society,, art is largely forgotten.

But art, dear reader, is still seriously important. It teaches us to feel, think and imagine. It reveals grand, spectacular worlds to us – ones better than our own. It teaches us that we are not alone. It paints our world with colour.

Just because it is not productive, does not mean it is useless. Art is a most priceless gift.

My favourite phrase in a conversation is, “but at the same time…”.

It shows that the speaker is able to hold multiple views simultaneously, which is something terribly difficult to do. We love to ensure our beliefs are as strong and correct as possible. Holding an opposing view can disrupt this goal.

But holding conflicting opinions is so important.

Holding one opinion is easy. The internet and world feeds opinions to us every day. You need to buy this. These books are great. Believe our political views. A parrot can absorb these ideas and regurgitate them.

To hold multiple views at the same time shows critical thought, openness and creativity. It also makes for a much more interesting conversation, as debates get longer and deeper, more windy and complex. The insight of having your belief shaken is difficult, but liberating.

“The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.” – Scott F. Fitzgerald

I finished my exams today. It felt great, having studied consistently for half a year now, but afterwards a part of me asked what now?

When you focus so much energy on something, it does some interesting things. It might bring stress and anxiety, sure, but it also gives provides guidance and a mission. The worst parts of a journey beat not having it at all.

When it’s over, it’s easy to feel lost. Empty.

From The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows:

etterath

the feeling of emptiness after a long and arduous pro- cess is finally complete—having finished school, recovered from surgery, or gone home at the end of your wedding— which leaves you relieved that it’s over but missing the stress that organized your life into a mission.