About a week ago we the grad students in our lab virtually hosted a panel* of a few* of the lab alumni who after their postdocs with us are now professors. I get a lot of messaging (from the University, surprisingly, and from student groups and of course from twitter) against academia and toward industry—about the transition from academia to industry, about destigmatizing “leaving” academia, about the flaws in the academic system, about low pay in academia, about how miserable everyone is, etc.—, I think to try to balance the pressure to follow an academic career path after a PhD but somehow at least the pieces that reach me have tipped in the other direction, to the extent that I don’t think I receive much pro-academia or even happy-academia messaging at all. I really enjoyed this panel. Everyone seemed happy. After the conversations I’m used to it was like stepping out of a loud smoke-filled bar into an open hillside with cows grazing. I want to share it with you, in case you see a potential future for yourself in academia, like I do, because I was reassured to know that that hopeful future can stay hopeful and light and that there are people in my field who love their jobs.
We asked about what we can do in grad school to be better prepared for a career in academia. Along the same lines, we also asked what the most important and underrated skill to focus on building in a postdoc is:
You learn A LOT as a grad student.
The fellowships you apply for are great practice in writing proposals. You get better at it; you learn how to use feedback.
Learn all of the stuff that happens behind the scenes—what gets funded, what doesn’t. Learn how money is spent.
Network and find connections.
Write papers well.
Learn the nitty-gritty of your science, but also the big picture of your science.
As a PI, managing people is new—being a cheerleader for the team is critical, and it’s something you can work on in a postdoc.
On applying to postdocs and finding a good lab for your postdoc:
When looking for a postdoc, look for the specific things YOU need to grow in.
Meet with people at conferences.
Meet others in the lab to get the vibe of the lab you’re interested in.
Tell people DIRECTLY and candidly that you are applying for postdocs. BE DIRECT.
Your postdoc is your last opportunity to do something totally different from what you’ve been doing.
Getting a postdoc is all about personal connections, or it can be.
For your postdoc, find a lab that gives autonomy—enough autonomy to learn how to run a research project, with training wheels. You don’t want a lab where postdocs are treated like “super grad students.”
A larger lab can be more autonomous. On the other hand, there can be less opportunity for direct mentorship from the PI in a large lab.
Get a fellowship; then you can go wherever you want.
On applying for professorship jobs:
The job committee wants to know what you’re doing that will make science better for their university in the future.
The job committee also wants to know you can bring in grants.
Talk with faculty in the department you’re applying to.
Your applications are a crapshoot—the commitee uses imperfect heuristics to get the job done. There’s a lot behind the scenes you can’t see from the job posting.
Don’t make enemies—a single advocate can push your application forward, while a single nemesis can sink you.
Apply to a lot of positions.
You have an edge if you have interesting science, connections, and a well-written proposal.
Pay attention to teaching requirements—at a non-R1 university, you will actually be teaching, whereas in other universities you might have very few teaching responsibilities. Our panelists had a wide range of teaching requirements, from a lot to almost none.
Look for the kind of position YOU WANT.
On moving (or not moving) for jobs in academia:
There is a bias against people who don’t want to move or are attached to a particular area.
On the other hand, passion to be in a certain location can also be an advantage, and a big one, because it also shows you are more likely to take the position. If you’re targeted in your search, your commitment comes through.
Interviewers might legally not be allowed to ask about your partner or your personal life, depending on the state. Tell them up front about your partner, their job needs, and any other parts of your personal life that affect your job search and your interest in and needs within this particular job.
On the job of being a PI:
You learn quickly as a PI that even though you’re the same person you always were, everything you say carries more weight than it did before you got the Professor title.
Think about and try to learn whether or not you will actually like the job of being a PI. The actual job involves a lot of management and a lot of writing.
Once you become a professor, there is no one you report to regarding what you are doing as long as you can get money.
There is room to make the job what you want it to be, but even small labs come with a lot of work; making even a small team run is really hard.
One of us asked when our panelists found “their thing”:
One of our panelists got hooked in undergrad (“some fire was lit inside of me in one class”), which as a person who also occasionally teaches made me very happy to hear.
In science, some things you find interesting, while some things FASCINATE you.
Going down rabbit holes* is a good fit for academia.
You have to be creative and excited about your ideas.
You should try to find an intersection between what people will give you money to study and what you are naturally interested in (—and that intersection might also be a role in industry).
On doing science:
Just do the science you really want to do; don’t think just about tenure.
Have a proven track record of fantastic research.
Look for opportunities as you encounter them.
Have a five-year goal that you slowly move towards, but keep all doors open. If getting to your five-year goal will be miserable or you’ll hate the process, that’s a red flag and a sign that your five-year goal should change. Your five-year goal needs to be fun, exciting, and interesting along the way.
General advice:
When you need to get in touch with a professor, email them multiple times—again if they don’t respond.
At every point in your academic career, your life keeps going. Don’t put it on hold—live your life.
“I liked what I was doing.”—enjoy it. Don’t torture yourself. Your job should be a job you love.
* (I organized this panel, which was one of those things I was very very excited for then forgot I did until I appeared at the meeting thankfully on time and was surprised and delighted to discover that that thing I wanted to happen was, indeed, happening, and happening now, and I was doing it, and doing it now—and then it went great and it was really lovely.)
* (We have TONS of lab alumni who are now professors with labs of their own, but I like a panel of three people; any more than three feels like we wouldn’t really get to know anyone.)
Our labmates Cindy and Jess decorated the lab for Halloween! The decorations have been spookening my life all October.
The spiderwebs are my favorite by far. They extend into my own office window.
And of course candy.
My desk is also decorated, but I keep these decorations up year-round. The scraggly tree is winter and autumn. Pumpkins are autumn, and everything green including pumpkins is winter, springtime, and summer.
The framed prints from the MFA are my museum exhibit, but I haven’t had a chance to put them up since we moved offices.
I was lucky to get to present our now published recent work, learning from last summer’s SARS-CoV-2 Delta outbreak in Ptown, at last winter’s Broad retreat. My goal was entirely to do justice to the work and the massive number of people who did that work, but to my surprise and delight we won a poster prize in the Computational Biology and Data Science category, which as you might imagine is one of the largest and most interesting categories at the Broad. I think our poster won primarily because of the project, not the poster itself, but I think the poster itself had to have also been pretty okay, at the very least clear and effective. I learned a lot putting it together, and I also learned a lot putting together other, not as astoundingly successful posters in past years and collecting my colleagues’ good advice.
Here is how the poster turned out:
The first thing I did was add the title, stretched in very large (size 85) font to cover the entire top of the poster, so that people could easily read it from far away. Our poster title was the title of our paper: Transmission from vaccinated individuals in a large SARS-CoV-2 Delta variant outbreak.
I divided the poster itself into two columns, expecting that after the title the reader would read the left column from top to bottom and then the right column from top to bottom. The left column starts with the author list and the graphical abstract side by side. The author list, which is huge, is in small-ish (size 18) font, with affiliations in even smaller font (size 12) below it. The graphical abstract is gorgeous and effective and was made by the Broad Pattern team in a process that was both extremely impressive and also very collaborative and iterative, a lot like the process of putting together the eventual journal cover with Thought Café. This project was my first time working with professional scientific illustrators, more scientific and detailed in the case of the graphical abstract and more abstract (a pun! yay!) in the case of the cover.
The rest of the poster dives into the science. Our abstract does a great job summarizing the work and our findings (the purpose of the abstract), so I organized our the bulk of the poster around the abstract, in its entirety, divided into five parts and shown in large (size 37) text.
The first sentence of our abstract covers background on the outbreak and gives context for the questions we ask in the paper. I put this sentence first after the author list and graphical abstract, on its own in the middle of the left column:
An outbreak of over one thousand COVID-19 cases in Provincetown, Massachusetts, in July 2021—the first large outbreak mostly in vaccinated individuals in the US—prompted a comprehensive public health response, motivating changes to national masking recommendations and raising questions about infection and transmission among vaccinated individuals.
The rest of the abstract presents the four takeaways of the paper, each in one sentence:
To address these questions, we combined genomic and epidemiological data from 467 individuals, including 40% of known outbreak-associated cases.
The Delta variant accounted for 99% of outbreak-associated cases in this dataset; it was introduced from at least 40 sources, but 83% of cases derived from a single source, likely through transmission across multiple settings over a short time rather than a single event.
Genomic and epidemiological data supported multiple transmissions of Delta from and between fully vaccinated individuals.
Despite its magnitude, the outbreak had limited onward impact in MA and the US, likely due to high vaccination rates and a robust public health response.
I gave each of these points its own results section on the poster, in order, in whatever way I was able to get them to fit in the two columns. The first point ended up at the bottom of the left column and the other three divided the right column more or less equally.
Each results section starts with its sentence from the abstract, in large font as a header for the section, padded by at least some whitespace above and below. The hope is that a person with not a lot of time to dedicate to the poster can grasp the main takeaways simply by reading everything that is in the largest font. In all cases but one the section’s header sentence is at the top of the section; in one case the content of the section was tall so the large-font sentence is in the top left, which is still easy to find and I think adds some pleasant variety to the layout.
Next, I pulled out the figure panels that contributed to the message of each results section. The figure panels in a section were not always from the same figures and were not only from the main figures. Here are the figure panels that ended up included in each section of the poster:
Section 1: Figure 1 in its entirety and Figure S1 in its entirety
Section 2: Figure 2A and Figure S4A
Section 3: Figure 3 in its entirety and Figure S5C
Section 4: Figure 2C and Figure S4B
I added the figure legends around the figures in very small (size 14) text, so that someone who really wants to can read them and someone who does not want to read them can easily ignore them. In a few cases I was able to fit the entire figure legend for a panel under that panel, but in most cases I had to clump the figure legends together with labels like Left, Right, Middle, Top, Left Top, and Left Inset. Like a game of Twister but for the eyes.
I did not include any figure and panel numbers or references to other figure panels, because I wanted the figures to be at home in the poster and not just visiting from the paper.
Finally, I added three QR codes, because I had seen QR codes on other posters and found them absolutely delightful and very novel. They are probably neither delightful nor novel at this point (and probably weren’t delightful or novel at that point either) but I think they were useful.
One QR code leads to our interactive tree, where you can examine the temporal and genetic relationships between our SARS-CoV-2 sequences in the context of other Delta sequences. This tree is most relevant to the second results section of the poster so I placed it there, with “Interactive tree” and a little arrow to the QR code.
The other two QR codes are relevant to the paper as a whole. One points to the preprint (the paper was not yet published in a peer-reviewed journal) and the other points to the tweetorial I wrote summarizing the paper both for people who are in our relatively small subfield of biology and hopefully also for people who are not. I put these two QR codes at the very bottom left of the poster, because that is the corner that had space. In addition to squishing them into a corner I also put a little box around them to signify that they are separate from the results section they are next to. I also labeled them: “Preprint” and “Tweetorial” with little arrows to the QR codes. (Really the arrows should point from the QR codes to the things the QR codes point to, and not the other way around, but that’s too complicated and not a hill I was willing to kill this poster on.)
And that brings us to the poster’s final form:
Here are the five lessons I learned:
Information should be presented in order along the path you expect the eye to follow.
The more QR codes the better. This is half-joking, but three was clearly not too many.
The most important takeaways should be in the biggest font, with font size corresponding to importance.
The poster should be skimmable to the reader’s preference of skimmability. I used to think there should be minimal text, and I still do, but now I think it is also important to give an interested reader something to look at more closely. But any text that is not an important takeaway should be unintimidating and easy to avoid reading if a reader does not have time or spoons to read it.
I’ve seen a lot of posters that show the background, methods, results, and conclusions, each in its own section, and in most cases I personally much prefer when a poster focuses on and is organized around the big takeaways of the work. I don’t remember a lot long-term; it helps to be directed to the important parts. (Of course, it is entirely possible that the next project I make a poster for will be perfect for the background-methods-results-conclusions format and I will take this all back.)
Here is a video of the poster printing (!). It’s silly, but it was exciting for me:
I couldn’t get my poster to send itself to the poster printer (the morning of the poster session, because as hard as I try that is the timeline I apparently work on) and a fellow Broadie helped me because that is just what the Broad culture is like, a cozy and collaborative (and absurdly smart) home.
Here is the poster on its poster board, at poster spot 2, poster spot 2 itself being a great honor:
Because of its layout, the poster was very easy to present. The poster session was in person, which was also very fun. I was able to simply gesture to and summarize the main points and describe the takeaways from the figures that led to the main points. When a new person joined I was able to quickly interrupt myself to summarize the project overall, I think along with a quick list of the main points while gesturing to them, and then jump back into the point I was presenting. I cycled through the main points as people came and went.
I was lucky that I was very much on that day; it was absolutely one of my better presentation days, and the project itself had filled my entire brain for months. I really enjoyed presenting to the smaller groups that visited our poster; it felt more like a conversation than a presentation. I liked that people were comfortable interrupting me to ask questions and I liked that I was able to think about the questions for longer than I usually feel comfortable stopping during a talk. I have noticed over the past year that I really like being able to make eye contact with people and feel like we are in conversation. The more conversational and less formal the situation feels, the better I am at presenting the work, a little correlated (R2 being maybe about 0.65) with the number of people I am talking with. I have not recently given a talk in person, but the pattern seems to hold at least over zoom and in this one in-person poster session. I’d like to learn how to bring the same energy to all my presentations, including in contexts that are more challenging or high stakes. Something to strive for and remember very fondly. This poster session was amazing. I want all my communication about my work to feel like it felt.
This is my favorite window view at work. It is right by the coffee machine in the little kitchenette on the 6th floor of the Broad, where I work. When I am waiting for my coffee I like to stand by this window. The view is of a corner of the Broad Institute and one side of the Whitehead Institute. Every square in this large grid is a part of a lab; each little window contains miniature people like me whose days are spent in the lab and in front of the computer—in my view, just a two-dimensional glass square and sometimes the publications that ultimately flow out of it; to them, everything, and if they looked out their window they’d see me waiting for my coffee and I would be small.
This is my favorite window view at home. We live in Peabody, which is not quite a suburb, more a small town in its own right but without the usual trappings of a small town, and far too far away to be an extension of Boston like Cambridge is. As I write this it’s raining, and foggy, and dark—the start of spring. Cars bring up rain from the street and their headlights illuminate it and the lights and the chimneys and the treetops are outlined in the bright night sky, and you can just see the lights on our fence. I grew up in a neighborhood without fences, low to the ground; now I live and I work exclusively in tall places, surrounded always by the little lights of other people’s lives.
In 2020, right before the start of the pandemic, I bought myself tickets to see Carmen at the Boston Ballet as a late birthday present. Carmen was postponed to August, then canceled, and now in 2022 I have transferred my tickets finally to see a ballet set to the Rolling Stones as a late birthday present.
Ballet has a magical effect. The last time I went to the ballet I saw Robbins. I was just about to start my PhD. On the way home on the train platform waiting for the Red Line, looking over the tracks at the other platform, everything seemed magical, timed. For a few hours I saw intention in everyone’s movements and postures and I felt a beautiful connection to the train schedule and to the city and everywhere I looked I saw mathematics and art. I felt myself a part of a giant clock, ticking and ticking and me so small in it. And tonight looking out at the windows and the fog I feel a part of a giant clock, ticking and ticking and me so small in it.
I spent a year in seventh grade at Whitney Young Magnet High School in Chicago before my family moved to Pennsylvania. At the start of the year the seventh graders were counselled to be working all the time, and efficiently—if you’re in the back of a car, you bring your textbooks and you work; if you’re on the bus, you bring your textbooks and you work; if you’re waiting in line at the grocery store, you bring your textbooks and you work. I think that year was the year that set me on track for the rest of my career—seventh grade was the year I learned how to work hard, high school and then undergrad at MIT was where I learned my limits and how to work through and around them, and grad school has been where I learned to self-motivate and direct that work (and I am very much still learning). MIT and grad school (and life) have also both taught me that work should not be my top priority, and that prioritizing work above all else does not end up being productive or happy for me in the end.
I don’t think I’ve ever been able to work through actual depression. But more minor or time-limited depression, or even burnout, if I can’t take time off, I have found I can work through, and I use the same strategies for standard low-motivation days or days when it’s just hard to get started or days when I’m scatterbrained or overwhelmed or can’t get myself to focus—Mondays, or days when I intend to work on a challenging task, or Tuesdays or Wednesdays or Thursdays or Fridays.
Here are ten strategies I use to work through burnout or mild depression or scatterbrainedness and other low-motivation moments—
I. Make it a priority to take good care of yourself.
Sometimes when I am having trouble focusing it helps me to first go through a checklist of my basic needs as an organism with a corporeal form:
drink a glass of water (1 minute)
clean my space, especially the space where I will be working—this tends to be speedier than I expect and have an outsized effect on how put-together I feel (5-30 minutes)
light exercise, like a jog if the weather is nice or spinning the stationary bike if the weather is not nice (10-20 minutes)
eat a nice meal, especially a nice, large breakfast—preferably something with protein, carbs, fat, and some fruit and/or vegetables (20 minutes)
get enough sleep, ideally in one big-but-not-too-big chunk at night like a respectable adult human person (hours and hours)
This is my list of things I need to do to feel physically well. Maybe you have other things you need to do to feel physically well.
All of this takes some time, but I always feel at least a little better after going through it, even if I can only get myself to go through two or three of these items. The time it takes to do everything other than sleep is usually a few hours, which is a lot less time than I am capable of losing to unproductive unhappy scattered feelings. Even if I step away from productivity entirely and spend a day on this list and nothing else, I am usually far more productive with far less struggle when I return the next day.
One month when I was feeling very stuck I found the Fabulous app to be helpful in reminding me to prioritize my health and giving me nice little dopamine rewards for doing some of the above things.
I use Headspace for meditation. I like that there are meditation series, which give me some continuity and a feeling that I am building something, as well one-off meditations on specific topics that I might want to focus on in a given moment. I also like that I can customize the length of time I would like to meditate, because sometimes I feel up for meditating for ten minutes and sometimes I am only up for meditating for three minutes. Lately, I have been meditating on the commuter rail on my way to or from work.
Here are some photos of my fancy breakfasts:
I like pickles and brie as a combination, or brie and chopped prunes, or brussels sprouts chopped small and fried, or oats with bananas and blueberries or bananas and cinnamon, or oatmeal with jam, or toast with butter, or an omelet with some vegetables, or some deli turkey, or maybe some chocolate or some berries.
If you like pancakes and you like oatmeal and you think you might enjoy a combination of pancakes and oatmeal, here is a recipe I like:
Mash a banana, the more overripe the better.
Mix in an egg until you can’t tell the banana and egg apart.
Add between half a cup and a cup and a half of oats, or however much that the mixture looks to be about the consistency in the photo below and more or less kind of has some structure.
Add a bunch of cinnamon, however much cinnamon is the amount of cinnamon you like (I like cinnamon).
Heat some olive oil on a pan on medium heat.
Spoon some of the oat mixture onto the pan. I like to make four pancakes at a time.
Once the bottoms are solid enough that the pancakes can be flipped (you can tell by looking at the edges or poking under them with a spatula), flip them. Once the new bottoms are solid enough again, transfer to a plate.
Repeat until you’re out of oat mixture or patience.
I don’t usually make it through the entire amount in one meal, so I usually end up storing leftover cooked pancakes for the next day’s breakfast or snack.
This is a tricksy food. It does not seem like a large meal, but the dry-ish oats keep expanding once they’re in your stomach and absorbing moisture and you can feel nice and full for a long time and trick yourself into eating a good amount if eating is a challenge at the moment—and a banana and oats and an egg are not the worst thing to eat a lot of.
II. Clarify your goals.
The point of this exercise is take the disorganized, scary, overwhelming pile of tasks in your brain (or at least that is the natural shape of tasks in my brain) and convert them into an organized, approachable, actionable system that is not overwhelming and is actually usable.
Digitally (easy to edit) or on paper (no distractions), write out everything you need to do or would like to do. This can be a very long list, and that is okay.
Decide which things can possibly be delayed or dropped, including meetings on your calendar. When I feel very overwhelmed, removing things from my plate helps me feel much better rather quickly. Send quick messages to the people who are counting on you for those things or are planning to meet with you and ask for extensions or to reschedule. This can be challenging, but do it and do it quickly and move on. People are usually very amenable to delays or reschedulings if those delays or reschedulings are clearly communicated and do not happen too often.
Decide which things you would like to focus on today. Make this set of things small and not overwhelming, maybe just one or two things. (You can always add more things later, if you get these done.) I recommend starting with things that are weighing on you—for me, that’s things that I have external pressure to complete, things that I worry I will let someone down by not doing. From these, start with the fastest things, because getting them done will feel like a weight off your shoulders and remove a bit of suffering and that will make the next task or set of tasks easier and the next day happier.
Start a new document or chunk of document with just those few things you are focusing on today. Write out in detail and in order every step you need to take in order to complete the tasks, breaking the tasks down into the smallest possible steps—small like “find and download file X,” or “write a paragraph about Y.”
Emphasize (highlight or make to have a dark font) those tasks that you can do now, that don’t depend on other tasks. De-emphasize (cover up or make to have a light font) those tasks that depend on things that haven’t happened yet.
This is your to-do list. Hopefully it is composed of small, doable tasks, and doesn’t contain any big tasks or big-picture goals. Try not to think about things that are not on this list.
I go through this process about weekly, on Sunday night or Monday morning, adjusting it as the week goes on or I gain new tasks or new information about my tasks or priorities. During the week I select small tasks from my large, digital to-do list for my daily, pen-and-paper to-do lists.
III. Reinforce your reward system.
I try to give myself some nice dopamine whenever I complete a task or move in a direction that I find productive or which contributes to my goals. The primary way I do this is in my to-do list notebook. My to-do list notebook is sacred to me. I buy a new one every year, identical but in a new color, and I carry it everywhere.
Every morning, or the night before if I can manage, I make a list of my tasks for the day, work tasks in a column on the left and self-care or other non-work tasks on the right. I include things I want to do that are not tasks but which I want to make sure I make time for, like calling my family or reading a chapter of a novel or building a Lego with my partner Cory. I write this list with my fancy flowy pens.
Every day, I select a gel pen for the day, sometimes a sparkly gel pen with glitter in the ink. I use the day’s gel pen to cross out tasks I complete. I cross out each task three times, with three lines, so I get to experience the joy of crossing out the task multiple times. When I complete a task that was not only on today’s list but also unfinished on a previous day’s list, I cross it out from each list it appears on, which means I get an extra rewards for completing a task that has taken me multiple days (or weeks) to get myself to do.
When I complete a task that brings me closer to a larger goal that is important to me, like a paper or another project I am working on, I give myself a shiny star. I also give myself a shiny star when I complete a task that is an important and challenging self-care task, like exercising or meditating. I stick the star in an empty part of the day’s page in my to-do list notebook, next to my to-do list. I write a short description of what I did to earn the star and I draw an arrow from the description to the star I earned.
I try to give myself my sparkly task cross-outs and star stickers as immediately as possible after I have completed a task, to make sure I associate the reward with the task.
I keep my to-do list notebook open next to my laptop all day as I work. Throughout the day I like to look over at my list and look at how nicely my gel pen cross-outs glitter in the light and how nicely my stars shine in the light. It is extra nice to get to see all my progress as glitter and sparkle; it is very, very satisfying.
In undergrad at MIT I kept my to-do lists in Habitica, formerly known as HabitRPG. You create a little virtual pixelated avatar. You list out your tasks on the site and when you complete your tasks your virtual avatar is rewarded. You can earn pretty outfits for your avatar and you can earn cute pixelated pets or steeds, some of them very exotic and fun, like octopuses (a famously exotic and fun animal) or mammoths and baby mammoths. You can go on special quests, which can last days or longer. It’s very motivating and fun. Habitica was very popular in my very nerdy dorm, Random Hall, and got me through a lot of challenging and overwhelming weeks at MIT. Habitica is also cited by one of my favorite authors, Mary Robinette Kowal, in the acknowledgments section of her latest book, The Relentless Moon.
Here is my Habitica avatar:
For some reason, another thing I have found helpful is Animal Crossing. I didn’t play video games as a child and am now very bad at them, but I do play Animal Crossing (and it is the only video game I play). I like that Animal Crossing rewards me immediately for doing small tasks. Somehow the feeling transfers over to real life—especially when the real-life thing I am doing feels like a slog with a distant or intangible reward, playing Animal Crossing seems to retrain my brain to remember that I should feel rewarded when I make progress. I found Animal Crossing bizarrely helpful for my motivation when I was studying for my qualifying exam, which felt endless. It’s an effect beyond just feeling refreshed from taking a break—Animal Crossing seems to remind me that positive feedback is possible and that I am capable of completing tasks.
Here I am being a grad student obsessed with little libraries and being comfy with books in Animial Crossing just like in real life. I am full of exactly no surprises.
IV. Rolling for Initiative: remove decisions.
We call this strategy Rolling for Initiative. I do it almost every day. I learned it from friends from MIT. It is one of my favorites.
I find Rolling for Initiative to be day-saving on days when I feel overwhelmed and can’t figure out how to prioritize, or when I feel unproductive and can’t get myself to feel willing to do anything. Sometimes, the thing that is holding me back from starting a task is that either the decision to start a task or the decision of which particular task to start becomes a huge hurdle. Often (almost always), the actual choice made matters a lot less than that some choice is made—and that there is some forward movement.
First, I make a list of the tasks I need to do, usually by clarifying my goals using the previous two methods. I make this list in my sacred to-do list notebook (above), but you can make your list anywhere. This list always also includes non-work and non-urgent tasks and self-care, like cleaning or laundry or meditation.
I also add activities that I am genuinely interested in doing, like reading a book or going outside for a walk.
Looking through my list, I identify the six tasks or activities that I find the most tolerable at the moment, that I actually feel able to engage in from whatever happens to be my current state. I number these tasks one through six. If I am not able to identify six tasks that feel tolerable, I give the most tolerable-feeling tasks two numbers.
I roll a dice. Whatever number it lands on is the task or activity I engage in.
I use my partner Cory’s fancy DnD and board game dice. I use a new die every day. It is a fun ritual to select the die that feels best today (and matches my to-do list gel pen for the day). Sometimes I have more than six tasks I want to choose from all at once (or selecting six tasks is itself too challenging a decision), and then I like to use a die with more faces.
Here is our very modest dice collection:
V. Group tasks with similar tasks or with things you enjoy.
Like in Rolling for Initiative, the goal here is to do whatever it takes to remove the challenge of starting a task.
If possible, pair something you don’t want to do with something you do want to do. If Cory and I want to run but also really don’t want to, we run to a nice destination. When we lived in Cambridge, Cory and I ran to Union Square Donuts once a week on the weekends. We ran and we got donuts at the end. I also pair laundry or cleaning or exercise with television. Lately I have been watching documentaries: on eugenics and Prohibition and Mark Twain and Hemingway and tuberculosis. If I’m watching a documentary it is easier to exercise or clean or do another task that does not actually require my eyes and ears.
You can also decrease the challenge of starting a task by removing the “start” part of it by tacking it onto the end of a similar task. If you need to write a bunch of emails, write a bunch of emails, instead of writing each email on its own. Task-switching is really hard for me—I find it a lot easier to do a task that is similar to the preceding task I did. (Of course, if “write a bunch of emails” as a task is overwhelming, then maybe just write one.)
VI. Schedule as many tasks as you can.
You can also make it easier to start a task by turning it into a routine. Where possible, try to do things at about the same time or in the same sequence every day. If you run or go for a walk right before lunch, then it becomes easier to do it. It helps remove the decision, which makes it much easier to get started.
One way to do this is to schedule something with other people.
VII. Join or form an accountability group.
On weekdays I meet up with a group of other trainees over zoom for a little more than an hour at 9:30am. We are all overscheduled, so there are between two and four of us on any given day, and there are four of us in total. We start by asking each other how the previous day went and setting goals for the following 45 minutes. Then we leave the zoom meeting and work independently on the goals we set. We meet back up at 10:30 and report on how the 45 minutes went. Finally, we set goals for the rest of the day. In addition to setting productive goals, we also try to each set a wellness goal.
On my least productive days, I don’t get anything done after our meeting ends, but at least I move forward during that hour. Accountability group usually breaks through the difficulty of starting work in the morning and always breaks through the difficulty of starting work for the week. While I still have days when I don’t get much done, the stretch of “dark” time is much shorter. I no longer have entire weeks when I don’t make progress toward my goals.
Accountability group has also made me better at setting realistic goals and estimating how long a task will take. I get daily practice setting both 45-minute goals and goals for a day.
Not to mention that the group has become my very good friends and an important part of my support network, and that I look forward to us seeing each other and starting our day together.
VIII. Pomodoro.
Pomodoro is also helpful for getting me to start working on a task (or start working at all). In the Pomodoro technique, you work for a set length of time (I set my sprints to 20 minutes). Then you take a break for a short amount of time (I set my breaks to 5 minutes). Then you work, then you take a break, and so on. After a certain number of sprints, you get to take a longer break (I set my long breaks to 15 minutes). During your sprints, you turn on “do not disturb,” don’t open email or social media, and put your phone away. It is much easier for me to resist distractions when I know I can be comfortably distracted by them without guilt in 20 minutes.
Pomodoro means that instead of approaching a whole task, I approach the concept of working on it for 20 minutes. Sometimes it is easier for me to convince myself to work on a large or ambiguous task for 20 minutes than it is to convince myself to work on it until some benchmark, especially if the task is ambiguous enough that there aren’t any benchmarks. Those 20 minutes are usually enough time for me to become engaged in a task (and then I just keep working), understand an ambiguous task enough that I can break it down into well-defined smaller tasks or ask for help, and identify and possibly resolve the barriers that were making the task difficult to approach.
I use the Be Focused desktop app. I like that I can make a to-do list and select which item I am focusing on for a sprint, and I like that the app tracks how many sprints I have dedicated to each task. I also like the sounds it makes. My friends from accountability group recommend the Bear Focus Timer app.
IX. Do as much of a task as you’re willing to do.
Sometimes a task is too large for me to feel willing to do, even if it is not a large task. Sometimes I’m able to make progress by being okay with doing one small part of the task, whatever that small part is. For example, I might not feel up for doing laundry, but I can get myself to put all the laundry in my laundry bag and leave the laundry bag by the door. Or cleaning the kitchen might feel impossible, but cleaning a small part of the kitchen feels doable. Or I might feel up for working on something for just 15 minutes, and then I let myself work on it for just 15 minutes and pick it back up later. At least it is progress and that is what matters.
X. Schedule breaks, accept your needs, and give yourself time.
Finally, I find it helpful for my productivity to not be productive all the time. I think it is important to schedule breaks. I think it is very important that these breaks are scheduled—that they happen regardless of whether or not you have completed your tasks and that they are not something you have to earn. During these breaks, you should do things you actually enjoy, not things you think you should enjoy. (I once again recommend Animal Crossing.)
In addition to vacations, I give myself a break for a full day every week by observing Shabbat: every week, I try not to work between sunset on Friday until after sunset on Saturday. I don’t observe particularly strictly, but I try to only do the things I genuinely want to do and I try not to do or even think about anything related to my job. I also write planned breaks and other things I am looking forward to into the monthly calendar view of my to-do list notebook.
Similarly, often when I am having trouble motivating myself to be productive (especially if it’s not the start of the week), I just need a break, preferably guilt-free. It is hard to face that I am not going to be productive for some chunk of time when I had hoped to work, but feeling guilty and struggling usually is not as pleasant or productive an experience as calling it earlier and trying again in a few hours or the next morning.
Things you can purchase:
As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases. This blog post includes links with my Amazon referral code. If you click one and buy something, I get about 4% of the price as commission. You don’t have to buy these things from Amazon—actually, you don’t have to buy these things at all. You can also support me by buying merch of my art, by buying me a campground store decaf coffee, or by simply reading and enjoying. Thank you!
My sacred to-do list notebook is a Moleskine daily planner, this year in green. (I buy whatever color is cheapest in December, which gives me a nice variety of colors from year to year.)
I write my to-do lists with black 0.5 mm uni-ball pens. I also use these pens for line art, and otherwise I do not use them. They are my sacred to-do list and art pens.
I cross out completed to-do list items with gel pens, usually but not always glittery. I keep them in their nice carrying case they came in. I took out the ones I didn’t love (and left them in a little library) so that my daily choice of gel pen would not have any possible wrong answers. I do not use these gel pens for anything other than for crossing out to-do list items. They are my sacred to-do list gel pens.
Possibly the coolest thing that’s happened to me, definitely the coolest thing that’s happened to me professionally, is getting to be a part of a project that not only got to be in Cell, but also got to be on the cover of Cell. In this blog post, I want to tell you about the process that created that cover, because it’s very different from anything else that has happened to me and I think it went extraordinarily well.
We worked with Thought Café, whom you might recognize because they also illustrate CrashCourse videos. We worked with Julia Nadeau, Head of Production, and with amazing illustrator Eric Diotte—check out Eric’s instagram and web site:
A few of us (Katie S., Gage, Bronwyn, Danny, Steve S., and I) from deep in the science of the project on the Broad side of the collaboration met and brainstormed as a group before engaging the illustration team. This was a very fun meeting—we all pitched ideas for the cover and riffed off each other. After our brainstorming session, I sent an initial email to the illustration team. In this initial email, I included:
I also included a summary of our group’s initial brainstorming—
Looking at existing Cell covers, we think we’re going to want to go for something more abstract, with mostly metaphorical connection to the work and with some elements added in literally.
(Can you tell I love Escher?)
The one thing I did not include but should have included is examples of existing Cell covers that we liked. (Julia asked for links to existing Cell covers and we provided them in a follow-up email.)
Initial Sketches
Because we had brainstormed ahead of time, Eric already had sketches of the four most promising of our ideas ready for our initial meeting.
We talked through each of the four:
In A, a dandelion flower has SARS-CoV-2 virions in place of the seeds. Its seeds, the SARS-CoV-2 virions, blow off the flower and into the air; in the background are rolling hills of many, many dandelion flowers.
In B, a tree has many dense branches (like a phylogenetic tree of an outbreak) and roots made of genetic material, with SARS-CoV-2 virions growing like flowers on its branches and appearing in the air around it.
In C, a wave represents the different “waves” of COVID, SARS-CoV-2 virions appearing in the foam.
In D, colorful wildflowers shaped like SARS-CoV-2 virions represents the many introductions of Delta into the outbreak; in the background are fields of identical flowers showing that only one plant had taken over, one Delta introduction accounting for most of the outbreak.
Eric modified the dandelions live during our meeting, confining them to a bubble to convey that the Ptown outbreak was successfully contained.
At this stage the dandelions were my personal favorite because I love dandelions as a metaphor for pretty much anything, but the dandelions were getting complicated in their bubble and they didn’t neatly fit the actual messages we wanted to convey. We couldn’t decide on a favorite as a group, so we polled the covid side of the lab over slack to choose between the two top contenders, Hokusai and the dandelions. Hokusai was of course a very clear winner.
Revision and Final Version
Having chosen our overall vision of Hokusai’s Delta wave, we then went through a series of (very) fast revisions with Eric and Julia. Eric revised, Julia sent us the revisions, we discussed internally and suggested, Eric revised, and so on. This was a very collaborative and iterative process: seeing the image converge in the direction of its final form made that direction much clearer, and in almost all cases, we didn’t know what we wanted until we saw something almost but not quite there. The final, polished version looks like this:
I’m very proud of this image. Eric did an extraordinary job, and every detail is something special to us. Here is the write-up I sent Cell describing each of the details:
This cover is a reference to Hokusai’s The Great Wave off Kanagawa—in this case illustrating instead the SARS-CoV-2 Delta wave in Provincetown, Massachusetts. In “Transmission from vaccinated individuals in a large SARS-CoV-2 Delta variant outbreak,” we use genomic sequencing to learn from the first wave of the Delta variant in Massachusetts, which resulted in a large outbreak in the coastal tourist town of Provincetown. The proposed cover image shows waves containing SARS-CoV-2 virions crashing into a lighthouse. The lighthouse shines a light at the waves, illuminating the single-stranded RNA genomes in the SARS-CoV-2 virions. In this illustration, the waves represent waves of the Delta variant, while the lighthouse represents Provincetown, the site of the outbreak we studied. The light emanating from the lighthouse represents genomic sequencing. The wave that is illuminated, or sequenced, is the first wave approaching Provincetown; it represents the Provincetown outbreak, which was the first wave of Delta in Massachusetts. The Provincetown outbreak was not the largest wave of Delta in Massachusetts, and so the illuminated wave in the illustration is similarly closely followed by another, larger wave. The water to the right of the waves is calm, to signify that Provincetown had very few COVID-19 cases before the outbreak. The lighthouse itself recreates the distinct and consistent coloration and silhouette of the real lighthouses in Provincetown.
The man living alone in the $4 million mansion across the street has over the past month gradually accumulated not one, not two, but six Christmas trees, at least, with lights and decorations on all the trees and outdoor lights on all his trees and fences outside, which he doesn’t have on a timer, like I thought he would, but turns on by hand every day at sunset, and garlands and strings of lights on the stairs and walls, lit up like a Christmas Gatsby mansion projecting green and red and blue and yellow onto the road when it rains at night, a million tiny colorful moons reflecting off our little river of a street. Every day he sits alone in his home office on the other side of the house facing the main road until dark, when the sun sets and the dark sets in and he sits in the dark lit up by his computer screen and then walks through the house and around the house turning on all the lights and makes dinner in the big open kitchen behind the big bay window with one of the larger trees, which has a nearly identical tree of just slightly smaller size situated precisely above it like an axis of cheer crossing the ceiling through the next floor up. That tree is the one he had last year, too, and the year before it, and usually he leaves it up for months into the new year. (Usually it’s just the one—the profusion of lights inside and outside is a new development, just for this year, or at least hasn’t been around when I’ve been in town, and I’m always not by now.)
This is my first winter break away from my family and my first winter break with my Cambridge family. Our roommate goes to work and my partner Cory goes to work a few days a week and I work remotely from home and occasionally go to the grocery store. We watch movies and TV shows and we cook elaborate meals and we undersleep and oversleep and stress out about work. We go for walks at least once a day on most days. Sometimes we drive around.
Here is our Christmas tree, which we got from Ricky’s Flower Market in Union Square. It is small, because our apartment is small and also because we are hoping that if it lives through the winter and the weight of the decorations we’ve burdened it with we might plant it someplace where it can live a good life.
Another cheerful Christmas thing we did was to send out Christmas cards. They looked like this:
—All very strange. It bothers me that the couples-jacuzzi one has the marshmallows literally skewered. Most menacing is the marshmallow face melted into the hot chocolate surrounded by little marshmallow body parts floating next to it, and more marshmallow body parts on the ground by the cup. (I am also bothered by the happy messages inside reflecting for the reader how lovely it is to spend Christmas with family, in a year when most people safely can’t.)
These aren’t the Christmas cards we ordered. Shortly before Christmas we got a Christmas card from Cory’s uncle, which was very classy and nice and made us very happy and also regretful that we had nothing prepared to send to give those same good feelings in return. We ordered some Christmas cards with cute animals on them. (I like to optimize and look at every option before making a choice, but Cory saw them and knew he liked them and we bought them right away without evaluating other options, which is a new feeling for me.) We got these instead. Cory decided that we should salvage the whole situation by including hot chocolate and stickers (two stamps for two ounces almost exactly!). They turned out nice.
The actual process was a very fun assembly line, perfect as a background task during a movie. It reminded me a lot of our lab’s holiday card assembly lines, only while doing them just the two of us I got to do every stage myself, which was fun. Cory writes pithy and clever messages that make people laugh. I write really long and heartfelt and far less funny messages, which takes a lot more time, signing some or most of the cards: “Wishing you and yours health, safety, love, cheer—and maybe even happiness.” Here is one early stage of our assembly line:
Christmas card giving seems to have increased this year, or at least it feels like it has. We got five Christmas cards! I am going to be using two of them as proof of residency for a parking permit. I do not think we usually get five Christmas cards.
The week before Christmas we had a magical snowstorm (like a foot of snow) and our first time shoveling cars and even sidewalks, which was great exercise and a lot of fun. It was the kind of snow that makes the sky pink at night and makes our usual streets feel unfamiliar and quiet and perfect, and everyone says hi when we pass each other even though we don’t usually do that and don’t know each other at all. I bought shovels the night before, and then I got up before sunrise and I got to spend most of the whole day outside, with breaks to get warm and change my socks and gloves. In the morning it was just me and the plows and the snow falling and the light beams from the plows made gorgeous lighthouse light beams through the dense snow falling. A few people were skiing. There was an incident with a FedEx truck that got stuck in the snow and shredded a parked car. I got to see a family of rats playing in the snow, which was actually delightful. It was overall an eventful day.
On Christmas Eve we went for a long walk during the day and again at night to look at everyone’s lights in our neighborhood and the nearby neighborhoods. We called our families and opened presents, then Cory made a lasagna by a new recipe and I fell asleep on the couch, and then he fell asleep and we burned the lasagna and that whole experience reminded me a bit much of undergrad. (We did end up trying what was between the top layer of burn and the bottom layer of burn and it must have been a very good lasagna.) The next day was warm and raining, which melted most of the remaining snow, and we had a lovely warm walk under the rain looking at lights in other neighborhoods and then when it got too cold and windy we went home and opened our presents to each other and made duck by another new recipe, which we did not burn and which turned out wonderfully, and watched Christmas movies and built wintry Lego sets. The day after we drove to a friend’s empty apartment for a change in environment and did a virtual Secret Santa with Cory’s friends from high school and looked at Christmas lights in another neighborhood. My Secret Santa got me a candle called Exhilarating, which in this case means peppermint and rosemary, a sugar scrub called Exhilarating, which in this case means peppermint, rosemary, coconut oil, almond oil, and shea butter and is apparently not edible despite tasting delicious, and honey and almond and olive oil soap that is not called Exhilarating—all very lovely smells, the former two of which give me the same good feeling as one time when I accidentally got mint toothpaste in my eye.
I really like American Christmas. I don’t think any of us expected it when we moved here, because Christmas in Russia (at least in the Orthodox church) happens on the Julian calendar two weeks later and is a purely religious holiday, and the usual Christmas things—the presents and the party and the tree with the lights on it—are all New Year’sthings to us. My mom likes to tell me that our first year in America, in Chicago, I, probably not yet fully speaking English but apparently already properly indoctrinated into the tradition of the American Christmas, was the one to pull the rest of the family into the proper ritual. On Christmas, which was going to be a regular day for us, I said: “But where are the presents? Aren’t we inviting everyone? Mom, don’t you know it’s Christmas?” Mom took me to the store and we picked out presents for the other recent Russian immigrant children living in our neighborhood, and we invited our small immigrant fold and had a lovely last-minute American Christmas party in Russian and everyone had a lovely time.
My most special memories of Christmas music in particular are from Chicago on an outdoor ice rink that doesn’t exist anymore, where I used to skate twice a week from right after school until late in the evening. My mom used to pick me up from school and drive me to the rink with dinner in a tupperware I’d eat on the drive while doing my homework, and then I had karate lessons sometimes and then a few hours of downtime on the rink, then skating lessons, then more skating until Mom was done with work and ready to pick me up, and sometimes she’d skate with me too. I loved skating. The rink was downtown, hidden from the road between tall buildings, and was never crowded even when the other rinks were. A lot of the time the staff played Christmas songs over the big outdoor speakers and sometimes the snow fell while I skated. Whenever I hear certain older Christmas songs that is what I think of, the snow falling and the cold air and the taste of blood from the cold and the pink sky and the tall Chicago downtown just barely darker than the night sky all around me and above me with its beautiful lights.
I miss my family, especially after Skype calls and missed messages that should be days and meals and adventures lived together in person. I just couldn’t justify risking the rest of our winters for this one.
The lesson, if there is one, I guess is to prioritize and be grateful for your health and the health of your loved ones and to make the best of what you have.
As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases. The rest of this blog post includes links with my Amazon referral code. If you click one and buy something, I get about 4% of the price as commission. You don’t have to buy these things from Amazon—actually, you don’t have to buy these things at all. You can also support me by buying merch of my art, by buying me a campground store decaf coffee, or by simply reading and enjoying. Thank you!
The Christmas cards we actually bought were these. The Christmas cards we received were these, and the roll of stickers I bought was this one. It isn’t too late to send cards. You can say they got lost, or that you’re feeling Russian and your cards are meant to arrive by New Year’s.
If you like them, my Christmas lights are these, which I also own in Halloween colors, and my icicles are these. (I also really like these curtain lights, which I bought for my parents in off-white and for a friend in off-white and pink.) The combination of the icicles and colorful lights, reflecting off the wall and off and through the icicles, especially at night, gives a very nice effect of a snowy-rainy street in the winter, and makes it feel like there might be cozy snow and adventure outside even if the snow is melted or it’s raining instead. Bonus points if you arrange the lights around and behind winter Lego sets. Extra bonus points if you build the winter Lego sets while watching some classic American Christmas movies.
My parents got us skis, for which I’m counting down the days until our next big snowstorm (there were a few people skiing on the road in the early morning when it was just the plows and few adventurers and me). I got them a portable-ish pull-up bar that seemed pretty similar to ours, two cozy candles, and a wintry 3d puzzle and a salt-tree activity. Cory got me a book of Taylor Swift songs adapted to the piano, which I think I will just write the notes in because I still can’t sightread and life is too short to not play songs I want to play, and a watercolors and paper set with paper small enough to be a low-pressure art commitment, which is very important to me (unless I’m drawing something very special and fancy I always fold the page I’m drawing on in half first to make it less scary). Our friend in Florida sent us a box of starfruit from her backyard, which is a hilarious contrast to the weather here.
My Secret Santa asked for baking things and for a candle and said they like beach things, which in New England means something that got washed up and raked over the rocks in the cold, so I got them this driftwood candle and a danish dough whisk and a lame and a really exciting cookbook of bread recipes. Last winter Cory and I took a no-kneed baking class at Harvard that changed our lives, and the recipes from the class were based on those in that book. A lame is a special tool for carving designs into the bread, and is actually what gave away that I was that person’s Secret Santa—they were opening parts of the present and started opening the razors and I had to warn them that those were razors and to please not open them any further in a manner that was appropriate only for things that aren’t razors. (I also got Cory that same book and a lame, with a similar worry about the razors, and I’m very excited to try carving fancy patterns into our breads.)
This year’s present that I am most proud of was to two children of a close lifelong friend, one of whom I met when they were very young and one of whom I’ve only seen on Facebook. I got them a fancy hardcover Fortunately, the Milk by Neil Gaiman, which has absolutely gorgeous black-and-white illustrations, and crayons to color them with. A really good, funny book with beautiful illustrations is a very nice present, I think, especially if it comes with permission to color.
Here are ten nice presents to give to someone you’re not sure how to give presents to, perhaps because they’re your Secret Santa and you don’t know them that well:
Tiny notebooks. Everyone needs tiny notebooks. They can write down their ideas, or their todo lists, or five nice things that happened to them that day, or their unwritten novel. If you’d like, you can suggest things you think they might like to write, and they may or may not follow your suggestions. Texture is important here, and the line type and spacing. Get them something that is pleasant and interesting to hold and has classy thin lines or even a grid.
Nice inky pens. I like these pens, which are my favorites, for todo lists and fancy or important writing and art, and I like these pens, which I used to borrow from lab, for flowy-mind, lower pressure writing. It’s most important that the ink flows nicely. If the person you are shopping for has a favorite color that you know about, you can get them pens in their favorite color and they’ll probably like that.
Little circle sleds. A lot of adults in cities don’t have sleds, or space for sleds. I couldn’t find a satisfactory modern American version of the little butt sled I had as a kid (as well as an actual, much larger sled). A little butt sled is not as fun as a real sled but it’s very easy to store and transport, and is much better than having no sled at all. If you buy them several they can bring a friend or you can keep one.
Nice candles and fancy soaps. A nice way to gift a smell. Texture is also valuable here, albeit secondary. It’s nice to get them something varied and interesting, like a soap with little oats in it or a candle with coffee beans on the sides. Take care not to get anything containing lavender or tea tree oil (which is sad because I love tea tree oil, and still use it even though I know I shouldn’t) if the product is meant to go on the skin.
A star finder, which can tell you what stars are in the sky at any given moment. (Stellarium is even better, but not as portable.)
Hot chocolate, which almost everyone likes and which is apparently available online mostly in absurd quantities. (If they don’t like hot chocolate, they definitely at least like someone who does.)
A book you really like, maybe with a custom bookmark you drew or post-it notes on your favorite pages with some notes on why you liked that part. Don’t write in the book itself, maybe, in case they don’t like it and want to sell it later.
A nice teacup, maybe with a little saucer for it. My grandmother on my mom’s side sometimes gives me nice teacups. They all make me very happy every time I want to feel fancy, and someday maybe I’ll have tea parties. I like to occasionally gift people flowering tea. Tea is a low-stress gift you can give a person lots of times, which is nice.
A nice potted plant that is not too likely to die soon. Plants are nice. Bonus points if you made or decorated the pot, or if you put some special rocks from a special beach or haunted warehouse or other special destination on the surface of the soil, or if the plant is a clipping from a larger plant of yours that you particularly like or particularly don’t like or if the soil contains the ashes of their enemies, delivered as a message of goodwill for the coming new year and a release of your debts. Hopefully they don’t think of the plant as a metaphor for your relationship.
Here are ten things you probably shouldn’t give people:
A copy of your dissertation, probably—especially if you don’t know that person that well, especially if that person is not your thesis advisor or otherwise on your committee (because if they are your thesis advisor or otherwise on your committee then a copy of your dissertation would actually be a very good present).
A book you don’t like, with a note saying you do like it, with the absolute worst and most boring parts highlighted—with real highlighter marks so they can’t resell it to buy something nicer.
Their dissertation, with lots of comments in red—especially if they’ve already graduated but still have nightmares about grad school.
Pencils with the lead pre-broken inside, probably.
Someone else’s dissertation.
A plane ticket, given the pandemic.
A surprise visit (or any kind of visit), given the pandemic.
A blank notebook with “Your Dissertation” written on the cover. In fact, I find this potential gift so distasteful and cruel that I made one really quick that you can buy online. Here are two blank notebooks (click the images), one with “Your Dissertation” written on the cover and one with “Your Thesis” written on the cover:
You can also get them as clocks or drink coasters if that would upset you more, or magnets or stickers or postcards or t-shirts or mugs or laptop cases or clothes for your child or blankets and pillows to hug at night or the smallest zipper bag.
Live bugs, like 1000 mealworms or 1500 ladybugs (pretty much the only thing worse than a blank notebook with “Your Dissertation” written on the cover).
Wishing you and yours health, safety, love, cheer—and maybe even happiness.
L. A. K. 
