"Research languages seem to focus on only one question. Rust focuses on ownership types. I'm not sure if they're useful or not. They 'deform the code' and I don't know whether it's worth it."
It amuses me to see people looking at Rust and concluding that it focuses on ownership types, because when I started working on Rust, less than two years ago, it didn't have ownership types at all. When I started on the Rust team as an intern, I thought that Rust was centrally about investigating the usefulness of typestate. (In Rust, typestate was a system of assertions that were visible to the typechecker but relied on dynamic checks for soundness. We removed it long ago.)
But later, the team decided to get rid of typestate, and add ownership types. I think the decision to add ownership types happened during the three months in between the end of my internship and the start of my full-time employment at Mozilla, and I didn't pay a lot of attention while I was on leave. But, my understanding is that the decision got made not because anybody said "I really want to do research on ownership types", but because all of the other options had been exhausted. Way, way back in the day, Rust had neither automatic GC nor ownership types. It only had automatic reference counting (that the compiler manages for you), which necessitated a cycle collector that never quite got finished. But ref-counting everything just added too much overheard. Everyone figured that GCing everything would also add too much overheard. So that left what's known in the programing languages literature as "regions", though we've come to call them "lifetimes" instead.
Also, calling Rust a research language is funny to me because -- as its name reflects -- we've tried hard to avoid incorporating new technology into it. We haven't always succeeded at failing to be novel, but we have a rule of thumb of not including any ideas in the language that are new as of the past ten years of programming language research. The field of programming language is full of old technology that hasn't been put to use in solving problems that it's exactly suited for. The goals with Rust were to avoid reinventing wheels, and see what the past had to teach us. I can't blame anyone for thinking Rust is a research language, though, since it is being developed by Mozilla Research.
But anyway, back to ownership types. Sometimes, people new to Rust say that having three different sorts of pointers is complicated, and do we really need to have that? There was a recent thread on the rust-dev mailing list about whether Rust's syntax is "intimidating" for newcomers, and a large part of that discussion was about the syntax for ownership types. Part of the source of the original confusion had to do with explicit type declarations that weren't really necessary, that were only present to work around a bug in the compiler (that got fixed later). It's hard to say much more without an example, so here is one.
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pseudomonas pointed out that the corpus used here is a bit weird, but constraints are fun, so I'm going to roll with it anyway.Encouraging socialization in a way that includes everyone would also be helpful. Of course, most departments already have social events. In my department at Berkeley, when I was there, the CS grad students' group organized a weekly reception. However, faculty members rarely attended; the professor who I saw there most frequently seemed to stay just long enough to snag some free food. I was part of the CS grad students' group at Portland State, and over time, students stopped attending our events, even when we offered free food; it's not clear why. In contrast, in my ex-partner's department at Berkeley -- mathematics -- the department had a tea/coffee hour every afternoon, which a department assistant organized (the job wasn't pushed onto students) and was very well-attended by both students and faculty. Just having social events is not a be-all and end-all, since some students won't feel comfortable in large groups and some people always get left out, but it's a start. Of course, offering free food can help, and provides an excuse to go for someone who is reluctant to socialize.
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In my experience, it seems that being told you're welcome and that you belong is sort of like water if you're a fish: when you have it, you don't notice it. It's only when these things are absent that you do notice. I blamed myself for their absence, because that's what I've always been taught to do. I attributed my failure at Berkeley to my own incompetence, and it didn't occur to me until years later to think about how my environment contributed to my failure to thrive there. I got ignored. The other grad students in my group and cohort socialized with each other; I just got left out. Since I was being perceived as female at the time, I think this had something to do with the fact that I was perceived as not a peer (because I wasn't male) and not sexually available (since I was married) -- therefore, to most of my fellow students, I was useless.
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As for most new Ph.D students in the US, my first year at Berkeley consisted mostly of coursework, and that was what I was used to, so for the most part it went smoothly. At the end of the year, it should have been a warning sign when nobody wanted to be my advisor. One professor I talked to -- the one I'd mentioned in my statement of purpose as who I wanted to work with, and who encouraged me to come to Berkeley when I visited during prospective student day -- said "no" outright, saying he wasn't interested in what I wanted to study (functional programming languages). Another one didn't say no, but had a reputation of being someone who didn't answer email; I was hoping for someone who actually seemed interested in having a student. I ruled out two more professors who seemed close to retirement, and one more because she did scientific computing and that pushed my "I went to a liberal arts school and don't know anything" buttons too much. I ended up with an advisor who told me he was willing to advise me, but given what I was interested in doing, he wasn't going to be very involved and he would basically just be there to sign paperwork. At the time, I thought that was fine. Remember, I didn't like talking to people. I thought I would just work on my own, and that would be easy. Easier than getting up the courage to talk to somebody, anyway.
Later on, I saw it as a personal mistake to have chosen this advisor rather than looking harder for a more involved advisor, or even changing research areas. But part of why I made that decision was structural. I was socially shut out, as I'll discuss, which meant that I wasn't getting any tacit knowledge that would have helped me understand that I did need an advisor who was involved. I know this is a structural factor and not a personal issue because Barbara Lovitts talks about it in her book Leaving the Ivory Tower. That is, she discovered that a major component of grad students' success or failure is the extent to which they can use informal social networks to attain the tacit knowledge that's essential to completing almost any graduate program; faculty and staff rarely communicate this knowledge to students in any systematic way. Official lists of graduation requirements stick to course requirements and the specifications for what constitutes a dissertation -- they don't talk about the unofficial things, like having an advisor you can work with (and who has time for you) and which advisors are likely to be compatible with which kinds of people. Thus, people who find themselves misfits and outsiders in the (figurative) lunchroom in any particular department tend to get pushed out, even if they're just as able as the insiders to complete the academic requirements.
So here's where my impostor syndrome really began. ( Read more... )
"Compare the best of their days
With the worst of your days
You won't win..."
-- Morrissey
I can't remember exactly when I first encountered the term "impostor syndrome", but I know I was less than ten years old at the time, and I know where I read about it: a book called The Gifted Kid's Survival Guide. I don't think it made much of a mark on me. And knowing what it was early on didn't stop me from developing it later.
This essay is about my experiences with impostor syndrome. One of the reasons why I want to talk about these experiences is that I had them while most people in the world were seeing me as female, though I'm not female. Sometimes people tell me that my experiences are un-representative (of, I guess, anyone except me), but I think they're wrong. My experiences represent those of one person who spent 26 years moving through the world while generally being perceived to be female, albeit (often) gender-non-conforming. I say this not to lay claim to any sort of female socialization, which I didn't have; or to deny that I have male privilege (and probably had some even before I knew I was male); but because if I can say something that helps people understand what cis and trans women, as well as many trans men and genderqueer people, face in trying to find a place for themselves in male-dominated spaces (which is to say, in the world), I want that message to be understood. At the same time, I'm speaking from my position as a white trans man who doesn't have visible disabilities, was raised lower-class, and has a graduate degree and works as a software engineer. I've had it harder than some people and easier than many others, if it even makes sense to compare.
Ideally, I would like to change how historically male-dominated institutions -- specifically in this essay, computer science graduate programs -- try to integrate and welcome women as full participants. While one little blog post can't change the world, it might show a few people that the situation isn't as simple as it may look, and that has ripple effects. So I'm simply going to recount my personal history as a non-traditional learner, then undergraduate, then graduate student at Berkeley, and wherever possible try to draw connections between my experiences and larger social structures. If you remember nothing else from this essay, I hope you remember that when grad programs admit more women as students, it's not enough: to do so without extra attention to structural inequalities sets these students up for failure and actually reinforces sexism. I'll elaborate on that point in the rest of this essay.
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