My Motto for My PhD Journey: "Fjarlægðin gerir fjöllin blá."

Hvannadalshnúkur, the highest mountain peak in Iceland, in the southeastern region of the Vatnajökull National Park

Good morning all,

I've officially been in Baltimore for two weeks now and am enjoying my time here thus far (even if the late July heat has been especially ferocious). I’ve arrived pretty early, i.e., over a month prior to the start of the coming semester—my first as a PhD student at Johns Hopkins University (JHU)—with time to settle, to aimlessly wander, and to think. There’s a strange kind of stillness in this moment before the work begins in earnest, and I find myself spending quite a bit of time reflecting on how I want to carry myself into this next chapter and (ultimately) how I'd like to perpetually navigate my life as a doctoral student. I think I've decided that I'd like my motto throughout my time as a PhD student to be the following Icelandic proverb:

Fjarlægðin gerir fjöllin blá. (Distance makes the mountains blue.)

This phrase was first used in the play Fjalla-Eyvindur in 1911 by Jóhann Sigurjónsson, an Icelandic playwright and poet. In Icelandic (one of my favorite languages, might I add), it's a way of capturing how distance modulates perception and, more precisely, how things we step back from may soften, take on new hues, or become beautiful in ways we couldn’t see up close. To my knowledge, it is often used in the context of only (or most strongly) missing someone once you are no longer physically with them in the moment, only growing nostalgic for a moment after its passing, or, in some way or other, not fully recognizing the joys or merits of something until stepping back from it.

Honestly, I've been thinking a lot about this saying lately, and I quite admire its quiet wisdom. In a way, it's incredibly compelling to me, even if somewhat obvious at the same time. I know that I am the type of person who has a sort of relentless intellectual momentum—always leaning forward and reaching for resolution even when unproductive or excessively mentally taxing. It’s my instinct to immerse myself in everything I commit to—to get into the weeds, to dissect, to push, to want answers as quickly as possible, even if at the expense of inorganically rushing the process. However, this mindset, while useful in bursts, can so easily become burnout. It’s especially easy for me to mistake constant motion and effort for meaningful progress.

As I dive deeper into my PhD studies, I, of course, still want to find myself constantly pulled toward all of the curious, little details and grapple with the inevitable frustrations and complexities of my work that will emerge. However, I want this proverb to serve as a reminder of the value of stepping back every so often. Sometimes, meaningful progress requires space. Sometimes, the best ideas need to simmer quietly in the background while we turn our attention elsewhere. Sometimes, it’s in the act of pausing that we reconnect with why we’re doing what we're doing in the first place.

So, as I anticipate the start of my PhD studies, I hope to, of course, conduct fantastic research with my peers and esteemed faculty members, but also learn to trust that rest is not the enemy of rigor. That joy and curiosity are not (and should not be) rare luxuries in conducting research. That the journey itself matters too (and not just the end result). That the view—when we allow ourselves to take a step back and look up—is often unexpectedly beautiful.

Crucially, too, I want this letter to serve as a reminder of how deeply excited I am to start at Hopkins in a few short weeks. This optimism is something that I want to return to when things inevitably grow relentless or grueling. I want to remember that I chose this path not just for what I might produce (i.e., the final product), but for the questions and the process (however tedious at times). The work will be hard (and that is largely by design)—but the process always begins with eagerness and curiosity. And I want to keep that close.

Here's to a lovely five years at Hopkins! 🥂 (I shan't wish to prematurely cut my time at Hopkins short, but we will be graduating on time; I am manifesting it!)

Hlýjar kveðjur,

Zach

Me visiting the JHU campus on a muggy and rainy Sunday (July 13, 2025) (and indeed a very unserious picture of me sans smile, but I'm still excited to be there, of course!)