The Null Hypothesis… Why?

  

The Null Hypothesis… Why?

   “Null hypotheses may be boring, but they're very useful.”

    After class, Colum walked straight up to his psychology teacher, Helen, with a puzzled look on his face.

Colum: "Sorry, Helen… I still don't understand. Why do psychologists test the null hypothesis instead of the actual hypothesis they care about?"

Helen smiled gently, as if she had heard this question many times before.

Helen: "That's a very good question. The funny thing is… we do care about the real hypothesis — the alternative — but we test it indirectly."

Colum frowned. "Indirectly? How?"

Helen: "Well, the null hypothesis gives us a very precise and clear prediction because it describes what usually happens. Like, if it rains and we're outside, we're going to get soaked. That's the normal expectation — nothing unusual, nothing unexpected."

Colum crossed his arms. "Okay… but why not just measure the hypothesis itself?"

Helen chuckled softly.

Helen: "Because the alternative hypothesis — the one we actually care about — is usually way too vague. Let me give you a simple example."

She picked up a pen from her desk, as if acting out a little scene.

Helen: "Imagine the claim I just mentioned: 'If it rains, people get wet.' That's a clean, testable prediction. We can easily measure two things: whether it rained, and how wet people got. Simple."

Colum nodded. "Right, that's straightforward."

Helen: "Now imagine the opposite claim, which would be our hypothesis: 'If it rains, people won't get wet.' Okay… but why wouldn't they get wet? There are too many options. Maybe they used an umbrella, or wore a waterproof coat, or stood under a roof, or ran very fast, or the rain was light, or the wind blew the drops away… you see? There are endless possibilities."

Colum raised an eyebrow. "So… what would we even measure then?"

Helen: "Exactly. The alternative doesn't give us one clear thing to test. But the null does."

She paused to let that sink in.

Helen: "So here's what we do: we measure the precise prediction of the null hypothesis. If the data don't fit that prediction — if it rains and we somehow don't get wet — then the null is unlikely. And when the null fails, our hypothesis succeeds. Eureka."

Colum's expression finally brightened.

Colum: "Ah… so when the null hypothesis fails, the real hypothesis becomes the more believable explanation!"

Helen: "Exactly. We support the alternative hypothesis indirectly, by showing that the null's prediction doesn't match reality." Colum sighed with relief, smiling.

Colum: "Okay, now I get why psychologists focus so much on the null. Thanks, Helen."

Helen winked. "Any time. Null hypotheses may be boring, but they're very useful."

Toni Font, Aberdeen 11/12/2025

Are We Decoding Our Feelings Correctly?

  

Trying To Put Language On A Stream Of Excited Neurons

   “Are We Decoding Our Feelings Correctly?”

    There are moments when something in us awakens before we even have the chance to put a single word to it. When the amygdala fires, it doesn’t speak our language at all — there is no language. Instead, it sends out a silent tremor, a raw current that rushes through us and can nudge our behaviour quite strongly without asking permission. Later on, the prefrontal cortex tries to step in, attempting to tidy the mess and regain control, to give some shape to the chaos — but the truth is, decoding our own feelings is still our job.

To face this challenge, the hippocampus, that quiet archivist of memories, can step forward with old scenes and old lessons, hoping to help us understand what just happened.

But the truth is… feelings are often misunderstood. At least, I misunderstand mine often enough. And when that happens, our behaviour can twist in unexpected directions — in small moments of everyday life, or in our interactions with people who mean something to us.

Who hasn’t acted strangely because a feeling pushed them to do so? Anger that fogs everything, frustration that bites at the edges of our thoughts, love that blinds us, or even that ridiculous state of being hangry which makes the world feel unfair for no good reason. It sounds silly, but it happens.

So I wonder: are we decoding our feelings correctly — or even remotely close? I dare say… probably not at all.

We crave putting words to feelings, as if naming them cleans them, softens them, makes them acceptable to ourselves and to society. But the moment we push a feeling through the fine filters of social language and expectation, perhaps what comes out is no longer the true thing. Maybe the original feeling had a wildness we’ll never fully know again.

Is this necessarily bad? I don’t think so — I daresay that in many cases it’s even good for society. Feelings are wild creatures: sudden, instinctive, uninvited. They burst into the room and we are left to deal with them — ignore them, distort them, fight them, misunderstand them… or learn from them. We cannot choose when a feeling arrives, but we can choose how we decode it, and how much importance we let it take.

And maybe that’s what truly shapes our daily lives: not the raw feeling itself, but how we translate it… and how we try, imperfectly, to fit it into the world we live in.

Toni Font, Aberdeen 03/12/2025

Big Family Anatomy

 

Big Family Anatomy

   Barnis’ pub was unusually quiet that snowy afternoon. Gary pushed the door open, shaking the snow off his coat like a dog after a bath. The school meeting was cancelled thanks to the weather, and without anything better to do, he ordered a drink.

That’s when he saw Josephine — an old university friend he hadn’t seen in seven years or so. They greeted each other with the polite enthusiasm reserved for people you genuinely like but have completely lost track of.

After catching up on careers, failed hobbies, and the universal disappointment of adulthood, the conversation slipped naturally into personal territory.

-Josephine: I’ve always wondered what it must be like growing up with many siblings. Not like me — I’m an only child.

-Gary: Well, I can’t tell you if it’s better or worse. But I can tell you it’s... busy. Your life feels protected, yes, but also shared with so many people that your “sense of originality” sometimes runs away. You spend years trying to find where you fit in the crowd.

-Josephine: And does each sibling fall into a specific role? Like a pattern?

Gary smiled, as if she had just asked him his favourite topic.

-Gary: So… I can only speak from my own experience — we’re eight siblings — but my uncles used to talk about something like that. They insisted there’s a sort of cycle that repeats itself every three siblings.

-Josephine: A cycle? Like what?

-Gary: Think of sleep cycles.

-Josephine: Sleep cycles?

Gary leaned back, preparing for one of his explanations — the kind he sincerely enjoyed and others politely endured.

-Gary: Yes! I mean, as an example, so, you know how people think sleep is one long stretch of deep unconsciousness? But it’s not. We go through repeating stages: light sleep, deep sleep, REM… about four or five cycles per night. Each cycle has similar phases — the order repeats, but the intensity changes. So in a big family, according to my uncles, siblings also go through “roles” that repeat in cycles. Not scientifically proven, of course! But a fun analogy.

-Josephine: I see. Go on before I get lost again.

-Gary: Right, sorry — my students also complain when I go off-track. So, the firstborn of each cycle is the natural authority. Whether they like it or not, they’re the reference point. They’re respected — and nobody wants to test the consequences of not respecting them.

Then comes the second. They still have some of that authority, but not all the privileges of the first. So they work harder, become resourceful, and more strategic.

Then the third. According to my uncles, this one is the artistic, independent type — a bit allergic to hierarchies, but with just enough distance from the top to develop their own style.

And then the fourth? The cycle resets. The fourth is too far from the original “power source,” so they grow up freer, less loaded with responsibility, and a little detached from the upper ranks. And then… the seventh behaves like a firstborn again, the eighth like a second, and so on.

Gary paused as if he had just explained the theory of relativity.

-Josephine: Do you actually believe that?

-Gary: Not really. Individuals' personalities are much stronger than any pattern. But… sometimes these things happen subtly, the way clichés sometimes hold a grain of truth. They’re just shapes we notice. Nothing more.

-Josephine: Makes sense. And anyway, big families have so many variables — environment, money, personality, the decade someone is born in…

-Gary: Exactly. The “cycle” is just an amusing way my uncles used to explain the chaos.

They both laughed. Outside, the snow continued falling, silent and soft. Inside, the pub felt warm — the kind of warmth that comes from old friends, old memories, and harmless theories about life that, somehow, help make sense of it all.

Toni Font, Aberdeen 19/11/2025