A New Hope

I went to a Women in Science Retreat this past weekend. We all gathered in a camp: the kind of camp you would spend a week in as a little kid, complete with bunks and fire pits and a dining hall and a little lake with a diving board. It was like a conference, in that there were panels and workshops and a poster session; but instead of wearing heels and button-downs, we were wearing hiking boots and outdoor clothing. Instead of going back to hotel rooms at the end of the day, we gathered in our cabins and slept together in big bunkrooms like we had in the sleepaway camps of our childhood. We sat cross-legged on each other's bunks and talked about weddings and jobs and car payments, bad PI's and good PI's and our latest family gossip.

It was hella fun.

My main takeaway from it was actually a long conversation I had with one of the panelists. Her name is Jessica Marshall, and she works as an editor for Chemical and Engineering News (a publication of the American Chemical Society). Before that, she was a freelance science writer for 10 years. And what was most significant to me was that she also had a PhD in chemical engineering.

I hadn't admitted it to anyone, or even really myself, but I had kind of written off science writing as a professional career. My experience with it as an undergraduate, both in classes and at my MechSE job, implicitly informed me that it was a field of journalists who liked science rather than a field of scientists who liked writing. I was a scientist first. I knew that. It's why I'm in grad school. I'm going to get a PhD, hell or high water. With that in mind, joining a group of journalists who liked science and making it my career seemed like a bit of a waste of my PhD. So I resigned myself to the age old question of "industry or academia" (each of which has always had an equivalently lukewarm appeal to me), and figured I'd wait to decide on a career until the absolute last second.

That changed this weekend. I approached Jessica at the evening social.
(I ask you to picture this--the basement of the camp dining hall, the door to the outside open and letting the smell of rain permeate the room, grad students in sweatshirts and raincoats with a few professionals scattered in between, everyone holding plastic cups of wine or beer, introducing entropy to the well-ordered chairs from the panel audience by forming them into randomized social groups. The booze was in plastic ice tubs, the red wine in large bottles scattered on the table between empty bags of chips and crackers. A large cardboard box sat off to the side with "Recycling!!" written on it in thick looping sharpie, its bottom filling rapidly with bottles and cups.) 
She was incredibly nice. She seemed to like my enthusiasm, and was eager to talk about her experiences. You're wrong, she said, about a science PhD being wasted on science writing. There were plenty of jobs, such as with Nature or scientific publications, where PhD science writers were wanted, were needed. Most of the people she worked with at C&EN--and almost ALL of her superiors--were PhD scientists. It was absolutely a valid career path for me.

Before I fell in love with physics, I wanted to go into writing. I wanted to be a journalist, an editor--but physics won out. When I found out that science writing was an actual field, I thought I had finally answered the question "what do you want to be when you grow up?" That, I thought. I want to be that. Then it seemed like science writing would be a sacrifice of my science, that the PhD I wanted so badly wouldn't really be used to its potential. Physics won out again. What a roller coaster.

Now I'm back on the path to being a science writer, and it's actually terrifying. Science writing is the one career that really excites me when I think about it, that really inspires passion and a desire to pursue it. But it also seems like a much harder path. I'm looking up master's programs, national societies to join, places to submit publications...and it seems like it's just all so above my head. I've been surrounded by the "industry or academia" binary for so long, those two seem like the safest possible choices. Wading into the world of PhD-level science writing appears positively daredevil in comparison.

But I'm inspired, and determined. I'm willing to fight for it. And that scares me too, a little, but in a good way.

Meditative Weather

It seems like it's been warm and brilliantly sunny for weeks now. I find it so funny that Seattle has literally just TWO weather settings--overcast, dreary, and constantly drizzling, or bright, warm, and blindingly sunny--and just switches between them twice a year. It's April? Whoop, time for sun. It's October? Whoop, time for rain. April again? Whoop.

And this beautiful weather is actually quite terrible, because who wants to be doing work on days like this? Who would want to stay inside? But we must, we must, because stuff actually does have to get done once in a while.

This quarter has definitely been a lot more laid-back than the previous two. The homework sets are slightly lighter, the exams are lower-pressure (they don't matter for the master's review!), and overall I find myself with a lot more time. Which is nice for two reasons: I can actually get things done that slightly resemble research, and I can start really taking part in activities that fulfill me.

For research, I'm starting to work with a computational condensed matter group. Whether or not there's a future for me in the group is still kind of up in the air; the professor is emeritus, and although he has no plans to stop doing research, I've been trying to use my Deanna-Troi-level empathic senses (heh) to feel out how likely it is that members of his group will leave...the jury's still out.

For fulfilling activities, I've started working out a lot more. I've also figured out the long-elusive secret to running: run from work.

Running in the morning never happens. It never does. Not ever. And once I get home from work, the last thing I want to do is put on running clothes and go back outside. So instead, I bring my running clothes and shoes to work, and tell myself I have to go run before I can go home. It's worked like a dream so far. Is this a "life hack"? Would Buzzfeed want to talk to me about this? pls let me know.

Home

We went to Green Lake Park yesterday. It was really a beautiful day, sunny but cool. We sat on a bench, Bryce's arm around my shoulders, and pointed out every single dog that passed. "Ooh look at that one." "That puppy has freckles on his nose!" "Is that a miniature Doberman?" "No, I think that's a different breed altogether. Cute, though." "Aww, what a fluffy floof."

It was therapeutic.

We went out to dinner, still with windswept and sweaty hair from biking, and were seated at the best table in Cedar's. The food (Indian) was delicious, although slightly too spicy. I've started keeping a list of preferred restaurant spiciness. It currently consists of "Cedar's: 2 stars."

This morning we got to Zoka Coffee (a cafe very near to our apartment) early enough to grab great seats. It's a beautiful cafe. The entire outside wall is pure windows. The tables and chairs and floor are all old wood. The place is neat and clean, with small pieces of photography on the walls. 

I think what I like most about it is that it isn't a typical Seattle cafe. Sometimes it feels like every cafe in Seattle is competing to be "city's quirkiest coffee shop." Which, you know, is cool and hip and whatever, but sometimes I'd just like to sit and have jasmine tea without a full-sized bike-riding skeleton hanging on the wall above my head, ya know? And yes, that exists here. I haven't gone back to that place. The other wall decorations were just as irritating.

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How long does it take for a place to feel like home? If you Google that question, there are just mountains of forum posts of people asking the same question, over and over: "How long will it take for me to feel comfortable in this place?" "When will it feel like we've finally settled in?" "How long does it take? How long does it take?" And people responding, over and over: "Be patient. It won't happen in a day. Go out and explore. Join clubs, join a softball team, find a favorite coffee shop or a favorite park, build a routine."

Bryce and I have been here for 6 months. Wow! I just counted that up and I hadn't realized it had been that long. It doesn't feel like it's been 6 months. Didn't we just move here a month ago or something? 

Anyway, it's given me a lot to think about in terms of what makes something feel like home. Is it knowing the area? No. I navigated us to Green Lake with ease yesterday. Is it having a favorite coffee shop? No. As much as I love Zoka, I've really only been here three times or so. Is it having a routine? That's an interesting one. I wouldn't know. I don't quite have one yet.

Some things are routine. I have cardio kickboxing every Sunday at 5. I like to walk to the grocery store afterward. It's a mildly long walk, and my legs are a little tremble-y from the workout, but I like it. I buy ingredients for dinner or for a meal I can make for weekday lunches. Bryce meets me at the grocery store, and we drive home to cook. I really like that routine. It's calming. 

I've also joined a Meetup group: Geek Girls of Seattle. It's refreshing to meet new people who aren't in graduate school. They have jobs, some have kids and husbands, some are stay-at-home people, and all have geeky interests. There's a book club meeting for it later today. I'm very excited to be part of a book club. 

But it's not quite home yet. And I should probably be patient. I feel like I'm doing all the right things to make it home. We explore, we do things, we have a favorite Thai restaurant, I'm doing my best to meet people. But I guess, at the end of the day, it's not really about doing the "right things." Home is something you make, yes. But I really think "home" is also something that just happens. Be patient.