I learned, just over a year ago, that my high school science teacher had passed away some time ago. It was an extraordinarily sad moment for me. He never knew what effect he had on me, and I never got the chance to tell him, or thank him. The quietly spoken, but larger than life, figure who kick-started my lifelong passion for all things scientific, was gone. He was a tall thin man with piercing blue eyes and wavy, dark hair which bore all the hallmarks of a typical 70’s hairstyle. His gentle manner, enthusiasm, and sense of humour, never left him – not even in the presence of 28 hormone-fuelled teenagers. The loss gave me a chance to reflect on the path I have travelled, twisting and turning away from the life I had envisioned as my 16 year old self.
In his class, I became aware that I was in my element – excited, full of wonder and bursting with curiosity about the natural world around me. It was in his class that I witnessed the cleaning of copper coins in acid, performed the starch test to confirm that plants photosynthesise, used ticker tape to measure motion, and watched the entertaining results of metal reactivity tests. Alchemy for the uninitiated. Amidst the love and peace of the 1970s, the sparks flew in me, too, and ignited a lifelong desire to explore and understand more.
Despite my keen interest, it was to be many years before I studied the subject. Initially, I was torn between the humanities and science but eventually opted for science, and proceeded, at a snail’s pace, towards my graduation day (many more years later than I care to remember). I did what I could and went wide, rather than deep, throwing in a few oddball papers in Spanish, Philosophy and Development Studies. The alternative perspective, that they provided, has been a valued part of my education and reinforced my intuitive valuing of diversity – of life, and of thinking.
Along the way, I encountered more inspiring educators who provided support, and encouragement, when the universe conspired against me and my motivation wavered. Marriage, three daughters, business, together with sporting and community service distractions ensured I was never going to have the career in science I had always dreamed of. The years have passed by oh-so quickly but I have never forgotten those guiding lights from my past. I figure that, while a research career is now beyond me, it doesn’t have to mean the end of the love affair. Now, at an age when many women are looking forward to more wine and more grandchildren, I am hoping to go back to study Science Communication at university, next year. This time, I hope put that breadth to good use and communicate what I have learned to others, but more importantly, to show the value of tenacity in an age of instant gratification, and to enervate others.
We all need sources of inspiration. As we embark on life’s odyssey, a guiding light, however dim or bright, can light the way. It can comfort and show that others have been there before. Snippets of encouragement, in passing, may appear clichéd but when sincerely offered, bolster the spirit enough to keep the wheels turning. Yes, I understand it is hard. I know what you mean. I have been there. Keep going. You can do it.
My awe and sense of wonder has not dimmed over the years and I have learned to believe in myself mainly because some of those people did. I have learned that those who ignite the spark are just as important as those who actually do the science.
These days a lot of that inspiration comes via the internet. Whether it is from TED talks or social media, such as Facebook, where there are a number of passionate individuals want to share their own personal journey, of wonder and discovery, in new and creative ways. Add to this the growing list of famous individuals, with razor-sharp intellects, who are communicating their science across the globe on YouTube or other forums. Neither can I forget the pioneers who, having laid down the foundation in various scientific disciplines, have become my heroes. There’s no desire to emulate them, at least not now, but rather I appreciate that they create a feeling of amazement at what the intersection of talent, timing and fortune can do for the rest of us whose paths have been a little less straight and clear – and to give thanks for their insights. My recent pilgrimage to Siccar Point, to sit where James Hutton deepened geological time and laid the foundation for an explosion of geological and evolutionary theories, attests to this reverence.
Yet despite this, I believe that, in the divergence of science from humanities since Hutton’s time, science has lost something. In striving for objectivity, it has divorced itself from a part of humanity it is now clawing to get back. Thankfully, a number of collaborative endeavours embracing science, philosophy, art and literature are now popping up around the world. It can’t be a bad thing. At the very least it could create new ways to inspire and re-connect. It could bring the height of scientific discovery into our backyards and everyday conversations and fuel curiosity for more. And who could do that? Well, someone who is out-of-this-world amazing, like your professor, teacher, mother, friend or neighbour. Anyone who lights your scientific fire.
I used to want to be a brilliant scientist but now I think I’d like to be a beacon. Even a dim one. Thank you so much, Brian Hathaway. I hope I can pay it forward.
Crux Chaser 