Career choice insights, part two - the research scientist

I remember a special weekend day in high school. I must have been 14 or 15. I was using my blue, 10-speed bike (with twisted handles that made the thing look like a ram) to attend a science fair. I was not a participant which allowed me to be totally in awe of not only the projects students were presenting but the whole atmosphere. I was a spectator, yet fully immersed in their experiences, mostly in this experience called the present moment. This was a time of my life that was challenging in my own body (hello, puberty) and at home: adjusting to going to my father's place on the weekends, and spending most of my time at our new home with my mother, a single parent trying to raise me and my two younger, very active siblings while working as a teacher. So, anything that could get me out of my daily reality, help me forget my acne and expand my horizons was pure bliss. Even though I didn't do a demo or didn't share a project that day, I really appreciated being included as a spectator to receive all this stimulating energy. Not to mention that at the end of that intellectually-packed day, we all ended up in the auditorium where there was take-out for everyone from a rôtisserie in my hometown called Fusée !

Fast-forward about 35 years later. For the first time of my entire life, last week, I prepared a poster solo and presented it on Monday, for a symposium to celebrate Women's History month. I had submitted an abstract a few weeks prior. Defying my predictions, it was accepted. But in short period of time, I had to scramble to not only prepare said poster but 1) learn how to do that, and 2) have some results to include in it and draw conclusions from ! In other words, I did the process backwards. One week before the symposium, I surveyed participants in a therapy group for survivors of trauma I am leading using storytelling. I asked them to rate 13 indicators of healing, to try to see the impact that writing in group had had on their recovery. Ta-da ! I had da-ta :)

A research scientist is a professional who tries to find answers by conducting a study in a variety of fields, such as biology, psychology, physics, technology, and medicine. Even though I studied a branch of science that led me to become a doctor (health sciences), I have not dedicated much of my career to research. My work has been mostly clinical. But I have been "researching" stuff my whole life: different ways to do things, to think, to teach, to find answers.

We might not all consider ourselves rocket scientists, but we all are researchers. I see life as an experiment. Each of us is the main subject of our own life experiment. My daily existence on this earth is my lab. All the details of my morning leading up to this event felt like an experiment: the missing comma I needed to add with a sharpie, figuring out how to use the parking App, and preparing a 1-min teaser talk to make people want to hear more. I even brought props. As I waved my magic wand (nib) and showed the mystical potion (ink that I found in my dad's office as a kid, my dad who is, come to think of it, quite a colorful storyteller) as tools we can use to become alchemists by putting the pieces of a shattered self, life or love back together through a story, I invited the audience to come hear more about my findings and other secrets as a narrative healer at poster #12:

I realized a long time ago that having questions matters more than finding the answers. And you see, as much as I seek answers, I often prefer questions because unlike answers, there are no "wrong" questions. You can evaluate or judge answers (in a test, for instance), but questions are open and generally valid. What they all lead to is discovery, and it can go in various directions. We have to be open to find out something different than what we anticipated or hoped for. All we see is data, expected or not, and data can merge into wisdom, the real knowing, the consciousness.

At the basic science symposium at Davis on Monday, being among 22 poster presenters (I kid you not, 20 of which could have been my children !), I was absorbing the same effervescence I experienced when I was in high school. Except that I was a participant, a presenter this time. I was sharing my experiment, my perspectives, my conclusions, and my future goals for my "research". Above all, I felt included. The audience was interested.  Some even said "intrigued". A dozen people stopped by to have a chat and ask questions during the hour it lasted. And I loved to learn about stuff I usually don't hear about in my own section of the campus at the medical center. I told myself I should have had that educational and academic exchange decades ago, but to be doing this at my age (by far the oldest of the crew) only to realize and share the wisdom that it is a good idea to have that kind of exposure early on was an experience in and of itself. Nobody in my family is an academic or researcher. So, if I can be of any assistance to my own children or other young folks in that area upon finding themselves a bit disoriented when confronted with the task of putting their first poster together, it will all have been worth it. 

The reason while I am telling you this story (the story behind the story of the poster on storytelling LOL) is because you should always believe in your potential and the delightful possibilities that come from daring and stepping out of one's comfort zone. When we try new things, even if we are unsure we will succeed (especially when we don't give up the goal of succeeding by letting go of the outcome), we are doing the real research. Research of the deep recesses of one's soul. And this wonderful day with bright minds ended with me reflecting on the joys of making a new friend, at any age (which I did that day, in the person another presenter, Adele, from Italy). And the dinner was even better than the rôtisserie of my teenage years: an exquisite vegan menu at a winery I had never been to. And there was even some dancing to conclude this delightful event ! See, there are some clear advantages in getting old. Especially no longer fearing ridicule on the dance floor, or while wearing all black so that you look like a bottle of ink...