Any young researcher, whether in academia or a government laboratory, who spends time with childhood friends and extended family over the holidays, will undoubtedly be asked, “What do you do?” Red Alert! Shields Up! Brace for Impact!
This is not an academic question, posed by a colleague and potential collaborator, where an extended, deeply technical answer is both expected and desired. No, this is a potential social trap, one that has ensnared more than one naïve academic in its steely jaws. With the exception of your parents, and maybe your therapist, the putative interlocutor does not really want to know; they are simply feigning interest to stimulate social discourse.
The Social Conundrum
Yes, you are excited and passionate about what you are doing, and you should be. After all, the scientific process may be the most successful intellectual endeavor in human history, demonstrably capable of illuminating the three big and enduring questions: matter and the universe, life and its processes, and the human condition. It has been and always will be about the age-old desire to explore and to understand, and in doing so, make life better for those around us.
Alas, you are fighting ingrained stereotypes and misinformation. Everyone knows what a plumber does, but few people understand how science is really conducted. Their models are usually the (sadly) boring experiences of primary and secondary school science, which often made after-school detention look attractive by comparison. Class, what are the steps of the scientific method? What is DNA? What causes it to snow? These are important and interesting questions, but they are desiccated recitations, lacking all the joy of curiosity and the excitement of discovery that motivate every intellectual explorer, whether aged 8 or 50, who doggedly and persistently keeps asking “Why?” and “How?” (Editorial comment: We must stop ingraining scientific disdain and dislike in generations of students. See The Epistemology of Science and For Science and Society, the Future Begins with Better Dreams.)
Alternatively, the scientific understanding of your family and friends may be shaped by the Hollywood stereotypes perpetuated on television and the movies. You know the ones I mean. There’s the hacker tapping on the keyboard for a few seconds, then exclaiming, “I’m in.” (Brute force attacks on public key cryptography systems are exceedingly time consuming and difficult. Oh, and there are fascinating mathematical topics at the intersection of quantum computing and homomorphic encryption. Stand down; your spidey-sense tingling – the social trap is near.) Then there’s Spock or Scotty conjuring a scientific miracle to save the Enterprise before the next commercial break. Or, and this one beggars the imagination, the crime laboratory that does precise facial recognition using nine pixels from a VHS video tape recovered from a convenience store’s ancient, analog surveillance system.
You know the reality is far different. Science involves long hours of toil, filled with dead ends – experiments that do not work, which can be even more frustrating than failing, and elegant theories that are crushed by contradictory data – confounded with balky instruments, uncooperative specimens, and buggy code – and often fueled by hot coffee and cold pizza. Conversely, the reward is something transcendent, unraveling a mystery older than history and being the first person to ever understand the answer to a vexing scientific question. At its best, science is child-like wonder as a lifelong passion. Why wouldn’t you be excited? After all, you are doing Cool StuffTM that solves nature’s mysteries and might change the world! (See Science: It’s About the Wide-Eyed Wonder.)
Yes, you are fighting stereotypes as you sit at the holiday dinner table. Among them is the hoary cliché, one every scholar resignedly learns at some point in their career:
You learn more and more about less and less, until you know everything about nothing. Then, we give you a Ph.D.
The positive interpretation speaks to the specialization and depth required to truly understand a topic and extend, even marginally, the boundaries of human knowledge. The explosive growth of knowledge means it is now impossible – and even laughable – for even the most gifted, determined, and learned to make any credible claim to know all that is worth knowing, even in a narrow academic field. These are the days of Renaissance teams, not Renaissance individuals. (See Renaissance Teams: Reifying the School at Athens.) You are an expert, but in a necessarily limited area. You learned a lot, but experience, wisdom, and humility also taught you that compared to what there is to know, you know almost nothing.
The negative interpretation – that you are filled with knowledge but lacking in practical “smarts” – is the one you seek to avoid at all costs. There’s an even more colorful, though less polite version of the everything about nothing aphorism that has one learning B.S., then M.S., and until finally, it’s Piled Higher and Deeper.
If you are still a graduate student, it can be even worse, when you may be asked “the question.” It’s the one that bedevils every Ph.D. student, “When are you going to finish?” (See Doctoral Comedy: Which Way Is The Door?) Few understand that completing a Ph.D. is a qualitatively different process, involving open-ended, original research, not just completing additional classes. Consequently, the question stirs angst and ennui in even the most accomplished Ph.D. student. Will I finish and if so, when? Or, will I die homeless and alone, an ABD? (That’s All But Dissertation (ABD) for those of you playing the game at home.)
Explaining What You Do
Despite your well-justified passions, resist all temptation to open your laptop and walk your uncle through the brilliant presentation on early galaxy formation you just gave at the departmental seminar. Do not fetch the 3-D prototype you just built (still in your backpack) and explain additive manufacturing and laser sintering to your cousin. Avoid explaining the innovative laboratory protocol you are using to screen for SARS-CoV-2 vaccine resistance to your mother – she’s already proud of you.
Do not ask your nieces and nephews if they have an opinion on the P=NP problem, and if you foolishly do, thank your precocious eight-year-old niece who delightedly tells you that they are equal when N = 1. (Note to self: while the other adults are telling stories about their lives, make sure to talk to her about the joy of science and mathematics. Encouragement really matters!)
Finally, whatever you do, do not expound on Tomasulo’s algorithm and pipelined microprocessor design at a holiday party. (I am personally guilty of the latter. Trust me; it’s rarely an effective ice breaker. If it is, you are in a safe place, with “your people.” See The Magic behind the Curtain: Hardware and Software for why I was (and still am) so excited.)
When asked what you do, pause, take a deep breath, and think. Few in your family really want to know all the details, and certainly not at the depth and breadth with which you are tempted to reply. This is your time to shine, by channeling your inner Mr. Wizard or Richard Feynman, by being clear, thoughtful, and memorable, but most of all, funny, self-deprecating, and brief. (See Understanding and Explaining: The Feynman Technique.)
Keep your inner Sheldon Cooper in check, and whatever you do, do not engage in an argument, especially if some of your family members think COVID-19 vaccines were a government conspiracy, the Apollo moon landings were fake, or that humans and dinosaurs were temporally co-resident. Do not bring a knife (logical arguments) to a gunfight (emotional belief). Even if you win (and you won’t), you lose. (See Just the Facts, Ma’am: Reasoning is Not Dead, Jim.)
If asked by family members what I do, I have learned to check my propellor beanie at the door and focus on the potential impact of what I am doing – designing and building cheaper and faster computers -- and how those faster computers help create new medicines or enable better weather forecasts. How research improves lives is something people generally understand and appreciate; the technical details are rarely important to them. If they ask and clearly want to know, I will explain but try to do so in ways connected with their experience.
This is my most important piece of advice to young scientists and would-be science advocates. Do not try to impress people with your erudition, and do not use obscure, though technically accurate nomenclature. Speak clearly and in ways everyone can understand. It’s about the societal outcomes, not the personal quest for academic success or even expanding the human knowledge base. (See Simplifying Communication and Research, Education, Engagement and Bovine Transport.)
Above all, do not be flippant. I learned this from painful experience. When asked if I were going to teach during the summer, I explained that I did not teach during the summertime because the federal government paid me to think. Though vacuously true, this response was met with stunned silence, especially after I unhelpfully added that if I had a good idea, I was supposed to write it down, omitting all discussion of research proposal submissions and peer review. The facial expressions alone confirmed my extended family member’s worst fears about my lack of common sense and wasteful government spending! (See Research Summers.)
Trust me, few people really want to hear an extended holiday discourse on exascale algorithmic efficiency, deep learning models, decidability and Zermelo-Fraenkel set theory, CRISPR DNA editing, or Lambda-CDM cosmology models – endlessly fascinating though they all are. Even when enlivened with wild gesticulations and impromptu diagrams drawn in the mashed potatoes and gravy, in-depth science explanations are enough to make even your beloved grandmother look longingly at the holiday sherry, and they will confirm everyone’s unstated but deeply held belief that you are a “special child.”
Eschew the obscurity; chew the turkey. Stick to football if you can, opine on religion or politics if you must, but try to avoid the treacherous intellectual waters of scientific explanations over the holiday cranberry sauce and sliced turkey. If they really want to know, they will pull you aside during the football game with specific questions. Only then should you unleash a small glimpse of your inner geek.
SenseCam Experiences: What I Really Do
As an academic researcher, what do I spend my time? Sometimes I wonder myself. To find out, while at RENCI, I once spent several weeks wearing a Microsoft SenseCam on a lanyard around my neck, and the University of North Carolina even wrote a story about my experiences.
A SenseCam takes periodic, still photographs, triggered either by elapsed time (roughly a minute) or by motion. The resulting images then form a stop motion movie of the wearer’s day. The technology has also found use in assisting patients with memory loss, by replaying their experiences to strengthen memory pathways.
The Microsoft SenseCam was an early example of wearable computing, part of the Microsoft MyLifeBits life-logging project, long before smartphones with digital cameras were available. In turn, MyLifeBits was an attempt to realize Vannevar Bush’s 1940s vision of a Memex, which he described in a seminal essay, As We May Think:
Consider a future device for individual use, which is a sort of mechanized private file and library. It needs a name, and, to coin one at random, "memex" will do. A memex is a device in which an individual stores all his books, records, and communications, and which is mechanized so that it may be consulted with exceeding speed and flexibility. It is an enlarged intimate supplement to his memory.
My friend and future colleague, Gordon Bell, then at Microsoft, popularized the SenseCam for personal recording of his life experiences. Gordon is, of course, best known as a parallel computing pioneer, creator of the eponymously named Gordon Bell Prize, and the father of the Digital Equipment Corporation VAX 11/780, one of the first superminicomputers.
The New Yorker has a great 2007 article, entitled Remember This? about Gordon and his digital knowledge experiences with MyLifeBits. About the same time, I wrote about the coming library revolution, with digital archives and portable devices as potentially transformative educational forces, something I still believe, particularly when coupled with adaptive artificial intelligence.
The first sight of me wearing a SenseCam (see the photograph of a younger me above) triggered expressions of shock and concern for my health, as my colleagues initially feared I had suffered a near fatal heart attack and had been outfitted with an external pacemaker. After assuaging those fears, I explained the SenseCam’s functions, and I offered to put it in my pocket if they were concerned about being recorded during our meeting. Some were, but most were simply amused by yet another manifestation of my geek disposition. Years later, the response was the same when I donned both a Narrative Clip and a Google Glass. (See Though a Google Glass, Darkly.)
For a few months, I wore the SenseCam literally all over the world, from Australia to many trips across the United States. Without exception, it prompted questions about the technology and operation (most common) and about privacy and intended uses (second most common).
So, what did I learn from my SenseCam experience? Perhaps unsurprisingly, my professional life largely consists of three things: drinking prodigious amounts of coffee, reading a deluge of email, and participating in meetings. In this regard, the broad outlines of my professional life – and that of most other academics – differed little from that of most office workers. However, betwixt these prosaic activities were the distinguishing attributes of my professional life, the all too brief periods of thinking and writing – research papers, conference presentations, and that bane of all researchers, project reports and funding proposals.
Coda: A Safe Harbor
There is, of course, one safe harbor, where being a geek is valued at the holidays. I speak, of course, about the assembling, installing, configuring, and/or testing of any electronic devices the family received as gifts. Here, family members will temporarily put aside their skepticism of your life choices and dubious assessment of your practical skills if you can connect the Wi-Fi or produce a needed USB hub from your backpack. If they are wondering why you have – at a minimum – a spare USB hub, as well as a set of HDMI and DisplayPort adapters, USB keys of varying capacity, and a microphone headset, then they’ve never been a road warrior. Bask in your momentary glory, then ask for a second helping of pecan pie.
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