Continuity: a scientiae contribution

This month's Scientiae theme is continuity, and it's an interesting one, which doesn't make it terribly easy to write about!

I'm in a position where I could have continuity of place of work, type of work etc. for the next 25 years. I'd rather like at least one or two phases of tectonic upheaval and dramatic change (though I would whinge and moan and panic and be a total pain whilst it was actually happening), because that sort of easy consistency could become a rut, and then a tramline and then a straight-jacket. I fear the kind of continuity that becomes stagnation, and the anxious part of me that feels safe in a trammelled routine of incremental data-gathering and publishing, that likes to work away at useful things that no-one will take offence at or rudely reject, work that tamely follows established and approved agendas. I fear it partly because it could feel safe, and comfortable, and even lead to 'success' in terms of various 'metrics'. So far, despite being in one place and one job for over a decade, I've managed to be challenged and keep finding new things to learn.

How far back do I need to go to describe something as a constant in my scientific life? I initially thought that my main laboratory method is a constant. But I only found out that it existed during my second year of undergrad and tried it during my third; didn't my 'science life' begin some time before that? Maybe it began when I started university (in a very different science to the one I now work in - I changed course quite dramatically during undergrad), or with my choice of science A-levels (grumpy and reluctant choice, but it was the only way "they'd" let me take four proper subjects, and I reckoned I'd be bored stiff with three), or when I chose O-level subjects, or before that in my childhood 'dinosaur phase', or in summer pond-dipping trips, or visits to the Nat Hist and Science Museums in London (a rare treat since it was usually just me and my Dad, my girly little sister went to the V&A with Mum whilst Dad and I went to the Nat Hist (my choice - dinosaurs!) and the basement of the science museum where there were all these mechanical demonstrations of scientific principles with knobs to push and levers to work (his choice)), or the cabinets of rocks in the local museum that I vividly remember from some school trip, or... I can write narratives - as one has to, for grant applications and job applications, annual appraisals and promotion bids - in which everything I do looks planned and tidy, part of a coherent whole. But just like every other part of life, the lived experience has been up and down, higgeldy-piggeldy and driven by chance and happenstance more than planning.

The only clear continuity, the factor that links then and now and what comes next, is me-myself-I. Being human, I have good days and bad days, enthused days and depressed weeks, times when I can't believe I'm lucky enough to have an academic science job, and times when I curse that fate and am a hair's breadth from resigning and finding some other means of supporting furball and myself (preferably one without much contact with other people). My mood and my dexterity and my thinking oscillate with my hormonal cycles, my health, the seasons, the health and happiness of my friends and family, the atmosphere in my workplace; I am not a consistent, unchanging type of person.

I can however identify constant character traits, I think, which run through my scientific life and the wider 'life of my mind': a broad and enduring curiosity about 'how the world works'; an almost physical delight in learning new things, and in sharing that knowledge; a quirk of thinking that relishes making up alternative arguments and testing hypotheses; and a natural bent towards reflective practice, towards a continual cross-checking and critiquing of my own thought processes and argifying, hunting out bias and dragging assumptions into the light of day, a level and constancy of self-scrutiny and sometimes-painful honesty which can thoroughly annoy or upset other humans, especially when turned on their actions. Apparently I was a particularly persistent exponent of the toddler habit of asking 'why?', and I've not grown out of it yet, of a childlike curiosity and openness to the world around me, and a belief that asking the right question with enough persistence will open up more wonders, that learning is a Great Good and an important part of my life's purpose.

Sometimes I fantasise about starting over in a new academic discipline, or a new career. I talk wistfully about retirement, or about changing into a line of work which stays at the office at the end of the day, and can imagine being a stay-at-home mother or a gardener or a secretary if life had turned out differently. But I can't imagine NOT thinking like a scientist, whatever I actually did all day. I can't imagine not being continually drawn to dismantle and poke and fossick about in the clockwork and the tangled banks of the world around us, not constantly asking questions, not always striving to understand my ignorance and push my limitations.