Portland, Oregon | Friday, March 25, 2022 | 45.5152° N, 122.6784° W
Being able to tell a concise, interesting, and entertaining story that also conveys substance is a trait that everybody likes.
— Randy Olson, Don’t Be Such a Scientist
There is nothing quite like being at a conference full of people who both love science and understand the value of solid communication. As soon as I walk in, I can see that everyone here is curious, smart, and approachable. Even though I don’t know a single person, it’s very easy to start a conversation.
When I sit down next to Tzula Propp, a postdoctoral researcher in Physics at the University of New Mexico, I ask, “is this your first time coming to Science Talk?”
“No, I actually came to the very first one six years ago.”
“What was that like?” I ask. “Was it super tiny?”
“It was completely sold out!” Tzula says emphatically. “At the end of the conference, the organizers said, ‘wellllll that was a smashing success. I guess we should do it again!’”
I think about the demand for this type of knowledge and expertise. It’s affirming to realize that I am not alone in my quest to become a better science communicator.
I also think back to how I found out about the conference — completely by chance while working aboard the E/V Nautilus last September. I received a forwarded email from a colleague and noticed a link for speaker applications. Between shifts, I quickly came up with a proposal and sent it in just before the deadline.
Six months later, I’m pleasantly surprised to be here, and to be included on the agenda as a speaker (!) After all the isolation and awkward Zoom meetings of the past two years, it feels wonderful to be physically surrounded by other people who live and breathe science in their day-to-day lives.
I listen intently as Melanie Peffer tells us that our brains process about 950 billion pieces of information daily, but only 5 percent of those pieces register in our consciousness. During a discussion about top-down processing, Tzula says to the room at large: “We have to create safe entry ways into curiosity.” I immediately write that down.
After a full morning of workshops, strong coffee, and rich conversations, we return to the main ballroom for an awesome keynote address from Senator Lew Frederick. Afterwards, we have one more activity before lunch: open mic introductions. Whoever wants to step up to the mic to share a story or pitch is welcome — the only rule is keep it under 60 seconds.
About 30 of us volunteer to step on stage for one minute each. After briefly introducing myself, I tell the crowd that I’m giving a talk tomorrow afternoon about how to become a freelance science communicator.
"But my talk doesn’t just apply to people interested in pursuing full-time freelance work,” I say. “The stories and experiences I’ll be sharing could be relevant to anyone applying for a job or making a career change. If you want to talk about those things — or any sort of big life transition — come find me!”
As I walk off stage and return my seat, I hear the next participant grab the mic and say, “well, this is a great transition. I’m about to graduate, and I’m looking for a job!”
I feel so grateful to the people who organized this conference — they truly understand the value of establishing personal connections through open dialogue. Throughout the afternoon, between speakers and during coffee breaks, various people approach me to talk about their current situations and aspirations.
Ashley Diedenhofen chats with me about her social media science videos, and her desire to make her side hustle a full-time job. I talk with Liane O'Neill about establishing career goals and landing the perfect job. Camille Collett approaches me to chat about photography, adventure, and our shared love of geology. I also talk with several graduate students who thought they wanted to be traditional scientists, but now that they’re finishing up their PhDs, they realize following the academic path isn’t for them.
By the time I leave the conference (around 7pm), I am completely exhausted. When I get back to my hotel room, I practice my talk twice, speaking to the pillows on my bed. I try to visualize them as faces in audience, but it doesn’t really work. I fall into bed and shortly before 10pm and sleep hard.
The next morning, as I grab a cup of coffee from the breakfast bar at the conference, I hear someone say “good morning! How’s it going?”
I turn to my right to see Peter Husted, a natural resource specialist at the Oregon Department of Environmental Quality who I met briefly yesterday. Even though he’s wearing a mask, I can see that he’s smiling. We immediately start chatting about Oregon and the natural wonders of the Pacific Northwest. When we sit down with our coffees, he says, “I wanted to ask you about something you said in your one-minute pitch yesterday.”
“Please do.”
“You said you were open to talking about life transitions,” he says. “That’s something I’ve been thinking about…”
This simple statement ignites a conversation that could last for hours, but we squeeze it into ten minutes because we have to get to the next thing: the Vital Interpersonal Communications Skills workshop taught by Brian Palermo. Brian is a former Hollywood actor who uses improv training techniques to teach scientists how to become better communicators. Brian’s vivacious energy is contagious and it doesn’t take long for all of us to start smiling and laughing. He walks us through the hang-ups that scientists often get caught on — like the notion that researchers should be completely unbiased.
This idea resonates with me as I think back to being in journalism school, and the mantra that was drilled into me and other students: you must be completely neutral and impartial in your reporting. I always thought that mentality was a bit ridiculous.
Sharing my experiences through honest first-person storytelling is the only approach that feels natural to me | Photo by Camille Collett
Humans, by nature, are full of bias. The way I see it, we can either use that “bias” to generate more of the divisive narratives we see all too often in media today, or we can use our inherent “bias” to connect through genuine stories and experience.
After Brian’s workshop, I feel energized — but still a bit nervous about getting on stage to speak in front of everyone. I find an empty room and spend the better part of an hour doing a final practice-run of my talk.
Afterwards, I go for a short walk to reflect on the process of preparing for this presentation. I began thinking about what to say in this talk months ago, and I have spent the last few weeks drafting various versions. I started out with a list of bullet points — tidbits of advice like:
Hire an accountant!
Spend time and money on your website!
Be confident!
But spitting out bite-sized nuggets of “advice” felt unnatural and superficial. After going through several iterations of a presentation centered around this list of bullet points, I came back to a passage I read two years ago in Randy Olson’s book, Don’t be Such a Scientist:
There is nothing more powerful than the first-person narrative—the voice that can speak to a crowd and say,
“This is what I know; this is what I have experienced; this is how I feel.”
I realized I don’t need to give people a list of advice. I need to tell them my story.
And when I step on stage and pick up the microphone, that is what I do.
“I’m here today to tell y’all what I know about becoming a full-time freelance science communicator,” I say, with as much confidence as I can muster. “Which is funny — because when I quit my job in 2018, I didn’t know anything about being a freelancer.”
At the end of the talk, I’m hit with a flurry of emotions — exhilaration, exhaustion, excitement, and relief. I also feel happy. I did it! I even made a few people laugh! And I saw some heads nodding while I was speaking. I think the whole thing went pretty well.
And then audience members start coming up to me — some of them I’ve already met and spoken with, and some of them I haven’t. But all of them have questions. I’m honored to sit down for a conversation with each of them.
A lovely Tweet from Grace Deitzler.
A few days later, when I’m back in North Carolina, the conversations continue. Camille sends me a folder of images and congratulatory words. I chat over Zoom with Liane to help her practice for a big, final-round job interview, and I meet with Fanuel Muindi to discuss plans to speak to his fellows at the Stem Advocacy Institute. Allison Coffin emails me to say thanks again for giving a great talk, and Kacey Montgomery invites me to be a guest on her podcast, Closing the Gap.
But perhaps the most heartfelt message comes from Amy Weldon, a Science Communications Content Strategist at Johns Hopkins. After sharing a few photos (that Camille took during my talk) on my Instagram account, Amy posts this comment:
“Yours was one of my favorite talks. Obviously, you have a dream job and career, but the choices you made and the reality of doing some serious self-evaluation and work on yourself really resonated with me. It was validating and affirming to hear from someone successful but super relatable! Thank you for sharing your experience and advice!”
I am incredibly humbled and honored and delighted. And I cannot wait to attend the next Science Talk.