The more things change...

This past Wednesday I got an "On This Day" reminder from Facebook, telling me that it had been one year since the day I posted about my major switch to Marine Biology and plans to finally pursue my dream of heading back to the West Coast to get my PhD, and all the comments on the post along the lines of "FINALLY." And this past Monday and I had a long-overdue phone conversation with my academic advisor, pressed submit on an online form, and as of January, I'll be an Environmental Science major with a concentration in Marine Science.

Again.

I've been told that co-op is good for building your resume and figuring out what you want to do with your life, but that more than that, it's good for figuring out what you don't want to do with your life. It's easy to have a really idealized version of what a career in (business/journalism/nuclear physics) would be like, and to think that because you love something in the classroom, or because you've done a part-time stint working in it, you'd be happy doing it for the rest of your life. I came into Northeastern as a biology major, quickly realized that I don't enjoy anything where you're not allowed to poke the experiment, and quickly switched to Environmental Science with a Marine Science concentration because I like when work takes me outdoors. 

I did my first co-op in the environmental field, working on renewable energy, and genuinely enjoyed it. (Do you want to hear about acceptable shadow flicker thresholds for wind turbines, Renewable Energy Credits, or required tidal velocity for hydropower to be feasible? No, you probably don't.) I didn't, though, feel insanely passionate about it or completely in love with my job, and I think my generation has somehow gotten the message that if that's not how you feel about your work, then you're not doing the right thing. So I switched my major to Marine Biology, with the intention of pursuing a research career. That led to a two-month internship this summer and then to this co-op, which lead to realizing that this wasn't the right path for me. 

I do genuinely enjoy research. It's exciting, it takes you all over the world, and there are moments of absolute triumph when things work out. But I had the chance to have some conversations with people who were very candid about the ups and downs of taking on research as a career. And I've realized that the downs--the stress, the unpredictability, the uncertainty--outweigh the ups. For me. They don't for everyone, and that's great, because we desperately need people doing that work. But I've realized that the kind of happiness I had while I was on my first co-op is pretty unusual for an entry-level job. I loved the company culture and the people at my office; people who work in environmental science all seem to share some common traits. I could see my work making an impact quickly. It wasn't over-the-top stressful, there was no need to spent weeks applying for grants every time I wanted to pursue a new project, and the hours were predictable. I had the time and the financial security to hang out with friends after work, train for 10Ks, leave work at the door at 5:11 pm. 

(This may be a case of rose-colored glasses, because friends tell me I was permanently exhausted and always busy during those six months, which may have had something to do with the part-time jobs as a freelance writer, environmental science tutor, and climate action web content developer I was juggling. This wasn't my job's fault, though; this was the fault of being a college student in a town where my contribution of the rent to our three-person apartment is more than the total rent for the three-person apartment where one of my best friends from high schools lives in Washington. Boston is a wild place to go to school.)

I love research in the way I love camping. You travel all over! Crazy things happen! You fall in the mud and can't figure out where to go to the bathroom and you come back with lots of great stories! But that doesn't mean I want to camp all year round. I like knowing that eventually I'll come home and sleep in my own bed, instead of sharing a deflating air mattress inside a collapsing tent. I like my indoor bathroom, even though it's the size of a toaster oven and something in it breaks every couple of months. And even though food tastes much better when it's cooked outside, someone always lights someone's clothes on fire with their s'more, and I wouldn't want to do that for every meal. It's a great adventure, but I wouldn't want to do it for the rest of my life. Marine biology is a major designed to lead to a research career; environmental science can lead in more directions than you might expect. I know a few that I might want to follow. There are a lot of choices ahead. 

Exhibit A, because I haven't posted a picture in a while: I wouldn't want to camp for the rest of my life. A rafting trip on the Buffalo National River two summers ago. We had to relocate from our planned campsite because in the aftermath of a hurricane, the site we booked was a swamp. You can see me in the background in a teal shirt, looking sulky because we hadn't eaten lunch yet.

A couple people have asked me whether I'll still be doing the Three Seas Program next year. I waffled on that for a while, but landed on a solid yes. I'll get graduate-level training in statistics, experimental design, conservation biology, and marine and terrestrial ecology. That'll serve me no matter where I go. Plus, my five-year high-school reunion is coming up, and "I just got back from scuba diving every day in Panama, studying tropical coral reef ecology. And how are you?" is a pretty solid answer to "What've you been up to?"

So this Thanksgiving (stories about American Thanksgiving in Ireland coming up next week, because I've talked your ears off enough), I'm grateful for the adventures that come with research, and for having the chance to change my mind.

Shaking things up

After last week's post, which apparently resonated a lot with people, I wanted to go for something more lighthearted this week. While packing up my bag on Monday night for Tuesday's early-morning field day, it occurred to me the sheer number of similarities between fieldwork and racing (for anyone who doesn't know me--if I'm not in the lab, I'm probably running). And there's a definite overlap between people in the marine and environmental sciences, and people who run and race. Maybe it's an outdoorsy thing, or an endurance thing (which you need a lot of for science), or a willingness to get messy thing. Which brings me to: a comparative analysis of race days versus fieldwork.

Race days: can't fall asleep the night before because of excitement and anxiety.

Fieldwork: can't fall asleep the night before because you're wondering whether you remembered to pack that thing that you were worried you were going to forget--or that other thing, or...

Race days: an unpleasantly early wake-up call.

Fieldwork: an unpleasantly early wake-up call.

Race days: start drinking Gatorade as soon as you wake up so that you don't cramp out at mile five.

Fieldwork: start drinking Gatorade as soon as you wake up so that you don't get heatstroke, which can really ruin a day.

Race days: the entire tone of the day is set by whether you get the right caffeine-to-sugar ratio in your 5am coffee.

Fieldwork: the entire tone of the day is set by whether there's a Dunkin stop on the way to the field site.

Race days: get lost in thought during the middle miles. Who designed the streets in Boston? Was this worth $40? I don't really like this iPod playlist I made. WHY IS IT SO HOT?

Fieldwork: get lost in thought while waiting for the tide to move out or the pH meter to calibrate. How old is this equipment, really? Do I have any idea what I'm doing? This looks like a good spot for wind turbines. WHY IS IT SO HOT?

Race days: it's like the pirate code--anyone who falls behind, stays behind.

Fieldwork: anyone who falls behind gets pulled out of the mud or dragged back into the canoe.

Race days: you will probably trip over another runner and land on your face.

Fieldwork: you will probably trip over your equipment/slip on a rock/get a foot stuck in the mud and land on your face.

Race days: you will not look good in the race photos. Don't even try to force a smile.

Fieldwork: you will not look good in the photos taken for the lab website. Smile and wave anyway.

Race days: may involve vomiting into a bush at the finish line.

Fieldwork: seasickness is a real possibility.

Race days: free snacks at the end!

Fieldwork: a sketchy-looking slice of pizza from the only restaurant within walking distance of the commuter rail stop where you'll be waiting for the next two hours. No free snacks.

Race days: if you run fast, you get to stand on a podium and feel awkward while they mispronounce your name!

Fieldwork: there are no prizes.

Race days: strangers on the T judge you on your way home, because you're in spandex with disheveled hair and look terrible.

Fieldwork: strangers on the T judge you on your way home, because you're covered in (mud/sand/dried salt) and smell terrible.

Race days: the culmination of months of training.

Fieldwork: the beginning of months of sitting at your computer.

When you wish you were home

I'm not predisposed to homesickness, but it's been a rough week.

In the aftermath of the US presidential election on Tuesday (in case you didn't know that was happening), it seems like Ireland is just as fascinated with the outcome as the US media is. So by default, American expats have become the authority--and people have a lot of questions to ask us. This isn't a political blog, so it isn't the place for my own feelings about the outcome--but the entire world has a lot of feelings about it, and they want to ask anyone with an American accent to explain it to them. Which is exhausting. (I'm going somewhere with all of this moping, I promise.)

So I've been pretty worn down all week. And Thursday night was the final straw: I was walking across a cobblestone bridge near the university, stumbled over a crack, and my ankle twisted in a pretty impressive fashion. Growing up dancing and then running, I've had my fair share of spraining every joint in my lower body, but this one was bad. End result--me, who's usually a pro at keeping it together while I'm traveling, sobbing on a bench holding my ankle and really, really wanting to be in a city where I had the easiest transit routes to get home memorized, I could call an Uber, I could walk into UHCS and get my ankle looked at, and I knew where to buy an Ace bandage. I wanted to call a friend in Boston--where people have known me for years and are far past judging me for breaking down--but the time difference meant that everyone was still at work or in class, and realistically, the only person who could do anything about it was right there sobbing on a park bench. It was probably the most frustrated I've ever felt while traveling. And making it worse was the knowledge that next week's field day--climbing over slippery rocks that I'm not great on even with two working feet--was the last plausible field day of the season, and may just have become out of the question.

These moments happen. They happened when I started high school in the maze that is the center of one of the largest cities on the West Coast, before Google Maps; they happened when I moved 3000 miles away for college; over the next year, I'm headed to the San Juan Islands and to Bocas del Torro, Panama, and those moments will happen. Nowhere on my predeparture checklist was "stop being a klutz for the next five months, because the consequences will be harder to deal with when you're alone in a foreign country." But as cliched as it is, they're the moments you look back on when you're struggling with something more mundane. Okay, my eardrum just ruptured at work and UHCS is closed, but remember that time I broke my foot before I even knew where the urgent-care place in Brookline is? Okay, our wifi is down and I need to submit an essay in five minutes, but remember the time I landed in a foreign country alone and had no phone service? I think every kid hates the phrase "it builds character"--but it turns out it does.

Oops, I forgot to be a tourist.

This week I realized a major plot hole in my trip so far: if you're following my blog, you're probably thinking that I haven't visited a single one of those beautiful landscapes I talked about in my first post. Oops. Luckily, wrong answer: I hit plenty of the (admittedly tourist-y but still amazing) spots on my Dialogue last summer. That's been a mixed blessing of coming back to Ireland instead of going somewhere else: I've had more time to actually get to know the city of Galway and feel like I'm really living here, but haven't been too interested in repeating the exact trips I've already been on. So with that, all the photos your adventurous little hearts could desire of popular travel sites near Galway. (Some of these I have saved on my phone but definitely did not take; no copyright infringement intended! Thanks to the lovely humans on my Dialogue who took these.)

Inishmore, the largest of the Aran Islands off the West Coast:

The Cliffs of Moher, the windiest and most visited spot in Ireland: