I well remember that moment of transition when moving from undergraduate to postgraduate; that moment when my tutor asked me to call them by their first name (perhaps a rite of passage no longer so exciting, since first names are used so commonly by all students) coupled with the feeling that surely I must finally understand my subject because I had a degree to my name. It was swiftly followed by the realisation that I knew absolutely nothing, and there was still a mountain to climb before I got my PhD.<\/p>\n
Then, a few years later, I can recall being a postdoc, a position of quasi-superiority over PhD students who might, if they felt so inclined, come to me for advice. Except I was 24 and a postdoc in the USA where PhD\u2019s take much longer than the UK, so actually I was still pig-ignorant compared to them. It was more a question of me needing their<\/span> help (but despite that I got a much better rate of pay, which seemed a bit unfair).\u00a0 When I hit 25 I remember thinking, right I\u2019m an adult now, can\u2019t pretend to be a studenty sort of person anymore, but of course I was just the same person as I was at 24 years and 364 days. The transitions are arbitrary and what matters is as much internal as external. Rites of passage may help \u2013 holding that PhD degree in one\u2019s hand does pay testament to years of hard work \u2013 but the reality is each phase is just that. One never reaches journey\u2019s end of excellence and, in my view, it would be really boring if one did.<\/p>\n It seems to me that at every stage of the way, one is always a fresh novice, starting from scratch on some new challenge. Just when you\u2019ve mastered one thing you\u2019re asked (or volunteer yourself) to do something totally different for which you\u2019ve had no preparation, a bit like all those celebs on Strictly Come Dancing; at least most of us don\u2019t have to do it \u2013 whatever the \u2018it\u2019 in question may be – live in front of an audience of several million people. I certainly feel like that about my blogging. My entry into the field was pretty accidental, or at least ill-thought through, but I have recently passed the 2 year mark (I wrote a bit about how I started here<\/a>). I still feel a novice, that there is much to learn, but by and large the comments I receive are immensely encouraging and I\u2019ve gained confidence that my writing is serving a useful purpose for some people, with different posts striking chords with different individuals. This makes it all worthwhile. \u00a0Nevertheless, each piece of writing I now do (which extends not just to the Occam\u2019s Corner<\/a> blogs on the Guardian, but\u00a0 recently to printed broadsheets and other blogs sites<\/a> too), I feel \u00a0I have to approach afresh, reconsider my style for each different audience. So, I\u2019m a novice again at each new venture, although certainly with more confidence than when I first set out.<\/p>\n This post is prompted by finding myself falling into yet new \u2018spheres of action\u2019, about which I\u2019m sure I\u2019ll blog in the future when they are well and truly underway but which I\u2019ll leave unnamed for now. I\u2019m not sure if the world is divided into those who never feel fear that they\u2019ll fail and those who nearly always do, or if the former group just disguise their fears better. I do feel it is important to realise that there is always more to learn (unless, perhaps, if you\u2019re on a production line or some other repetitive job) and that you will never truly be \u2018expert\u2019. It doesn\u2019t matter if you look at someone and think they\u2019re the bee\u2019s knees, those knees may well still tremble from time to time. Look at that plenary speaker at the podium, and (s)he\u2019ll probably have had a bad night\u2019s sleep in advance of their performance; watch an adept act of persuasion on a committee in your department and you may not realise the individual comes out sweating and asking for reassurance they did a good job; and all those committee chairs I\u2019ve written about previously<\/a>, at least some of them will know full well they did a lousy job and should not throw their L-plates away just yet.<\/p>\n I feel fantastically fortunate that somehow I find myself, not just doing the science I\u2019ve loved all my life, but a whole slew of new activities which stretch me in different ways. I feel simultaneously spoilt, for instance, that the Royal Society has given me opportunities to get stuck into all kinds of new things and worried I don\u2019t know what I\u2019m doing (as I described before about a previous situation here<\/a>). I think this is normal and the only thing to do is to get on with the scary new challenge. But, and this comes back to what I wrote previously about impostor syndrome<\/a>, you have to use the fear to your advantage, as an actor might with stage fright, to get the adrenalin going. If it\u2019s fight or flight time, the choice is obvious \u2013 get stuck in and give it your best.<\/p>\n I have about half a dozen talks lined up in the months ahead to different organisations\u2019 Women in Science\/Leadership sessions, mainly at universities but a couple are not. I feel it needs saying all the time \u2013 and not just to women \u2013 you will only get better at something if you try it out for size. Running away is not a solution. But, and this is a big but, do not assume either that things will necessarily work out first, second or third time; nor that those people you admire succeeded painlessly and at the first shot either. I\u2019m still learning and I love that, but it does mean that constantly I feel as if I need those L-plates reapplied.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I well remember that moment of transition when moving from undergraduate to postgraduate; that moment when my tutor asked me to call them by their first name (perhaps a rite of passage no longer so exciting, since first names are … Continue reading