I went to my first conference fresh-faced at 22, having just finished my undergrad MSci, with a poster under my arm. It was a reasonably large conference of volcanologists worldwide and held in my favourite country and second home of Iceland. I was nervous but excited, as I was heading there essentially on my own. But I was soon welcomed by one and all, and thrilled at the chance to attend talks by people who's papers I'd read, and not just that, but talk to them too. The conference had a great atmosphere, friendly and open, but I quickly leanred that not all conferences are like that. Many participants had just come from a smaller kimberlite conference (special volcanic pipes that bear diamonds), and told be the air was a little more frosty there. The exact mechanism of diamond formation is quite contentious, and the business is lucrative enough that the various sides are bitterly fought over. I felt glad that the kind of science I was there for was for the joy of knowledge. Although, to get funded for any science these days there needs to be a 'so what', that usually you have to relate to people's everyday lives. But I think that's a subject for another post...
It was at my most recent conference, however, that gave me the final push to go for journalism. I sat with chin in hands, staring up admiringly at all the speakers, marvelling at all the work they'd done and what it could mean. But that's where it ended. The second part of the conference, the part that I identified as the most important reason to hold one, was the part that I didn't want to participate in. I didn't want to plan new research with my peers, I only wanted to tell the world what amazing things they'd done. Part of realising what you want to do is also realising what you don't want to do. I'm trying not to feel guilty about this, since I know that really I'm not escaping academia, I'm embracing media, which I truly feel is the right choice for me.
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