One of the first things I noticed when
I started working in the lab was the lack of noise. No one felt the
need to fill in the absence of sound with workday radio, podcasts, or
the coffee shop buzz that is available on a livestreaming feed. The
silence was only cut by the occasional hum and click of machines. At
first I thought I might ask to bring in my much loved public radio
broadcaster which is ever-present in my home but after a day of
silence, I decided quiet was preferable.
Even on that first day, when I was
inputting data into a spread sheet, I noticed the novelty of silence.
It is such a rare commodity these days. As I focused on my data sets,
they took on meaning and patterns appeared leading me to make
observations about the research environment which I had not actually
observed first hand. It was a surprise when I realized I could see
the stream in my mind's eye through the numbers.
Work in the lab has progressed from
data input to actual experiments and collection of data but there is
still the silence; and I like it. The lab has become a kind of oasis
from both noise and people. This being summer there are no students
in the hall and very few people in the building. On my floor, I can
easily count on one hand the number of people I see every day...and
that is a very different life than the one I inhabit as a reporter
where I am constantly in touch with people, it is the job
description.
In the lab you get drawn into the small
triumphs; when a measurement is a perfectly even number, when a
specimen is quickly and easily located, when a dish of samples all
turn out to be the same species – these are daily wins that give me
a secret thrill.
And then there are the specimens in
question. The animals I am working on are small water bugs similar to
the relatively well-known caddish fly. They protect themselves by
assembling a outer-case of stream debris, typically small grain
particles. To the naked eye they look like small pieces of bark but
under the microscope they are a mosaic of colours finished with a
glistening shellac. The beauty of the world is astonishing and I am
thankful that I have this opportunity to witness it. Without the lab,
I never would have known about these miracle mosaics.
It is often remarked that experts know
nothing in the world other than their speciality. Working in the lab
I can see how this occurs. The lab is a bubble that insulates you
against everything that happens outside of the lab. You become
fascinated by everything in the lab to the point where there is no
room for anything else. Once you open the pandora's box of scientific
investigation it leads from the inaugural question to hundreds more,
perhaps creating a lifetime of work on one seemly obscure insect,
plant, or cellular function. Science is a rabbit hole that many
plunge into like a high diver, moving deeper and deeper into the
depths of the burrow. It is a comfortable place to be especially when
the rest of the world is in turmoil.
The other morning I woke to reports of
a shooting in Dallas, Texas. Five policemen were dead and others were
wounded. I was happy to escape into the lab away from the non-stop
coverage of the event. I am not saying one should ignore the news and
pretend the world doesn't exist but I do think it is beneficial to
turn it off. One news report a day will likely keep you abreast of
all the major world events; remember when news was something we sat
down to watch for half an hour an evening. We did not seem to be any
less informed but I do think we were less traumatized.
The lab is good; a silent mediation
focused on small insects. I enjoy their microscopically visible eyes,
I occassionally talk to the specimens especially if they are easily
found and measured and I appreciate the discipline of concentrating
on one thing, with no outside distractions, for several hours a day.
The lab is a doorway to another world where I unplug from one
dimension and inhabit another. It is a good place to be.
