Fieldwork in the Intertidal. Photo Credit: Marshall Mumford.
It’s okay to fail. No, really, it is. You may feel that the achievements that brought you here have put you on a pedestal, destined to keep rising higher and higher, but someday that pedestal will break or crumble, and you must figure out how to keep going.
This is true especially in research. Having been involved in scientific research from the early days of doing science fair, to analyzing my data for my senior thesis, I feel like I have rather good authority to speak on failure. These are my four tips for coping with failure as you embark on your research journey.
With senior year well underway, it’s still pretty hard to wrap my head around the fact I’m actually working on my senior thesis. What isn’t hard to wrap my head around is the fact it means I’ll be producing yet another literature review. Whether it was my R2 during writing sem (an assignment from a now ancient version of the course) or what is shaping up to be the largest thing I’ve ever done, there’s always a lit review. This makes plenty of sense, given that literature reviews allow you to perform a necessary survey of the scholarly landscape, and can be used to teach necessary skills related to analyzing and synthesizing a broad range of perspectives and narratives. Despite this ubiquity, not every literature review is cut from the same cloth, and after writing my fair share of them, I’ve come to understand the practices that allow a quality literature review to stand a cut above.
Thinking in Cannon Green (probably about a JP!). Photo Credit: Matt Raspanti.
It’s that time of year: I am writing a Junior Proposal as a molecular biology major. There are a few things I found about this experience that have humbled me very deeply. I obviously did not expect a cakewalk. I think it’s a good time for me to let juniors know; it’s not necessarily a difficult experience, but it’s strangely timed. The deadlines (at least for my major) are right in the middle of a somewhat hectic time between exams and the long stretch of spring semester post-spring break. Many of my peers (including myself) have been doing experiments for a while now, and working on the paper feels like coming up for air from a very deep lair at the bottom of the ocean. It can be very disorienting. The issue is that it requires a different way of thinking than when you’re in the midst of experimentation.
Le Penseur (The Thinker) Statue, by Auguste Rodin (1904)
As I wrapped up the first of my two independent junior research papers and began brainstorming for the second (and much larger) one, I hit a familiar wall: too much possibility, with no clear direction.
This next paper is supposed to be around 30 pages. The topic is broad. My notes are abundant and scattered. Every passage and source I consider seems to open a new direction I could take. In theory, this is a researcher’s dream – I have abundant evidence, rich material, and intellectual freedom. In practice though, it can feel paralyzing. What is even relevant? How do I start this? What am I actually trying to say?
My high school English teacher gave me the most useful writing advice I’ve ever heard: “With focus comes depth, and with depth comes complexity.”
Entrance to Aaron Burr Hall, home to the anthropology department and my JP adviser. Photo credit: AccessAbleUSA
Whether it’s long hours alone in a lab or late nights in Firestone, research can feel like a uniquely isolating experience. The process of compiling existing knowledge and producing new knowledge invites us to dive deep into ongoing conversations that exist within our fields. These deep dives into the procedures, frameworks, and models that define research projects require a degree of focus that can narrow our view. One of the few moments in any research journey that disrupts this individual flow is the feedback process. That moment, when we are reminded that research is explicitly collaborative, is always critical and often dreaded. Having received my fair share of feedback over the years, I’ve learned just how important each step of the feedback process is. This goes beyond just receiving feedback, but instead really considering the importance of preparing for feedback too.
One of the greatest benefits of being a Princeton student is the unparalleled access to international opportunities. Whether it’s traveling for classes and clubs, completing an IIP (International Internship Program), doing fieldwork through HMEI (High Meadows Environmental Institute), taking a Global Seminar course through PIIRS (Princeton Institute for International and Regional Studies), or participating in Princeton’s many language programs abroad, many students find ways to leave the Orange Bubble—literally. To become better-informed global citizens, it is important not only to study the world from Princeton, but also to spend time in the world beyond Princeton.
One powerful way to do this is by conducting research abroad. When I was a junior preparing for my senior thesis, I knew I wanted to incorporate an international dimension into my work and, if possible, travel over winter break of senior year. Although I had been fortunate to travel domestically through Princeton, I hadn’t yet taken advantage of any study or research opportunities abroad. Winter break of senior year is one of the last, and most popular, chances to do so. Princeton has a wide range of thesis funding sources, which makes it very possible to take your research to an international site.
“Welcome to SWE23” sign at the Annual Society of Women Engineers National Conference
When I attended my first conference, I was overwhelmed by the number of events—from keynote speakers and lightning talks, to career fairs and research presentations. Over time, through attending several conferences, I learned how to navigate these spaces strategically and make the most of the few days I had at each one. Conferences are an opportunity to connect your academic interests to real-world communities and open doors for future opportunities. From resume databases to poster sessions, conferences can open doors to new research and career opportunities.
Roman copy of a Greek bronze bust of Aristotle by Lysippos (c. 330 BC).
Aristotle’s Metaphysics begin with an oft-quoted adage: πάντες ἄνθρωποι τοῦ εἰδέναι ὀρέγονται φύσει (Aristotle, Metaphysics A.1 980a). “All humans, by their nature, strive to understand.”
With some spare time over fall break, I decided to brush up on my Greek philosophy. My upcoming junior independent work will focus on Lucretius’ philosophical poem De Rerum Natura, and he engages with so many ideas from ancient Greek thinkers – Epicurus, Democritus, Plato, and Aristotle, to name a few – I thought it prudent to be familiar with them. Given that the very purpose of their works is to explain their ideas, I didn’t expect to run into serious trouble as I began reading them. Instead, as I started making my way through Aristotle’s Metaphysics and Plato’s Timaeus, I found myself entangled with ideas of identity, causation, and substance. My overwhelming reaction was… “wait, what?”
This cosmogram, “Rivers,” is in the Schomburg Center’s lobby, and contains the poet Langston Hughes’ ashes.Photo credit: Candace Wegner.
This summer, I had the opportunity to do a fellowship at the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture in Harlem. The Schomburg is one of the largest archives of Black History in the world, and as part of my fellowship, I got to use their collections to craft an independent research project. Coming into the program, I had a very specific idea of what I wanted to find in the collections. I had found a disagreement in the scholarly literature about the historical relationship between two church denominations. Some scholars argued that the two denominations were historically one, while others argued that they had always been separate organizations. In the Schomburg’s research catalogue, I saw that there was a collection of personal papers belonging to one of the denominations’ founders, which I saw as an opportunity to add a new perspective to this debate.
A classroom of students reading at Princeton (not core lab). Photo credit: Ryan Halbe.
Many STEM majors here have the same rite of passage: core lab. For non-lab majors, core lab is a class that is purely to teach you about lab techniques and critical thinking skills that are useful for writing our theses. They usually involve a bit of a simulated lab experience where you discover new findings while the teachers guide you through the motions of a lab research experience.
Molecular biology’s core lab meets twice a week for 3 hours and then a small 50 minute lecture/precept on Fridays for half the semester. Other majors have similar constraints. However, while at first it may seem a bit overwhelming and even redundant if you’ve already done these procedures in a lab or are in a lab that definitely will not be using any procedures you learn, core lab goes beyond just teaching you technical skills.
I too was confused as to why I was here and why this mattered, but over time, I began to internalize one of the real skills this class is meant to teach you, something that pipetting will never give you: asking the right questions.
