This month’s post feels a little different from the last. Where the previous entry was about framing the big questions—why sea ice matters, and why we should care about its past behaviour—this one is more about the quieter work that underpins those questions. It is about methods, patience, and the uncomfortable reality that much of science happens slowly, incrementally, and largely out of sight.
Finally, a blog post about science! It is rather late, so apologies for that, but it was Christmas and I had parties to attend, cricket to be disappointed by, cheese to eat, and darts to watch. I’m here now—let’s see if it was worth the wait.
I wish this second update was a more cheerful one, filled with exciting adventures and collaborations. Doing so, however, would not be the truth of this month. The truth of this month, and last month actually (although I wasn’t ready to write about it yet), is far more painful.
I have now been a research fellow at the University of Manchester for twenty-three days. They have been full days: a great deal has happened, and yet they have passed remarkably quickly. Earlier this week, I attended the induction for my fellowship cohort, where it was made clear—gently but unmistakably—that this pace is unlikely to slow. As in most areas of academic life, momentum tends to be self-perpetuating.