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Skim this post here, scroll down to read the full post, or try both! Skim It:Expertise in Science: The scientific community overvalues expertise, which can discourage curiosity.
Read It:Let’s address the idea of expertise. In the scientific community, expertise is valuable. We defer to it, we project it, and we learn to expect that opinions depend on it. We are heavily influenced from a young age to pursue expertise in our academic journeys. Today, being an expert is so important that it takes precedence over inquiry throughout the scientific community. But here is the problem: the very essence of science is asking questions, so how do we find the courage and excitement for inquiry if expertise is most important?
Fortunately, you don’t need to be an expert to ask meaningful questions. My role is to encourage inquiry, and by sharing my journey, I aim to illustrate my experience in creating safe spaces for exploration. I’m not aiming to be seen as an expert, but to be trusted as a guide, and I hope to shape Tidal Thinking as a space where being a scientist begins with curiosity. Ever since I was a kid, I've been curious about the ocean. The size and mystery of its depth drew me in and captured my attention. The deep sea is one of the last places on Earth that remains almost entirely unexplored, and just like many kids, I wanted to be an explorer. One of the first people that I remember who spoke about the ocean in a way that reflected the spark I felt was Dr. Sylvia A. Earle. Dr. Earle is a champion of ocean conservation, an expert in marine biology, a deep-sea explorer, and she blew my teenage mind. I learned about her at age fourteen when I heard her on the radio giving an interview. Listening to her describe ocean exploration was incredible, and she introduced me to her area of study, which I had never heard of before: oceanography. Oceanography is the interdisciplinary study of the ocean; it encompasses ocean physics, chemistry, biology, and geology. The ocean is an unrestricted lens for understanding the world because it insists on a holistic perspective in which all areas of Earth science intersect. This scientific framework was so exciting! I had never felt the need to focus on the minutiae of a single field of science, and the possibility of asking questions that spanned all four major branches of Earth science felt freeing. There are few programs in the world that will allow you to study oceanography without a base understanding of either biology, chemistry, physics, or geology. So, I went to university and completed a four-year undergraduate degree in geology at Queen's University in Kingston, Ontario, Canada. Geology, while interesting in its own right and a topic I will focus on in future chapter posts, became my bridge to ocean science. In the meantime, I learned how to think in multiple dimensions, study a science that can’t always be observed, and conceptualize in timespans of millions and billions of years. Geology gave me a unique perspective on Earth. I eventually completed my master’s degree in oceanography at the University of Southampton in the United Kingdom. I did ocean fieldwork, learned to integrate the sciences, and, perhaps most importantly, learned to think critically. I loved learning about the ocean, but when it came time to choose a direction, applying my knowledge in academia felt misplaced. As I learned about Earth’s systems, I also learned how to communicate science. I quickly learned how important it is and how devastating the impact can be when it is communicated poorly, incorrectly (by intent or by mistake), or not at all. You can think of academic science like a dialect of the English language with ample room for misunderstanding. As a science communicator, my job is to bridge the gap between the two dialects, like a science translator. I learned science communication through experience spanning a variety of informal education jobs. I didn’t stick to one science communication space, partly because I didn’t know where I wanted to focus, but also because I enjoyed learning to communicate across different media and to people of different ages and educational backgrounds. I worked in academic settings as a research assistant in marine invertebrate zoology at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of Natural History and as a teaching assistant at Queen’s University, where I distilled complex material and shared it with visitors and undergraduate students. I’ve also focused on making science accessible through work at science centres and by co-producing several Earth science podcasts. Today, I’m an outdoor educator, and I develop STEM programming and mentorship opportunities for girls and gender-diverse youth. These roles haven’t made me an expert, but each one has strengthened a habit of asking questions. My path hasn’t been defined by expertise so much as by curiosity: following it from geology to the deep sea, and from research to communication. Tidal Thinking is simply an extension of that approach: a place to explore, to wonder, and to remind ourselves that being a scientist doesn’t start with authority. It starts with curiosity. 🌊 Tidal Thinking Mikaela Ivey-Moore
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