The crucial decision that determined the professional direction I ultimately undertook came about almost by default.

At age 14, I resolved that I would complete a Ph.D. in biochemistry, molecular biology or a closely-related subject.  From that day forward, I defined myself as a future Ph.D. scientist.  One of my secret teen-age pleasures was to take the long public bus ride from my home town in northeast San Diego to La Jolla, where UC San Diego, the nearest hard-core science university, is located.  There, I would hang around the biochemistry and molecular biology lab buildings, peeking in windows, hoping to catch sight of the scientists at work.  I now know that the electricity I felt in the air, while wandering the halls of the university science buildings, was the creation of my highly idealistic, overly-developed imagination.  

I also believed I would be a failure if I did not follow through with my graduate school plans.  This fear drove me – through a stubborn case of math anxiety, a deep self-doubt about my intellectual capabilities, substantial financial difficulties and a tough undergraduate program.  I was a stressed-out 30-year-old by the time I completed my bachelor’s degree in chemistry, but immediately entered graduate school.   The same old fear of failure kept me going through a divorce, two changes in advisor and field of study, and life in a highly competitive and unforgiving research environment, until I defended and then submitted my dissertation shortly before my 38th birthday.  

It was inevitable that my psyche would begin to rebel against the pressure I’d put myself under for so many years.  The rebellion took the form of a sudden wish to radically change my field of study into one that would help save the planet.  At my university, chemists didn’t interact much with those engaged in global change studies.  So, I took the daring step and went looking for someone in a “fuzzier” field of research, who could advise me on how I could contribute to protecting the environment.  I found a rather charismatic climate change scientist in the biology department who fostered my new intellectual and personal vision.

However, it didn’t take long for me to realize how little was the influence any academic could hope to wield in pushing the world into a healthier, more sustainable direction.  Over coffee with a friend, one evening, I described a seminar I’d attended, where the passions of campus’s more famous scientists ran high, while their likely impact on public policy was nil.  My friend, who had left academia to work in industry, cynically commented, “Ah, yes…Academics yapping….”   Her comment succinctly defined my conundrum.  An obvious answer would have been to leave graduate school and find work in an environmental NGO.  But, I genuinely loved chemistry, wanted to continue working as a chemist and, of course, there was my nagging fear of failing to achieve a “serious” Ph.D.….

Having sacrificed my personal life and earnings potential for the first two decades of my adult life, in order to fulfill the educational commitment I made to myself at age 14, one might not be surprised to know that I’d fully absorbed the values I was taught in academia.  Despite my intellectual understanding about how ineffective I might end up being in helping the planet as an academic scientist, I could not rid myself of the belief that good science is only done at the top tier academic research institutions, that the most valuable research is in the basic sciences, and the number of publications you lead-authored was the definition of your worth.  I carried around a vague prejudice against government laboratories and other non-academic research, and particularly against applied research.  

My post-doctoral studies were nearing an end, and my ambivalence about life in academia had grown.  Given my “anxious academic” lifestyle, my effort to find a life partner had been spectacularly unsuccessful, and my window of opportunity for having my own children would soon be closed.  The prospect of the 100 hour work weeks, along with the relentless proposal-writing and departmental politicking required to win tenure filled me with a sickening dread.  Nevertheless, I submitted an application for a faculty position in the chemistry department at my beloved UC San Diego.  My ambivalence must have been reflected in my writing, since I never heard back from the department.

Employment opportunities beyond additional postdoctoral work were few in my field, at the time, and my only alternative was to apply for a fellowship.   I applied for a AAAS policy fellowship, which places scientific and engineering professionals within the US government agencies and Congress.  While providing in-house expertise to support policy and program development, the fellows are exposed, on a day-to-day basis, to the realities of government policy and program development.  Where the job application for a faculty position was detailed and painful, the fellowship application was simple and easy.  The application required that I prepare a 1-page policy recommendation memo, intended for a “senior decision-maker,” on an environmental issue of my choice.    Given how little effort I applied to the task, I was startled when I received an invitation to a panel interview in Washington, DC.  I went into the interview filled with all my usual self-doubts, but succeeded, nonetheless.  

After two years as a fellow, I joined the US EPA as a civil servant.  At no point could I have said that the process of transitioning from academia to government science and policy work was easy.  An important difference between academia and science in support of government regulations is that your research must support the agency’s mission – and that the decision-makers understand and support your work.  Consequently, people skills are as necessary as scientific ability for professional success and recognition.  Even so, funding for research is extremely limited at EPA, so opportunities to distinguish oneself in the larger scientific community can likewise be limited.  I am still dogged by a belief that I am a fraud, since my job – science assessment -- rarely allows me to do original research that leads to peer-reviewed journal articles.  I do, however, help make certain that the science that should be considered in the development of America’s air quality policies is communicated clearly and accurately to both the decision-makers and the public. This is a contribution to saving the planet about which I am proud.