The Art of the Unknown

The first major challenge was facing my own initial lack of knowledge. Suddenly, I found myself surrounded by entirely new protocols: what can be touched with gloves, what is strictly glove-free, and how to safely move items through the space. As I did not fully know how new equipment operates, getting startled when something goes off-routine is inevitable.

I remember one day working inside the glovebox. Due to simple fate and normal wear and tear, a valve unexpectedly failed—something that was bound to happen sooner or later—and the chamber began to inflate rapidly. Since I had just used an air tool inside, my mind jumped to the worst conclusion: "It was me, I ruined everything." The panic of those first few minutes was overwhelming. 

Not long after, another mishap occurred while preparing samples. Not being completely familiar with the exact structure they use here, I misplaced a component, and the final design didn't turn out as expected. Lacking a deep understanding of the architecture of the process, my mind blocked, and I couldn't find a way out or a solution on my own.

Therefore, I had to pause and shift my mindset. I learned that when these things happen, it is completely okay to feel stressed or scared. You have to give yourself permission to feel those emotions, accept them, and let them be, because they are a natural response to things you cannot control. But the biggest lesson is not to get stuck there.

Once I let those first few minutes of frustration pass, I forced myself to stay calm. I understood that the only real way out was to put pride aside, ask questions, and let myself be guided. To my surprise and relief, when I spoke with the laboratory team, we found quick solutions. It was highly enriching to discover how different professionals, each with their own way of working—some warmer, others cooler and more direct—were always willing to support me.

Nowadays, instead of freezing in front of the machines, I take the initiative. If I get startled or make a mistake, I ask myself: "What are we going to do tomorrow to feel better and lose the fear of doing things?" The answer is always the same: ask before acting, rely on my colleagues, and see every stumble as a necessary recalibration. This summer is teaching me that true scientific work isn’t about being perfect from day one, but about learning to navigate uncertainty so that the learning process stops being terrifying and becomes deeply fruitful.