Are there any questions?

I recently presented my work at the American Chemical Society (ACS) National Meeting in Orlando. It was a great conference and I’d definitely recommend it to anyone in this field. I caught up with my lab mates from my undergraduate university, connected with graduate students and post-docs working in similar areas of research, received career advice from industry personnel, and listened to thought-provoking talks by distinguished academics. One of my favorite parts of the conference was a gender inclusivity workshop focused on making the conference more accessible to women and providing support for women who are looking to enter leadership roles; it had a nearly 50/50 gender balance, which is something I have never seen in a session of that nature! 

I presented my research in a talk in the first session on the first day of the conference. Our session was focused on looking ahead to the next five years in biotechnology. I’ve encountered a few road blocks in my project lately and I was really excited to explain the challenges I was facing and brainstorm solutions with more experienced scientists.

I got a little bit nervous just before I gave my talk. The speaker before me had run over by a few minutes. We had planned to switch microphones at the end of the questions portion of his talk, but we skipped questions and went straight into my talk. I tend to rely heavily on planning and structure, so I felt a little disoriented. I delivered my talk calmly and confidently, though not quite as energetically as I intended. I thanked the audience and the chair of the session stood up and said, “Are there any questions?”

I realized that my talk, while very thorough, had been a bit too technical for this audience. Because the session far so forward-focused, the speakers discussed a wide variety of topics from cost modelling to novel chromatography methods to data collection and interpretation. It was a very thought-provoking session, and while there were many experts in the room, only a few of them were experts in anything related to my work. 

I stood there in silence for several seconds and waited for someone – anyone – to ask me a question. Finally, an audience member raised their hand and asked for clarification on something I had mentioned in one of my slides. Another audience member asked me if I had considered altering the sequence of my protein of interest. They were both fair questions and I did my best to consider what they had said and answer appropriately. I really struggle with the questions portion of presentations because I tend to get a bit defensive. When an audience member suggests that I change something about my project – especially something I’ve already thought to try or have tried, but didn’t include in my presentation because it was unsuccessful –  I get frustrated because I feel like I’m repeating the same fruitless attempt again. I have to remind myself that they are trying to help me and that I need to keep an open mind and consider what they are saying.

As I made my way back to my seat, a professor from my university told me: “Good talk.” It didn’t seem very good to me. I was disappointed with my talk; presentations should be thought provoking and stimulate discussion. Mine barely had any questions. 

When we broke for lunch, I had two researchers approach me. They both complimented me on my talk. They said that they thought my research was interesting, but that they couldn’t wrap their heads around the problems I was experiencing. “It just doesn’t make sense!” one of them told me. As the conference continued, I met more people who had been in the audience during my talk. Most of them told me the same thing: my work was intriguing, I had explained it well, and they had no idea how to help me solve the problems I was having. 

I took me a few days to fully understand that my talk had gone as well as it could have gone. I’m having a very difficult problem and even some of the leaders in my field don’t have any idea of how to solve it. That means I’m doing really important work (or that I’m on a fool’s errand, we may never really know for certain). This presentation made me re-evaluate the fundamental questions I’m trying to answer during my PhD and renewed my enthusiasm for my research. That’s what conferences are all about, right? 

Even though, my presentation did not go at all the way that I had planned, I’m really glad it didn’t – I’ve learned so much more through this experience!