But what does science mean to me?
Science is a friend, a confidant. She whispers to me, she tells me secrets.
Science tells me secrets as I stand at the dunes and look over a beach I’ve been visiting for over 15 years. She tells me how the rock layers formed, and what the tides will do tomorrow. She tells me what the dark shapes are that swim in the weedy shadows, and the identities of the carcasses and remnants that wash up on the sand. She tells me we need to limit the fish we catch.
Science tells me the secrets of my own body. She lets me know I need to eat well and exercise. She reminds me that I’m too old to reasonably have another baby. She pokes me in the back when it’s time to have an afternoon nap. She lets me know I need to submit my pride and lose a few cervical cells and have my breasts compressed so that my risk of some cancers can be assessed.
Science plays coy with numbers. She reveals them in the flowers and shells, in the patterns of our climates and in my children’s times tables. Why is it that the digits of the 9-times tables all add up to 9 themselves? (See for yourself: 09, 18, 27, 36, 45, 54, 63, 72, 81, 90). This secret is well held.
Science hides in the secrets of the skies. She overwhelms me with vastness as I stare at endless stars and millions of years gone by. She sends a rover to Mars and operates it remotely to send back whispers from a red planet.
Science reveals the secrets of my own family. We are a family prone to science. We are often obsessive, usually fussy, and inclined to be solo operators. We tend to favour rules and systems. Knowing I am not alone in these traits helps me to sleep at night.
My genes and my environment reveal the secrets of me.
Science is me, and my secrets.