The Best Thing You Bring Back Isn't in Your Suitcase

There is a certain ritual to returning home from a scientific conference. Or am I the only one with a post-conference ritual?

The suitcase is usually a little heavier than when I left. A few vendor giveaways have somehow found their way into my bag. There is probably a notebook filled with hastily scribbled notes that I will swear I am going to organize later. There is a stack of business cards I will never use ... and, if I'm lucky, a few souvenirs for my wife and kiddos.

And, of course, there are the pens.

I have no idea how many conference pens I have accumulated over the years. I don't remember maliciously collecting them, but apparently, I have made it my life's work to steal as many as humanly possible.

But when I think about what I actually bring home from a conference, none of those things are particularly important.

The most valuable thing I bring home doesn't fit in my suitcase.

It's the idea that changes how I think about my research.

For most of us, I think it is also the memory of a conversation. Maybe someone asked a question after a talk that made you look at your project differently. Maybe you sat down for lunch with someone you had never met and ended up talking about a problem you've been trying to solve for months. Maybe you wandered into a poster session and found someone working on something surprisingly similar to what you're doing.

Sometimes, those conversations are the things that stick with you.

As the summer conference season has officially unfolded, tens of thousands of scientists have traveled to meetings to present their work, learn from others, and catch up with colleagues. In my (admittedly limited) experience, we tend to measure conferences by things that are easy to count: How many talks did you attend? How many posters did you see? How many people did you meet? How many business cards did you collect? And, most importantly, how many pens did you steal from vendors?

These things are easy to count. But I don't think they necessarily tell us much about whether a conference was actually valuable.

Science can be an isolating endeavor. Most of us spend a lot of our time thinking about a relatively narrow set of questions. There is nothing inherently wrong with that. In fact, I'd argue that specialization is part of what allows science to move forward. But every once in a while, it is useful to step outside of our little ... self-isolated bubbles.

Conferences give us an excuse ... or perhaps an opportunity... to do exactly that.

For a few days, we get to see what other people are working on. We hear about questions that we may never have considered. We discover techniques we didn't know existed. We meet people who approach familiar problems from completely different directions.

And sometimes, we get to meet the people behind the papers we have been reading for years.

Perhaps more importantly, conferences create opportunities for collaborative thinking.

A question asked after a presentation can spark a new experiment. A conversation over coffee can turn into a collaboration. A chance encounter in a hallway can introduce you to someone who someday becomes a colleague, mentor, or friend.

I can only speak to my own experiences, but I think some of the most valuable parts of attending a conference are the things that aren't on the schedule.

I'm not suggesting that the formal ‘sciency stuff’ isn't important. It absolutely is. The talks, posters, workshops, and presentations are a huge part of why we travel halfway across the country ... or sometimes halfway around the world ... to attend these meetings.

But some of the most memorable conversations happen in the spaces between those things.

They happen in hallways.

At the bar.

Over meals.

Standing next to a poster.

Waiting for coffee.

Sitting next to someone you have never met.

Those interactions are difficult to plan for, and you certainly can't put them on your CV. But they can have an impact that lasts long after the conference itself.

When we finally get home, we unpack our bags and put the souvenirs somewhere. The conference program gets recycled. The vendor swag finds its way into a drawer. The business cards sit on our desks until we eventually decide what we already knew to be true ... we are never going to buy that thing.

But the things that actually mattered tend to stick around.

A new idea finds its way into an experiment.

A new perspective changes how you approach a problem.

An email gets sent to someone you met over lunch.

A collaboration starts.

Maybe you return to the lab with a little more enthusiasm than you had when you left. Maybe you are reminded why you started doing science in the first place.

Those are the things we don't necessarily recognize as conference outcomes. They aren't easy to measure. But I think they are often the reason these meetings matter.

The best thing you bring back from a conference isn't in your suitcase. It's the idea, the conversation, or the connection that keeps going long after you get home.

And maybe, if you're lucky, you’ve stolen some really good pens.