Physics is a lot of things to a lot of different people. It can be hard, scary, or phun. It can be the course that’s going to stain your GPA or it can be your livelihood. To me, physics is the art of problem solving.
During tours at the cyclotron, the audience is usually asked whether they like to play with legos. Zach usually says the kinds of people that like to play with legos are the kinds of people that work at the lab. “Can I make it fit?” “Can I make it better?”
I want to go a step further and say the kinds of people that enjoy math, science, and engineering are the kinds of people that like to figure things out. We’re the people that not only ask “How did they do that?” but also “How can I do that?” It can be related to anything: building something that no one has seen before, measuring something new, or figuring out how to find ‘x’ from a, b, and c. Each one of those has it’s own kinds of problems that must be solved before it will work.
Why is problem solving an art? After all, in most undergrad courses, math and science are often seen as plug and chug into well known equations. Someone had to find those equations in the first place. Real problem solving doesn’t always have an algorithm. You have to be creative when you try to do something new. The more complicated something gets, the more finicky it gets as well. You can do something in Windows 5 times, but on the 6th it may crash. Experimental physics is often the same way. You have to do some things ‘just so’ in just the right order in order for it to work. It’s like getting reception from bunny ears on a TV. Sure, you can do it by trial and error, but there’s always someone that can get the aluminum foil just right so that it looks better. Webster defines an art as a “skill acquired by experience, study, or observation”. In physics, you need all three.
For example, data analysis is like one long homework problem. Imagine, at the beginning of the semester, being given just one problem, but it has multiple parts a, b, c, …. w. And furthermore, everyone in the class has a different kind of problem, so you can’t really work on it together. Your part c might be similar to their part f, but you both have to understand how each fit into your overall problem. To complicate it further, the professor hasn’t solved it before. They can tell you how they might approach it, but they’re not going to whip out the solution and tell you what step to take next. You might be on part ‘m’ before you realize you’ve made a mistake in part ‘b’ and have to start all over. At the end of the semester, it’s not graded. You can’t just skip a part that seems irrelevant and take the points off. You can’t just assume the units work out and tack them on at the end. You can’t bank on most of your work being right and wait for the graded result. You have to make sure all of your work is right at each step. The reward for finished analysis is far greater than an A on a homework set. When you successfully figure something out, the adrenaline rush can be on par with catching a winning touchdown. Because in the end, the finished product is a reflection of you. As a student, you are your GPA. As a scientist, your work is you.