Why I’m Hosting The Joy of x Podcast

As a teenager in the 1970s, I used to love snuggling up in a big, soft velvet chair in my high school library. There, in its burnt-orange upholstery (I told you it was the ’70s), I’d lose myself in the memoirs of great scientists. One of those autobiographies, Werner Heisenberg’s Physics and Beyond: Encounters and Conversations, made an abiding impression on me. In it, he describes feeling hopelessly stuck on a problem as a young postdoctoral fellow. To make matters worse, he was suffering from such a severe case of hay fever that he had to take two weeks off and escape to a remote, pollen-free island in the North Sea. One night, he suddenly saw the solution to his problem. He was far too giddy to sleep, so as a new day dawned, he climbed “a rock jutting out into the sea … and waited for the sun to rise.” His late-night epiphany is now called quantum mechanics.

This is the kind of fascinating thing we can learn by hearing great minds talk about their work and how it connects to their lives. It’s the best way, and maybe the only way, to learn not just what great scientists do but why they do it.

So when the editors at Quanta Magazine invited me to host a podcast for them, I jumped at the chance. But it wasn’t immediately obvious how to create a podcast that could live up to Quanta’s mission of “illuminating basic science and math research through public service journalism.” How could we achieve that in a podcast, keeping in mind the particular strengths and limitations of the medium? (And of the host!)

At first we considered an approach centered on themes common to all of science, such as the quest for truth and the use of evidence, observation and reasoning. We also entertained the idea of a serial format, where we would focus on a single scientific story with twists and turns, building suspense from week to week. But after batting around these and other ideas, in the end I felt myself drawn back to the lure of that cozy velvet chair. I wanted to hear scientists’ stories, to learn their innermost desires, to understand what moves them and fascinates them and what they’re most curious about.

So we decided on a conversational format, in which I’d chat with a wide range of scientists about their lives and work. In my dreams, each conversation would be relaxed yet informative, full of banter and wild ideas. My excitement grew at the thought of what fun this would be and how much I’d get to learn about the many branches of science and math represented by our growing guest list. Being the host meant I could follow my curiosity wherever it led.

But I also hoped the interviews might go beyond the merely intellectual, to reach for soulfulness and intimacy, to reveal something of a scientist’s struggles, dreams and setbacks. Such intimacy would tap into the peculiar power of podcasts to be deeply moving — far more so than television and print interviews. It’s emotionally intense to hear someone’s own story, in their own voice, piped into your ear.

The hope was that the listener would enjoy feeling like a fly on the wall, eavesdropping on two scientists schmoozing. At the risk of sounding immodest, I think we’ve achieved that with our first season.

Through this podcast, I’ve been learning about the inner lives of some of the most intriguing mathematicians and scientists working today. A few are old friends and colleagues, while others are people I’ve still never met in person: Until their voices came through my headset, I knew them only through their research. But in every case, I wanted to know what makes them tick. I wanted to know why they do what they do, what they’ve discovered, and why it matters to them and to the world.

Keeping the tone conversational turned out to be a wise choice. It makes for easier listening (and it turns out I’m lousy at reading from a script). But the best thing about the cozy atmosphere is that it fosters clearer communication. It allows both me and my guests to admit what we don’t know, and in so doing, to learn and be surprised.