My recent career transition, by any measure, sounded silky smooth. About four years ago, my ex-boss revealed his idea of retirement and laboratory closure. This gave me sufficient time  to prepare for the next step, and I did not waste any minute. I expanded my collaboration with computational biologists, creating a new niche for myself. Meanwhile, I took every chance to get involved in their activities and carefully learned what the role I might be able to play in a data science group. Over a series of friendly negotiation, the supervisor of the data science laboratory agreed to create a position for me.

In July of this year I officially transfer to the data science laboratory. At my new position, my colleagues and I have mutual respect for each other. I learned from everyone and provided my biological knowledge when it's helpful for their research. They are a fun group of people to work with, and I am involved in multiple projects for which some of them will be published soon. Even better, many of them love barbecue or hiking. We discussed science and told whole bunch of stories during grilling or walking. I am so happy that my new colleagues consider me as a good fit. I made a good decision and could not be happier.

However, like anything in real life, including my career transition, there were many details where devils hid. As soon as learning my ex-boss's retirement plan, I got very panic. My first thought was that my expertise in mouse work, including cancer modeling and preclinical study, should be useful for many researchers in this laboratory, so they may agree to create a position for me to stay. When I brought this idea up, however, to say that I got a cold shoulder was an understatement. In the next years, every of my efforts trying to stay in the same laboratory was rejected. Some of the PIs who said no were more than mentors to me, and many of the co-workers who shrugged me off were more than colleagues to me. I could not understand why they would not offer supports. I was forced to explore an uncharted research field for my next step, and that made me scared. Being let go, I was in constant frustration and anger for the following years.

When I started my new position, I looked back to what happened in the past. I reasoned that my expertise did not meet the urgent need of the research in that laboratory and for its PIs. Everyone has her/his own goal to build the team around it. That might not be explained explicitly on face, leaving me to the cold attitude. On the other hand, it is the rejection promoting me to to build new niche of expertise. However, even after securing the new position, the frustration and anger did not go away. It was stuck in my brain and I could not understand why. For some time it bothered me so often that I considered to see a therapist.

Only recently, I think that I can figure it out. 

The number one taboo in animal study is to give the handled animal a name. An urban legend circulated when I was a graduate student:  a new student came to run a mouse study. Without being noticed, he gave names to the mice in the cage, and then began to talk to them.  At the endpoint of the study, he needed to euthanize the mice, but he cried and rejected to do so. Since that time, every new member of the lab will be warned not to give names to mice.

This is not a rare event. We heard the farm stories how kids collapsed when they found the  chicken that they took care of in the dish.  Did the mice or chicken feel the human who handled them as friends? We don't know. We build the emotional attachment with them by ourselves, and severing it gives us pain.

In my case, I've been working on melanoma research in the same laboratory for almost 15 years at that point when my ex-boss revealed his plan. In fact, I was one of the founding member of the research branch, involved in every step of its development and expansion. During those years, I truly regarded it as my home in research, and people there as scientific family members. The attachment made the rejection traumatic to me, so I was full of depression and anger. On the other hand, the attachment was unilateral. I needed to understand that the modern academic research has evolved into a scientific enterprise, which is driven by personal interests. It is not your grandpa's academics. It is a business.

Sir Richard Peto, who coined the famous "Peto's Paradox" in cancer research,  had written a less-known but equally interesting paper: The need for Ignorance in cancer research (https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s10654-023-01085-2). He argued, seeking correlation through bottom-up process was at least as important as top-down mechanistic studies, because it was able to reveal factors outside the contemporary paradigm.  He called such idea "the need for ignorance".

In our career development, there will be the moment with need of ignorance: taking the vision of promising new direction or niche, rather than holding up what we already grab in hands. Frustration and resentment are often generated by the worrying about the loss and anxiety on leaving. During this process, our attachment to the past will prevent us from moving forward even when we see the promising new land. 

I want to dedicate this piece to all my friends who are seeking the new track in their career development.