I never considered myself a quitter. Usually, I finish what I have started: a 30 minutes high intensity workout after the Christmas holidays for example or the extended version of the third Lord of the Rings movie, also a bachelor program in environmental science and a master in marine science in Kiel. It’s not like it wasn’t painful sometimes, it’s not like I never had doubts – but somehow, I could always convince myself to keep going instead of giving up.
Not so with my PhD in coastal science. I started in 2020 and quit three years later – way before I crossed the finish line. This post is neither meant to justify why I ended my science career nor is it meant to encourage you to do the same. I rather want to share some life lessons that I have learned before, during and after quitting.
1. Quitting your PhD is not the same as giving up
It is a matter of phrasing: I’d rather say I “quit” my PhD instead of “giving it up”. Why? Well, saying I “gave up” gives a bad vibe, doesn’t it? It implies that I wasn’t capable of finishing – which I don’t think is true. Yes, sometimes I felt overwhelmed and not capable. But with the right motivation, focus, support, and more time, I am sure I could have managed. So, I prefer the term “quitting”. It means, that I made a conscious decision to leave this career path and find one that suits me better. Close one door, open another one – you know the game.
2. Making the right decisions is hard
Of course, the decision to quit wasn’t easy and is the result of a long and complex process of evaluating emotions, thoughts, conversations, facts and dreams. But when I finally made up my mind, It didn’t feel like a failure but like instant relief – as if I had made the right choice.
The hardest part was to communicate my “right choice” to others in the science community. Looking into puzzled faces, explaining why I no longer wanted to do the job they all love so much, justifying why I was “throwing it all away” although I had “already come so far” – all of that is tough. It makes you rethink everything over and over again, it makes you feel their disappointment and maybe even makes you doubt the decision, that felt so right before.
Of course, the decision to quit wasn’t easy and is the result of a long and complex process of evaluating emotions, thoughts, conversations, facts and dreams. But when I finally made up my mind, It didn’t feel like a failure but like instant relief – as if I had made the right choice.
The hardest part was to communicate my “right choice” to others in the science community. Looking into puzzled faces, explaining why I no longer wanted to do the job they all love so much, justifying why I was “throwing it all away” although I had “already come so far” – all of that is tough. It makes you rethink everything over and over again, it makes you feel their disappointment and maybe even makes you doubt the decision, that felt so right before.
Luckily, I have family and friends who don’t need any explanations or justifications but support me no matter what – a lesson I have already learned long ago but is always good to refresh.
3. Miss, don’t regret
Now – more than one year later – I still don’t regret leaving academia behind. I miss it, though. I miss learning about coastal science every day, I miss field surveys and research cruises, I miss discussions with colleagues and friends in the office (often not related to our science), miss moaning about our struggles together and empowering each other. I’m definitely a bit melancholic when I look back, but it doesn’t torment me, so it’s all good.
4. You don’t need to know what you want, but what you don’t want
Some might think quitting doesn’t get you anywhere. I disagree. Especially when it comes to tough decisions (and deciding about your career definitely falls into that category), I’ve always been a fan of the process of elimination. It might be slow but it is still progress.
In my case, I realized that the kind of work I did during my PhD was not the kind of work that would fulfil and excite me in the long run. So, I eliminated it. After taking a step back I realized that writing about and communicating science was always what I enjoyed the most. Not knowing exactly what to do with this great discovery, I applied to become a journalist with the local newspaper. Pretty spontaneous, pretty bold choice- but I got the job. It’s totally different from what I did before, but turns out, the writing and human interaction bring me joy and excitement.
So, is that what I want to be now – a local newspaper journalist? Well, I don’t know yet. What I know is that my elimination process led me to a profession that works better for me. So, step by step, I am moving forward, enjoying the journey, and excited to see what’s next.
5. Motivation is key
Truth be told: I could have jumped to conclusions much earlier. Instead, I waited for years to be brave or desperate enough to decide to quit my doctoral journey.
Throwback: In 2018 I submitted my master’s thesis. 160 painful pages of geological interpretations of continental shelf data. After that draining experience, I told myself not to consider starting a dissertation, as it would be even more exhausting.
But one thing led to another, I got several offers that would naturally lead into a PhD and therefore a scientific career. Thus, motivated by the opportunity and the challenge, I took up one of them. What was missing in my motivational cocktail was the actual intention of becoming a scientist.
And that leads me straight to my advice for everyone, who starts a PhD of their own: Before you sign up for it, check your intrinsic motivation. If you want to become a scientist, a PhD is your way to go. If you start the dissertation for other reasons (you just like the subject, it’s a good first job after Uni, it helps you to stay in the country) that is totally fair, too. But then don’t lose yourself and don’t be afraid to let it go.
6. The power of vulnerability
One lesson I just learned recently is the “power of vulnerability”. With this concept, the American social scientist and speaker Brené Brown states that showing vulnerability and communicating failure and struggle is not a weakness. Instead, it leads to innovation, creativity and real connection. Also (and I am sure many of you agree with that) it takes a lot of courage to expose your insecurities and emotions in front of a superior instead of playing professional and pretending everything is going as planned – especially as a woman in a patriarchal system.
Man, I wish I had known about Brown’s work during my PhD. If I had shared more struggles and asked for help more, things might have gone very differently (better, I guess).
Of course, that concept of communication can only work if superiors are open for it. But it is not their responsibility to implement it, but ours. As a new generation of employees, I am sure we can change the way of communicating and connecting in a work environment by showing more honesty and struggles from time to time. Its powerful.
The end is not the end
As I come to the end, I would like to emphasise once again: I don’t want to persuade anyone to quit their PhD. But maybe reading this post will help you learn from my mistakes and reflect on your own career. If it leads you into science or out of it – that really doesn’t matter.
Tanita
There are more than 2,000 species of gobies (Gobiidae) known to science today, making them the largest family of fish in the ocean. But these small creatures are far more complex and essential to marine ecosystems than first meets the eye. Found all around the world in brackish, fresh and salt water in tropical and subtropical regions, they are an astonishingly diverse group of fish with several curious characteristics that set them apart.
Most gobies are quite small and don’t usually measure more than six inches long. Measuring just about eight millimeters long, the dwarf pygmy goby (Trimmatom nanus) is not only the tiniest goby known to science but also one of the smallest of all fish species in the world.
Primarily bottom-dwellers, gobies are known to be excellent foragers and have evolved expert burrowing behaviors over time. As they sift around looking for food like copepods, seaworms and tiny crustaceans, their movement helps to aerate sediment and keep algae in check. Some are even known to be “cleaner fish,” snacking on parasites they remove off larger creatures. It’s like a spa day for the animal being cleaned and a choose-your-own-adventure buffet for the gobies. Studies also show that cleaner goby activity is largely tied to the microbial health of coral reefs, showcasing that even the tiniest of species are essential to functioning marine ecosystems.
Gobies have some unique aspects to their anatomy, too. First, their fused pelvic fins are designed to help them form a strong suction cup to perch on coral reefs, rocks and other ocean terrain amidst turbulent currents. Some freshwater species are even known to use this suction to climb waterfalls. It may come as no surprise then that gobies are cousins to mudskippers, animals known to “walk” through mud. There are more species-specific features that set certain gobies apart. From the use of bioluminescence to symbiotic relationships with shrimp, the adaptations within the goby family are truly wide-ranging. Some species have even been found to use marine terrain memorization to navigate back to the tide pools where they were born. Isn’t nature mind-blowing sometimes?
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Gobies have equally complex and varied behaviors. Male gobies are infamous for being territorial protectors of their nests. Many larger males are known as “guarders;” these hopeful fish make careful nests to attract a mate, and once fertilization occurs, guarders will remain diligently near the nests to keep eggs safe. However, there’s another type of male goby that complicates this dynamic. These other males are known as “sneaker gobies” and are called that for one reason: They’re sneaky! If guarder gobies aren’t careful, sneakers can creep into the nest, fertilize some of the eggs and quickly escape. As if on an underwater episode of Maury, guarder males who aren’t careful could end up unknowingly babysitting little gobies that aren’t their actual offspring.
Gobies serve as indicators of ecological health and are essential to keeping delicate food webs in check. Unfortunately, many changes in our ocean threaten their ability to survive and thrive today. Coral bleaching and degradation endanger the health of one of their key habitats, and a combination of warming waters and coastal development can make it difficult for both juvenile and adult gobies to survive and thrive.
Healthy gobies mean a healthy ocean. Their essential role in marine ecosystems demonstrates that even the tiniest creatures play a major role in helping hold together the beautiful yet fragile habitats that make up our beloved ocean. Visit Ocean Conservancy’s Action Center and join the movement to protect our blue planet today and for years to come—from the tiniest goby to the largest whales, our ocean is counting on us.
The post All About Gobies appeared first on Ocean Conservancy.
Recently, you may have heard about something called “El Niño.” But what exactly is El Niño and its sibling “La Niña”? Why do these terms seem to emerge from the depths of the scientific community and drop into popular vocabulary every few years? And how are they connected to extreme weather and our ocean?
What Are El Niño and La Niña?
El Niño and La Niña are part of a natural climate pattern in the tropical Pacific called the El Niño-Southern Oscillation, or ENSO. These two phases are different sides of the same coin, creating equally extreme shifts in temperature and air pressure.
El Niño occurs when surface water in the equatorial Pacific becomes warmer than average and easterly winds weaken. La Niña is the opposite: cooler-than-normal sea surface temperatures and stronger easterly winds. ENSO cycles can last up to seven years. El Niño and La Niña significantly impact weather patterns in all corners of the globe, often leading to more extreme weather, storm frequency and intensity.
A strong El Niño can cause flooding in some regions and drought, heat waves and wildfires in others. It often causes crop losses, coral bleaching and marine die-offs due to unusually warm ocean temperatures. El Niño tends to suppress Atlantic hurricane activity, though it increases the risk of heavy precipitation and harm to fisheries elsewhere. In the Northern Hemisphere, El Niño typically builds between March and June, peaks in December, and weakens by February.
La Niña, by contrast, often fuels an active Atlantic hurricane season and increases tornado frequency across the southern United States. Like El Niño, it builds in spring and peaks around December.
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Predicting ENSO
In 1923, the physicist Sir Gilbert Walker discovered the “Southern Oscillation,” or large-scale changes in sea level pressure across the tropical Pacific. However, it wasn’t until the late 1960s that the metorologist Jacob Bjerknes found that the changes in the ocean and the atmosphere were connected, and the hybrid term “ENSO” was born. In 1974, researchers at Oregon State University attempted to predict ENSO for the first time.
Modeling has greatly advanced since the early days. Today, scientists at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) issue regular predictions about ENSO, which are now more accurate than ever.
NOAA gives a one-in-four chance that an El Niño could reach “very strong” intensity later in 2026, qualifying it as a “super El Niño.” This threshold has been crossed only a handful of times in recorded history, each triggering droughts, floods and record temperatures across multiple continents. NOAA’s data and models deliver life-saving early warning forecasts, like that of the predicted super El Niño, which allow communities to better prepare for and respond to extreme weather events.
Take Action
Every American, regardless of where they live, depends on NOAA’s scientists and professionals, whose work spans from the ocean floor to the far reaches of space. Unfortunately, NOAA is under threat. The Trump administration has proposed billions of dollars in cuts to the agency, which could weaken weather forecasting, disrupt fisheries management and stall critical ocean research, putting American lives and global scientific leadership at risk.
Ocean Conservancy is committed to working with NOAA to keep the public informed on climate and ocean science. We all benefit from a healthier ocean, and investing in research is the most effective way to restore ocean health and reduce the impact of severe weather events caused by El Niño and La Niña. Our ocean is not partisan, and protecting it requires all hands on deck and all sides of the aisle. Now, it’s more important than ever to demand that members of Congress prioritize our ocean. Add your name now.
The post Do You Know the Difference Between El Niño and La Niña? appeared first on Ocean Conservancy.
Ocean Acidification
Wind, waves, and boat noise: The first four weeks of underwater sound research in Akkeshi, Japan.
This is the first blog from GAME 2026
Learning to listen
What does the ocean sound like? There is the wind moving across Akkeshi Bay, deer grazing in the woods next to the ocean, and the soft rhythm of the waves against the jetty. Moreover, there is a fox foraging along the shore (かわいい。- kawaii), the seagulls` sharp calls from the sky, and the distant hum of fishing boats. And beneath the water surface? There is an entirely different world of sound.
Underwater sound travels faster, farther and often in all directions. The underwater world is constantly active, even though it appears silent to us humans. Tiny larvae drift and swim through the water, searching for a place to settle to become adults. They are guided by chemical cues, light, and sound. What happens if that process is distracted by sounds like boat noise? Will the larvae still settle or will they look for other places?
Four weeks ago, I arrived in Japan, to begin the fieldwork for my Master´s thesis as part of GAME 2026 at the Akkeshi Marine Station (AMS in short).
Akkeshi has a small fishing economy, which is mainly known for oyster farming. The town is remote, windswept, and deeply connected to the sea — making it an ideal natural laboratory for marine research.
Akkeshi is located in eastern Hokkaido, in a remote and largely natural region with extensive wetlands that are rich in birdlife, while the town is surrounded by coastal cliffs and forests. An iconic red bridge leads from the town of Akkeshi to the marine station, which lies within a protected area.
The marine station, where I am based, is located directly at the coast and experiences strong tidal variation both seasonally and daily. From the very first day, it was clear that this project would not only be about data collection, but also about adapting to a new environment — scientifically, culturally, and personally.
My research explores how underwater soundscapes, such as noise from ship engines, interacts with hard-bottom communities. In particular, I will examine whether boat noise affects the formation and early development of these communities. To test this, I will deploy an underwater loudspeaker that plays back boat noise towards PVC settlement panels, which simulate a vertical surface for the settlement of invertebrate larvae. During and after the experiment, I will analyse the composition of the communities that establish on the settlement panels and will compare it to the composition of assemblages that developed in the absence of boat noise.
Over the past four weeks, I have been laying the groundwork for this field experiment by testing the equipment, observing the weather and wave conditions at the experimental site, and building the experimental setup that will later allow me to collect the data for my thesis. Come with me and get a glimpse on how I conduct the preliminary work.
Building the foundation: Preliminary work
GAME projects are usually carried out by two-person teams. However, in 2026 no Japanese student was found for Team Japan and therefore I am working more independently with some support by Jun Hirose, who is an employee at AMS. I also get a lot of help from other people working at the station, including the very kind technicians. To make sure we understand each other about setups and difficult constructions, I established to draw things out to make it easy for everyone to follow my ideas.
The first phase of my stay in Akkeshi has been dedicated almost entirely to tests and preparations. Before any meaningful data collection can begin, it is essential to test how the equipment performs under real-world conditions.
One of the key components of my project is an underwater sound system for recordings and playbacks. I began with testing the hydrophones and the sound playback devices under controlled conditions in the laboratory, e.g. in tanks, before gradually moving to open-water trials. During these tests, I verified signal clarity and noise levels, experimented with different cable configurations, and evaluated how sound propagates in coastal waters.
In addition to the technical setup, I also started with doing preliminary underwater recordings. They will serve as a baseline for assessing acoustic isolation, i.e. making sure that the treatment level that does not include sound playbacks does not receive sounds from the boat noise treatment level.
Designing and testing the experimental frame A milestone in these first weeks was the construction and testing of the experimental frame. This structure is designed to hold the settlement panels and the acoustic equipment in place at specific depths in the water column. It is built from PVC pipes, which are stabilized with ropes and buoys, and is anchored near the pier of the marine station. One of the first tasks was to attach panels to the frame, which will later be used as settlement substrata, but for now the goal was simply to test their stability and positioning.
Field deployment is rarely straightforward as wind, waves, and currents constantly interfere with even the simplest tasks. Lowering the frame into the water required careful coordination, and retrieving it was often even more challenging. During these activities, I spent a significant amount of time on the pier, working close to the water, adjusting ropes, checking connections, and observing whether the setup remains intact over time.
Communication beyond language One unexpected but important aspect of my work here has been communication across language barriers. The technician I work closely with does not speak English, and my Japanese is still very basic. To bridge this gap, I began drawing detailed sketches of the experimental setups.
Every adjustment of the setup, no matter whether it was the placement of a hydrophone, the angle of a panel, or the water depth in which a frame is deployed, was first translated into a visual diagram. Over time, this method proved incredibly effective. It not only improved communication, but also forced me to think more clearly about the design of my experiment.
The experimental site: Knowing nature
A crucial part of my project so far has been documenting the conditions at the experimental site. To make sure that the experimental setup will not be damaged, it was important to get to know the tides, the currents and the weather conditions. At times, harsh weather conditions forced us to take a break from field work. In those moments, I enjoyed the cinematic scenery of sunsets, and I turned to other tasks, such as sanding the settlement panels in order to make their surface more suitable for colonizers.
Life at the marine station
Life at the marine station is a balance between fieldwork and lab work. After long hours outside, I often return to the lab to clean equipment, process preliminary data, or prepare for the next deployment.
I have also spent time helping others with their work, which has been an important part of integrating into the team. Whether assisting with equipment, handling or sharing observations, these interactions have made the experience of working at AMS more collaborative and less isolating. The station itself is modest but well-equipped. It provides everything that is necessary for field-based marine research, and its proximity to the water makes transitions between lab and field seamless.
Surprisingly, Jun Hirose and I got a welcome party from the whole office. It was a great opportunity to talk (or gesture) with other members of the station. And of course, there was great food, cooked by some of the researchers.
Nature and wildlife encounters
While the focus of my project is on underwater acoustics, the environment near the marine station constantly reminds me that this is a living ecosystem. Deer frequently wander near the station, sometimes appearing unexpectedly along the road. On a few occasions, I have even spotted a fox passing by quietly or lying next to the dining area at the guesthouse.
During a weekend break, I took the opportunity to explore Hokkaidō’s nature further to watch birds and seals. Watching seals swimming in the water, while seabirds circled overhead added another dimension to my understanding of the site. These animals are not just part of the scenery, they are also part of the acoustic environment I am studying.
What comes next
In the next phase of the project, I will shift from preparations to the systematic collection of data. With the setup tested and refined, I will run a controlled experiment to analyze whether sound interferes with the settlement of larvae.
What comes next
In the next phase of the project, I will shift from preparations to the systematic collection of data. With the setup tested and refined, I will run a controlled experiment to analyze whether sound interferes with the settlement of larvae.
I already started collecting data when I did recordings for assessing whether the frame that holds the settlement panels, which will not be exposed to boat noise, is acoustically isolated from the frame that holds the speaker.
Fieldwork is rarely smooth. Equipment fails, weather changes quickly, and even simple tasks can take much longer than expected. There have been days when strong winds made it impossible to deploy the setup, and others when technical issues forced me to repeat tests. However, each challenge has also led to small improvements such as better cable management, clearer protocols, and more efficient workflows.
Beyond the data, this experience has been shaped by the place and the people who made it possible. Working here in Akkeshi is a reminder that research is not just about results. It is about a process, adaptation, and observation. It is about learning to listen, not only to underwater soundscapes, but also to the environment and the people around you. I feel very lucky to be able to be here and I appreciate the moments I have been collecting so far and I am looking forward to the next four months. Because sometimes, the most interesting discoveries are not the ones you set out to find, but the ones you encounter along the way.
厚岸、ありがとうございました。
お疲れ様です。
Maximiliane
Wind, waves, and boat noise: The first four weeks of underwater sound research in Akkeshi, Japan.
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