On a sunny day, I was working outdoors, holding a steaming Dewar flask. There were no polymers or NMRs, just whipped cream, sugar, eggs and liquid nitrogen. Within seconds, the liquid had turned into beautiful ice cream, while cold white vapour crept across the table. It was pure chemistry, just as I had experienced at an open house myself once before. 

It was family day at work. Colleagues had brought along their parents, children and partners. The children watched in fascination, while the parents tended to keep their distance. −196 °C is hard to imagine, after all. Some found it impressive, while others found it scary. But most were mainly waiting to get their ice cream. 

In the lab, this is nothing out of the ordinary. Freezing things with liquid nitrogen happens often enough. What struck me was how quickly something loses its magic once you understand it or do it frequently. What is routine to me feels like magic to someone else. Perhaps this is exactly what we lose sight of as scientists: that sense of wonder. 

That afternoon, it was on the other side of the table, not with me. It was there in acting cool yet taking a step back, in cautious questions and sparkling eyes. Try to rediscover that magic in your own work, too, because it reminded me again why I ended up on this side of the table.