Steminist blog: BECOMING Series
Becoming: Interview with Dr. Marla Geha
Olivia Atuah
Marla Geha is a professor and astrophysicist at Yale University. Her research is focused on understanding how the smallest known galaxies formed, and using these galaxies to understand the nature of dark matter and the underlying cosmology of the Universe. She obtained a B.S. in Applied and Engineering Physics from Cornell University and a PhD in Astrophysics from the University of California, Santa Cruz. She has received honors including an Alfred P. Sloan Research Fellow, a John S. Guggenheim Fellowship, and the Dylan Hixon '88 Prize for teaching excellence in the natural sciences at Yale. She is on the executive board of the Warrior Scholar Project and has a free online course entitled "Rocket Science for Everyone".
What made you interested in Astronomy as a career, and what was your journey like?
I've wanted to do astronomy, or at least something related to space, for as long as I can remember. Like a lot of kids, I went through the phase of wanting to be an astronaut, but eventually I realized what fascinated me wasn't necessarily going into space. It was understanding it.
When I got to college, I majored in engineering physics instead of astronomy because I understood that astronomy is really physics with astronomy layered on top. Most of my first two years were entirely physics courses, and later I was able to take a couple of astronomy electives and participate in a summer research project. That research experience really confirmed that this was what I wanted to do. At the time, I also learned that graduate school wasn't just something you paid to attend; you could actually get paid to do research.
Of course, looking back, the path wasn't nearly as linear as I imagined.
One of the biggest setbacks came when I took the Physics GRE. I made the mistake of assuming, "I know physics, so I'll be fine." It was probably one of the dumbest things I've ever thought. I barely studied, tried to solve every problem from scratch instead of using shortcuts, and completely ran out of time. I ended up scoring somewhere around the 16th percentile. That score changed everything. Instead of attending the graduate school I originally envisioned, I went to New Mexico State University. It was a great program, but after two years, I realized it wasn't the best fit for me. I left with my master's degree, reapplied to graduate schools, and eventually transferred to UC Santa Cruz.
Looking back now, those setbacks don't define my career; they're just part of the story.
Did you ever question whether this was the right career, and what makes it the best fit for you?
There was definitely a period between graduate schools when I wasn't sure whether the door into astronomy was going to stay open. I had to retake the GRE, reapply to programs, and there was no guarantee I'd get another opportunity. During that time, I remember thinking that if astronomy didn't work out, I'd probably go into industry. At the time, it was the dot-com boom, and there were plenty of opportunities outside academia. But I never really questioned whether astronomy was what I wanted to do.
The question wasn't, "Should I study something else?", it was, "Will I get the chance to keep doing this?"
Looking back now, I realize I probably could have been happy in many different scientific careers. I enjoy research itself, whether that's astrophysics, geology, genetics, or another field. But at that point in my life, astronomy felt like the only path I wanted to pursue.
What I've come to appreciate is how much flexibility the career offers.
Every five to eight years, your work evolves. Your research changes. Your teaching changes. Your outreach changes. You're constantly finding new ways to contribute, and that keeps the career fresh. Personally, I also need both research and teaching. If I spend too much time teaching, I start missing research. If I spend a year doing research full-time, I start missing the classroom. Having that balance is one of the things I value most in my career.
Your research focuses on dwarf galaxies, which many people have never even heard of. Why are these tiny galaxies so important?
People often think dwarf galaxies are a niche area of astronomy because they're small and relatively unknown outside the field. I actually push back against that idea because the questions we're asking with dwarf galaxies apply to all of astrophysics.
These galaxies don't contain many stars or much gas compared to the amount of dark matter they have, which makes them incredible laboratories for studying dark matter. If we can understand how dark matter behaves in dwarf galaxies, that knowledge extends far beyond these small systems. It helps us understand how galaxies form, how stars evolve, and ultimately how the universe itself works.
That's what excites me about them; they're extreme environments, but precisely because they're so extreme, they allow us to isolate questions we couldn't answer anywhere else.
Has studying these galaxies taught you anything about yourself?
One thing I've realized is that I genuinely enjoy problems that take a long time to solve and that require taking things very carefully. Science today often rewards people who work quickly, publish rapidly, and move from one project to the next. That's a perfectly valid way to do science, but it isn't what motivates me. I like difficult problems that require patience. I enjoy work where doing things carefully matters just as much as doing them creatively. Dwarf galaxies are exactly that kind of challenge. They're difficult, they're subtle, and they're not problems you solve overnight. I've learned that I'm happiest doing science that's slower, more deliberate, and rewards attention to detail.
Basic scientific research often faces budget cuts because it's viewed as a luxury. Why do you think society struggles to see its value?
I think the biggest issue is time. Basic research almost never pays off immediately. It often takes decades before discoveries become technologies that people use every day.
One of my favorite examples is Einstein's theory of general relativity. When he developed it, nobody had a practical use for it. Today, every time someone uses GPS or Google Maps, they're relying on corrections predicted by general relativity. Astronomy has similar stories. In the 1980s, astronomers pushed advances in digital imaging detectors because we needed better cameras for telescopes. Those same technologies eventually found their way into the cameras in our phones. The challenge is that those breakthroughs happened over twenty, thirty, or even fifty years.
Healthy societies are willing to invest in research whose benefits won't appear immediately. If we only fund projects that produce results in the next few years, we'll miss the discoveries that shape the next generation.
If your research disappeared tomorrow, what would you hope your students remember?
Honestly, I hope they'd remember something much bigger than astronomy. I spend a lot of time mentoring students, including working with women veterans through the Warrior-Scholar Project, and one lesson keeps coming up over and over again. Taking care of yourself isn't separate from doing good science.
People sometimes think the best scientists are the ones who never stop working, who sacrifice sleep, and who constantly push themselves harder than everyone else. I don't believe that's true.
Science is a marathon, not a sprint.
I love working hard. There are days when all I want to do is spend hours coding or working through a difficult research problem. But I also know that there's a point where another hour of work isn't making you any more productive. Sometimes the smartest thing you can do is step away, spend time with your family, have dinner with friends, or simply get some rest.
The goal isn't to avoid working hard. The goal is to build a career—and a life—that you can sustain for decades.
