A job that changed me: I ran observatory tours as a student. An eight-year-old’s question taught me two important lessons | Australian lifestyle

In the first year of my science degree, I was fortunate to land a job as an astronomy guide at the Sydney Observatory. In my role, I would lead tour groups of about 20 people. We’d look at stars and planets through telescopes. If the skies were filled from horizon to horizon with clouds, we’d explore more of the universe through a 3D theatre. And to peer beyond what our telescopes could see, we’d pile inside the cosy planetarium, seeing what the light pollution of Sydney and clouds would often obstruct from our view.

My favourite object to show in the planetarium was the Hubble Ultra Deep Field image. Before revealing the image, I’d explain how the Hubble space telescope had stared at a piece of sky the size of a grain of sand held at arm’s length for 11 days, collecting enough light to look into the farthest corners of the universe. Then I’d zoom in on that tiny piece of sky, revealing the gorgeous image. At least one person would audibly gasp at the reveal.

But I wasn’t done. I’d get them to spot the spiky objects in the image. There were four obvious stars that were part of our galaxy, the Milky Way. I’d seal the existential crisis by saying: “Those spiky objects are stars. Everything else you see in this image, every blob, every smudge, every tiny speck … is a galaxy.”

Cue the shock and awe. I loved those moments.

On one tour, the clouds were not working with us. So, after showing the group the “stars” through the telescope – the stars on the Australian flag hoisted atop the Sydney Harbour Bridge – I led us down to the 3D theatre. Eventually, the imagination and curiosity of the group took us to the topic of black holes.

Everyone loves black holes. You can talk about the first black hole to be discovered, how they got their name, and – one of my favourite topics – spaghettification.

Spaghettification is what happens when something gets a little too close to a black hole. Black holes are really intense objects with extreme gravity. At their edge, the event horizon, their gravitational pull is so strong that not even light can escape. But gravity gets weak really quickly. Once you double your distance away from a massive object like a black hole, its gravitational pull drops to just one quarter of its event horizon strength.

So, imagine you’re falling feet first toward a black hole. Since its gravitational pull is significantly stronger the closer you get to the black hole, your feet experience a stronger gravitational pull than your head. That difference would pull on you, stretching you out like a long piece of spaghetti. Spaghettification.

I explained this to my tour group and, almost immediately, a hand shot up. It belonged to a young girl, about eight years old.

I got excited. One of the key parts of my job as a scientist and a science communicator is to answer questions. Questions about what we currently know about our world, questions that we have yet to find answers to. Some questions are common, others are simple and sometimes what feel like the simplest questions, have surprisingly complex answers.

I thought that whatever this girl was going to ask was going to be really impactful, whether for herself or for me.

Without missing a beat, she asked: “So would the blood be the sauce?”

I froze. The group giggled. We were all comprehending what she had said, at different rates. Would the blood be the sauce?

I had just explained, in what I thought was family-friendly detail, how a human could get strung out like a long piece of spaghetti by a black hole. After I thought about it, I realised she was right: the blood could indeed be the sauce.

That night taught me two very important lessons. First, explain spaghettification in the context of stars falling toward a black hole, not humans. Second, curiosity comes in many forms.

So, I encourage you: Ask the question that seems silly. Ask the question that will help you understand the world better.

And who knows, maybe it’ll be a question that someone else will remember years later.