Interviewed by Professor Jess Werk
On a chilly February morning, I sat down with Dr. Arianna Long, one of the University of Washington's newest astronomy faculty members, over steaming cups of rooibos tea. Professor Long studies massive galaxies in the early universe, using cutting-edge telescopes like the James Webb Space Telescope to peer back in time to when the universe was less than two billion years old. Her research has revealed that nearly half of all stellar mass in our local universe is bound in giant elliptical galaxies that rapidly assembled their stars over remarkably short timescales before abruptly stopping - a mystery that challenges our understanding of galaxy evolution. But beyond her groundbreaking research, she's equally passionate about transforming how science is done, developing innovative mentoring frameworks to support underrepresented groups in astronomy.
Q: What drew you to studying galaxies, particularly the massive ones in the early universe?
"I got a scholarship to space camp as a kid, thinking it would be all about astronomy, but it focused on rockets and being an astronaut. There's this funny picture of me looking very sad while everyone else is smiling. When I finally tried research in grad school, I initially studied young stars, which didn't excite me, and then cosmology, which felt too abstract despite my math degree. But galaxies - galaxies were this perfect intersection of everything. You have stars, gas, dust, you can bring in cosmology if you want. It felt like this wonderful confluence where you need to know a little bit about all areas of astronomy. Now what keeps me going is revisiting old paradigms with new observatories and discovering weird objects that challenge our understanding. I've always liked the weirdos - I even tease my undergraduate class about how 'boring' normal spiral galaxies like our Milky Way are."
Q: What experiences shaped your path to becoming an astronomer?
"My first astronomy class in college was transformative - it was the first class that truly excited me. The things that really terrified me - sometimes it feels like the reason I like astronomy is because it terrifies me - were the timescales of things and just how vast everything is, and how insignificant our lives and our human existence is. When I went and talked to the professor about changing my major from math to astronomy, they said 'don't do it, there are no jobs.' I was at a small state school where I'd gone to be a math teacher.
After college, I worked in business for a bit. I hated it. It's horrible. I'm not built for that world - it's a lot of schmoozing and changing numbers to make the client happy, even though the numbers were derived in a mathematically sound way.
Then I joined a bridge program at Cal State LA, and that was pivotal for me. It was the first time I was in a class where other people shared any aspects of my identity. When I was an undergrad as a math major, I was often the only woman, and definitely the only person of color. I had professors in my math classes with whom I'd been taking classes for years, who would still ask me if I was in the wrong class. At Cal State LA, most of my classmates were students of color with similar backgrounds. Suddenly I had friends to study with and to talk to about science and our other shared interests. It made me feel like I could belong there."
Q: Was there ever a moment when you questioned whether academia was the right path?
"In my third year of grad school - I think most Ph.D. students go through this - I hit serious burnout. It's completely valid to question whether you want to stay in academia at that point. I had that moment and went and shadowed three different people who had gotten their Ph.D.’s. from Irvine to see what they did outside of academia. I just was not excited about any of it. That moment, while not exactly delightful, was clarifying. I realized that what truly brought me joy was being in academia - which isn't true for everyone, but it was undeniably true for me.
Having the courage to admit that to yourself is terrifying, because you know it's going to be hard to stay in academia. I always had one foot out the door because it felt like a survival thing - you just have to know that you can do something else. But in that moment, realizing I really wanted this career, it was terrifying. You're signing up not only for the culture, but the fierce competition, and it's not clear - it's not a race where you know how to win it. It's more like perseverance and right place at the right time. You must relinquish a lot of control. There are strains on your relationships, your wallet. Moving for academia, there's so much that you sacrifice for this job. But for me, it was very clear - if I'm going to spend eight to ten hours a day somewhere, I want to like it."
Q: Throughout your career, which mentor has had the most significant impact on your development as a scientist?
"I'm very into mentorship as a concept, and one of my core beliefs is that you need a broad network - it's hard to point to just one or two mentors. I've had mentors who advocated for me behind closed doors, like my PhD advisor and postdoc supervisor, who nominated me for opportunities without me even asking. But in terms of explicit advice, there's one moment that really stands out. I was getting ready to apply for postdocs, and everyone was saying I should go to Ivy League institutions or work with big-name senior scientists. But I had this more junior person recruiting me with whom I already had a productive collaboration and who treated me like an independent scientist even as a graduate student.
I was struggling with this decision when I talked to Dr. Jedidah Isler, who started VanguardSTEM. She asked me, 'Do you think you could do better science in a place where you're celebrated and supported, or in a place where you feel like you're in competition with everyone else?' That clarity was transformative. I went with the more junior postdoc mentor and never regretted it. It was so much fun, and I was celebrated and supported. I still share this advice with students today."
Q: How has becoming a faculty member changed your perspective on research and mentorship?
"It's only been a little over six months, and already it feels like a lot has changed. I knew that I would take being in a position of power and leadership very seriously. But I didn't realize how almost every single day, I would be confronted with multiple opportunities to, for lack of a better term, be a shitty person. It takes so much work and energy to really breathe and digest what's happening and respond accordingly, and it's coming from every different angle - research, classes, administrative things. That weight was a lot heavier than I expected. But I've also found unexpected joy in watching students explore different research directions - seeing one become fascinated by cosmic dust, another drawn to galaxy clustering. Clustering is something that I always knew was possible with my data and samples, but not something I was necessarily super excited to explore. Now it's happening, and there's new things popping up, and I really love that part. It is beautiful watching students grow into independent scientists with their own curiosities.
I've always been a big-picture thinker with a thousand ideas and never enough time. Having a research group now means we can explore all these different branches together. What's particularly exciting is seeing which unexpected directions become significant. Sometimes it's the smallest questions that lead to the biggest discoveries."
Q: When you're not exploring the cosmos, how do you recharge?
"Definitely quality time with loved ones is essential. I love my partner and my dog, and I do long walks to get coffee and tea on the weekends and go on little cabin trips. I'm also an avid reader of science fiction, particularly Octavia Butler. Her work resonates deeply because she creates science fiction worlds that play with gender and race in ways that traditional sci-fi often doesn't.
Q: If you could only bring three books with you to a remote island for a year, what would they be?
"The first one - and this really only matters if there are other people on this island - would be The Four Agreements. It's similar to The Alchemist in spirit, offering a simple but profound framework for navigating the world and being a good person. It's about not taking things personally, being true to your word, speaking honestly. I read it young, and I still pick it up periodically to ground myself in those principles.
The second would be Octavia Butler's Xenogenesis series. I could read that one again and again. Some people get really weirded out by it - it's about this future where Earth has gone through nuclear warfare, and an alien race comes to rescue the remaining humans by blending DNA with them. It explores all these fascinating questions about survival, relationships, and what it means to be human. I find new layers every time I read it."
Q: And the third?
"Pleasure Activism by Adrienne Maree Brown. It's a collection of essays about the importance of joy and pleasure in life, especially if you're working against any sort of system. It includes writings from both Brown herself and other academics, really OG feminists like Audre Lorde. Her book shifted my entire perspective on joy and pleasure, teaching me that life shouldn't be all pain and suffering, even when you're working towards a goal; that moments of joy are important towards getting towards your goal, because ultimately it makes you a better person. It's better for your brain, it's better for your body. You're more of a joy to be around. There is this quote from this book that I like I live by: 'When I am happy, it is good for the world.' And that's how I see it too."