This semester has been my first real experience with formal research as an undergraduate. Sure, my history classes involve research in the traditional sense — writing papers, analyzing sources, and piecing together stories, but this is different. For the first time, I’m part of projects that could actually be published, the kind of real research people talk about when they say they work in academia.
To be honest, I never imagined myself doing this. I’ve never been terribly interested in research as a career path, but as a history major, I knew it was one of those things I’d probably end up trying. It felt almost inevitable, like dipping your toes into something you know you’ll have to understand eventually.
Right now, I’m part of two projects that have completely different vibes but surprisingly similar goals. The first is through UT’s Undergraduate Research Apprenticeship Program (URAP), where I’m analyzing data from Texas Historical Commission markers, including the Undertold Marker Project. It’s a mix of history and data, something I didn’t have much prior experience with, but have learned so much from.
The second project is through JapanLab, where my team is helping reconstruct an interactive digital map of the treaty port of Nagasaki. I spend most of my time digging through the internet and archives to find old photographs, stories, and architectural records, basically rebuilding a historical city piece by piece. My teammates handle more of the digital modeling, while I’m the “keeper” of information, organizing and supplying materials that bring the project to life.
Both experiences have been incredible in different ways, but what I’ve valued most is having guidance. As someone new to research outside of the classroom, having mentors has made all the difference. I don’t think I could’ve handled being dropped into an independent project with no direction and told to “figure it out.” I’m lucky that my advisors are true experts in their fields, so if I can’t figure something out, they either know the answer or know exactly who to ask.
It’s been rewarding in ways I didn’t expect. I’ve gotten to collaborate with people from all kinds of majors and backgrounds, each bringing a new perspective I never would’ve considered on my own. It’s made me realize that research isn’t just about finding answers, it’s about learning to ask better questions and knowing where to find those answers. I’ve also gained a deeper appreciation for the work that professors, librarians, archivists, and data specialists do behind the scenes to make research possible, many of whom have helped me on the projects I’m currently working on.
It’s also been meaningful knowing that my work has an impact. Both projects focus on revitalizing histories that have been overlooked or silenced. In URAP, I’m studying how the language on historical markers fails to account for Native Americans and erases the experiences of people of color across Texas. In JapanLab, I’m helping bring light to a city that’s often forgotten, despite its rich and complex history.
Still, research hasn’t been easy. I’m a very time-oriented person. I like clear deadlines, knowing what’s next, and being able to measure progress. Research doesn’t work like that. The deeper you dig, the more complicated things become, and the further away your “answer” starts to feel. Getting used to that uncertainty has been one of the hardest parts for me.
There’s also a lack of structure that can be intimidating. When something doesn’t work, it can feel like you have nothing to fall back on. You’re just figuring things out as you go, hoping each step builds toward something that makes sense in the end. There’s rarely a clear timeline for when something should be figured out or finished.
Another thing I’ve learned is that research never really ends. There’s always another source, another lead, another piece of information that might change everything. Learning when to stop and say, “This is enough for now,” has been surprisingly difficult. I’ve spent hours in archives and in the bibliographies of others’ work, following one citation to another, only to end up overwhelmed by how endless it all feels.
Organization has also been a huge challenge. Sometimes I’ll have dozens of tabs open with sources I don’t know where to put or how to categorize. I’m a bit of a perfectionist, so everything needs to have a specific place, or it starts to stress me out. I end up leaving tabs open “just in case,” because I’m scared of mislabeling or losing something important.
I won’t pretend I’ve fallen in love with research yet, because I haven’t, but I am beginning to enjoy it. There’s something about it that feels fulfilling to me, even if I haven’t quite figured out why yet. One semester of each of these projects doesn’t feel like enough to know if this is truly what I want to pursue, so I’m continuing both and even applying to other research internships to see where it leads.
In all, honestly, this has been one of the first times I’ve been able to experiment with what I want to do in the future. People often treat internships and projects like they have to define your entire career path, that you have to stick with them forever, but that’s not true. I think that’s what makes so many people dread them. These experiences are meant to help you figure out what works for you — and what doesn’t.
If you’re thinking about getting into research, it’s definitely worth trying. Research is one of those universal skills that almost any career or job needs. You learn how to find reliable information, ask the right questions, and turn what you discover into something others can understand, even if they didn’t spend hours digging through sources like you did.
Sometimes, the most valuable part of trying something new is realizing it might not be forever but appreciating what it’s given you in return: new skills, new experiences, and new perspectives. And that’s okay. And if it is forever, it’s about finding the part of it that sparks joy and keeps you going.