In the senior year of my undergraduate studies, I took a course titled Education and the Public Good, where, as part of my final paper, I chose to refute a thesis put forward by one of my esteemed classmates, a thesis that contended that the distinction between “academic” and “public” humanities should be dissolved; while the paper was humanities focused, were we to replace every instance of humanities with physics, the paper would be equally intelligible. That is not an instantiation of any identity between the peculiar predicaments faced by physics and the humanities (one is far more practical than the other, making the latter endangered while the former still enjoys some public appeal) but my argument, namely, that the goal of a university should be a striving for knowledge (Truth, aletheia) for the sake of knowledge. If, in fact, the point of the university were to simply transmit information, then, as A. N. Whitehead says, “no university has had any justification for existence since the popularisation of printing in the fifteenth century”. Thus, I claim, without pretending that Whitehead’s remark alone establishes the claim, that the primary purpose of the university must be the generation of that information. A question, then, naturally arises, one which as an outreach fellow I have often pondered: what is the actual point of outreach? To answer this question, I will appeal to Hannah Arendt’s concept of natality, the idea that each new generation represents a new beginning (imagination, while the older generation represents experience). No one is born proficient enough to understand academic work. Public outreach presents this academic work in the most imaginative and enthusiastic way to bring this natality into the striving for knowledge. It aims to bring something new, a new perspective to the experienced at the university. (Another reason, perhaps, is to provide some sort of a justification for the spending of the taxpayers’ money, which, in my opinion, is a waste of everyone’s time: anyone who believes that they can judge academic physics work and decide whether the taxpayer money is being well spent after engaging only with public-facing physics work is, to put it mildly, mistaken. The judgement comes and should come from within.) For the most part, I, as an outreach fellow, did believe that I was working towards this primary goal, the goal of igniting the striving for knowledge in young kids (and perhaps some older kids and adults): explaining the physics behind the flashy demonstrations, genuinely delighting in noticing the sparkle in some of their eyes, and explaining my own reasons for pursuing this field over others in the hopes of inspiring someone else. Occasionally, however, I found myself conflating the means of communicating physics with the physics itself, spending more effort on making the means palatable to as wide an audience as possible than on the physics. When a theoretical physicist, say a string theorist, writes a popular physics book, they make every attempt to reduce the mathematical burden, choosing instead analogies, metaphors, and dramatic phrasings wherever possible. Often this leads to claims that are not warranted by the underlying physics and venture into metaphysics, effectively sidelining it in favour of dramatic and sensational phrasing. Similarly, sometimes I felt the theatrics of it all sidelined the physics point I was trying to make. For instance, during the Juneteenth event, I leaned more into the canon being a flashy demonstration to attract people over trying to emphasise the physics. Regardless, I thoroughly enjoyed all my activities and do hope that I made someone out there interested in the pursuit of knowledge of Nature for the sake of it.