How the hell did I get here?

The beginning of a new year typically is a time for me to become reflective and think about the course of my life. I take stock of the past year and look forward to things I want to accomplish, tackle, overcome, or enjoy in the year laid out before me. This year in particular I have felt satisfied with the course of my career. I finally moved into my own office rather than the romper room I was sharing with three other people, the excruciatingly protracted promotion process was begun, and the promise of more research money beckons, provided I jump through the requisite flaming hoops of bureaucratic paperwork. But in the midst of the subsequent frenzy of disbelief, excitement, and bustling activity, I am not so much engrossed in thoughts of the upcoming year, but instead I am wondering how the hell I got here in the first place. What was it that led me down this path of academic brain research that at times is both tortuous and torturous? How did a cheerleader-turned-sorority girl ever become a scientist in the first place?

I cannot help but think that my journey to science was not that of the prototypical science nerd. In my mind, individuals belonging to this group all tell a similar tale. As children, their curiosity was insatiable. They read Encyclopedia Britannica under the covers with a flashlight and they nearly burned the house down repeatedly while using chemistry sets recklessly in their basements. Adolescence turned them pimply-faced and taciturn like the rest, but what differentiated them was a thirst for knowledge that was slaked at least partially by science fiction television. I suspect these individuals even attempted to coin a new language eerily akin to Klingon. As they transitioned into young adulthood they channeled their yearnings into acceptable outlets such as advanced placement science courses, participation in science fairs, and staying in on Friday nights. I can assure you, I never belonged to this group. Ok, in 6th grade I did have an illustrated thesaurus that I read for pure enjoyment, but otherwise my trajectory could not have been predicted with any kind of precision based on my interests or academic strengths.

As a child, I played well by myself. My only sibling is close to nine years older than me, so I spent a good deal of time by myself after having been tossed out of her bedroom unceremoniously when she had friends over. Thankfully, my solitude did not impact my vivid imagination, much to the dismay of my mother. She was outraged upon entering into my bedroom to find that I had spit all over my mirror because I was pretending it was a window and it had been raining. Similar to the science nerds, I was a voracious bookworm from a young age, but I don’t believe that marked me for science. It very easily could have led me down the path of literary genius (obviously it did not). By third grade I had read most of the age-appropriate books in the school library and my interest was piqued by the perennial favorite of pre-teens: Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume. The librarian was reluctant to sign it out to me due to its more mature content, but my precociousness must have swayed her because she handed it over anyway. All told, I read that book at least 13 times. In fact, I read it again several years ago when I won an entire lot of Judy Blume books in an auction on eBay. However, as an adult who had years of experience being female under her belt (i.e., many menstrual periods later), the story had lost the titillating aura of mystery and confusion that ultimately inspired fear when that book was in my eight-year old hands. It was scarring, actually. But indeed I was precocious, and this was brought to light shortly thereafter during the 4th grade when I was tested. At the time I had no idea what was being tested, and to be honest, I can’t say with any certainty what was measured on that day or how effective the yardstick was that determined the results. Regardless, my parents were called and asked to come in to discuss the findings. Apparently, they were led to believe that I was-and please forgive this ridiculous term- “gifted”. To hear them tell it, which I did only more than 20 years after the fact, they laughed out loud and asked the teacher if she was sure they were talking about the same child. How could their happy-go-lucky and extroverted-to-the-point-of-being-dangerous-if-not-just-annoying child possibly be gifted? It was a stretch, I admit, and the following four years were marked by “special” programs during school that were designed to be rewarding and provide enrichment, but were perceived by me and my gifted peers as punishment and extra work. Moreover, they alienated us from the rest of the dumbasses, who frankly, were a great deal less uptight and more fun. Still, even cumulatively these things together did not spell scientist.

Throughout my teenage and college years, my interests were those of any typical girl my age, and even less like those who had a propensity toward science. In high school I was a cheerleader who liked boys, clothes, going to the mall, and talking on the phone incessantly. In college I was a sorority girl who liked boys, clothes, going to parties, and drinking beer incessantly. To this day I never have seen an episode of either Star Trek of the X Files, but I swear I never have missed even a single episode of Beverly Hills, 90210 or Melrose Place. These traits did nothing to alert anyone that I was destined for a career in science, and there were no tell-tale signs in my coursework either. Although I had done well in my science courses in high school, I shone in English and foreign languages. Advanced placement courses allowed me to test out of freshman English and French when I entered college, but I had refused the advanced placement Biology course when it was suggested by the guidance counselor. Actually, refuse might be putting it lightly. I believe I scoffed at the idea. I had zero interest-maybe even less than zero-in preparing the requisite science project. Of course the irony of that sentiment does not escape me now, seeing as how my entire career is a science project, day in and day out.

Why then, when I shied away from a science project and acknowledged fully that language and communication together was my forte, did I choose Biology as my major in college? Despite all the evidence pointing toward a more right-brained than left-brained existence (incidentally I always had been placed in the average math classes rather than anything advanced), I thought I wanted to be a doctor. Majoring in Biology seemed the only way to accomplish such a goal, although my attempts were half-hearted at best. I hated memorizing facts and organic chemistry vexed me to the point of accepting a D willingly just to make it go away, but the idea of talking to people and figuring out what made them tick was so appealing, I kept at it. Naively, I thought that psychiatry was about talking to people and figuring out what made them tick, but to be honest, I thought that was a large facet of being a hairdresser too. I was torn between them. But since my parents had paid the cover charge for the most intense party of my life, I continued with biology.

In the second half of my third year I took an abnormal psychology class and found myself absolutely riveted. I could not get enough, that is, until I took physiological psychology and then cognitive psychology. The brain was very cool, and I was just discovering this for myself for the first time. Oh glory! I found something interesting to pursue. So I called my parents and I told them I wouldn’t be home after my fourth year, I would need an extra semester to finish a second degree in psychology. Now science began to make sense to me. Before biology had been taught to me in what seemed like a black box. I had nothing to relate it to and it was boring. But when you think about biology in terms of the brain and behavior, it’s a different ball of wax all together. At least, that was my perspective. Most people with whom I spoke at the time thought I was out of my tree combining biology with psychology; neuroscience was not a mainstream concept at the time. I constantly found myself having to challenge people to explain to me what mediated behavior if not biology? Was it magic? Aliens? Demons? No one had a satisfying answer so I must have sounded convincing. Either that or they just kept their traps shut after that.

I left college with a double degree in biology and psychology. I felt I had a niche in terms of my interests. That was great, except I had no idea what to do with it or how to pursue it further. While I had been introduced to the brain and behavior, practical applications of this field remained a nameless, faceless stranger. I didn’t realize how lucky I was at the time, but thanks to serendipity, I landed a job as a research technician in the neurology department of a world-renowned hospital. Still wary of science projects, I decided to take this position for one year. I wanted to rule out research since I knew I would hate it. How could I not? I had seen those graduate students running the labs in my courses. They looked miserable, they were social misfits, and they couldn’t dress themselves to save their lives. Research is boring and for boring people. Ergo, research was not for me. Until it was.

Two and a half years after accepting the job I thought I would do for one year because I would hate it, I found myself in graduate school. I had not turned into a despondent misfit, nor did I lose the ability to match my clothes. Five years after that I received a PhD in pharmacology and I moved into my first postdoctoral training position, followed by a second postdoctoral training opportunity three years after that. Still, I was able to communicate with people and I knew that stripes and floral and polka dots and plaid all together does not an outfit make. I maintained social relationships and even managed to live with several boys. Very un-science nerd-like, if you ask me.

Two and a half years later, I am up for Assistant Professor of Psychiatry and wondering how this all came to be. Even though I just laid it all out and reexamined it carefully here, not to mention that I lived every moment of the decade it has taken to get here, I still feel as though I just woke up one day and this is how my career evolved without my noticing. It wound its way down the tortuous path that sometimes has been torturous and now I’m here, on the brink of a new year, wondering how it will continue to play itself out. And I will do this in clothes that match, while never having seen science fiction television nor will I have even an elementary grasp of organic chemistry.