How Science Helped this Happen

Why did I do it, then? Wasn't I busy enough?! The short answer is that it makes me happy. The cliché answer is that life is too short for dreams to be left simmering on the back burner. I find it completely overwhelming how MUCH I want to do in my life – how many dreams I have, in so many angles and directions. I (fearfully) hope that I will be able to make them all happen. I also realize more and more that I probably would no longer answer the "dream-job question" with "writer"; for me, there is no one dream, nor one dream job. I enjoy too much, and would feel sad if I didn't bring my ideas to fruition, to try and see where they may lead. The genuine realization is that Veni Etiam gives me added purpose and puts other things – work, stress, time, choices – into perspective. Often, it gives me a boost to wake up in the mornings (because, frankly, coffee doesn't always do it), or the motivation to create after a brain-zappingly long day at work. It costs more time, but brings such joy. 

"Camera Brain" by SomethingBorealis

Why must it be an "either or" thing? Is it that the two lines of work are so far apart? The reactions to the launch of Veni Etiam pushed me to realize that both sides are astonishingly similar, and that my scientific side and creative side fuel each other in a way. First, I think there is as much room for creativity in science as there is room for a structured, methodological approach in creative endeavors. 

Over the last two weeks, I've been blessed to receive countless positive comments about my new endeavor! Curiously, though, this supportive feedback has consistently been coupled with one question: "Does this mean you're giving up science?" The wording varied slightly from person to person, but the gist remained the same. Most worried of all were my grandmothers – thirty seconds into the conversation and my excited face was suddenly met with furrowed brows and panicked eyes, followed by a half cautionary, half accusatory exclamation in a nervous voice, "You can't quit now! You've come so far with your degree!" Some friends and colleagues, on the other hand, welcomed the reassuring alternative to the stressful tenure-track climb or, at the very least, applauded trying out "something else" as a back-up to my scientific aspirations. But common to all these responses was the underlying assumption that it had to be an "either or" thing – that a scientific job and a creative job must be mutually exclusive, and that there is probably not enough space in one's life to dabble in both. I became amused by this repeated occurrence and it led me to reflect on it.

The creative side of my personality has been there long before I discovered my scientific side. Although photography is a relatively recent passion, what I've always loved most of all is to write. I used to say that if I could have any one job in the world, I'd want to be a writer. My devotion to science initially came from the need for a more secure career path, until I found a niche that I absolutely adore – the neuroscience of language. Despite the trials and tribulations of a heavy-stress academic life, the creative hobbies always lingered in the background – first, writing, and increasingly photography – until they gradually inched towards the foreground. I let them grow because I felt as though they were a part of me that could not be silenced, no matter how challenging it was (is!) to carve out the time for these extra ambitions. I don't think anyone is entirely defined by their one job; that's why we have hobbies. But the idea that a hobby becomes a second line of work is, I guess, what is slightly less common.

Within the first days of having launched this project, I noticed that my mind was on creative fire; I was brainstorming in the shower at six in the morning, both about my dissertation research and Veni Etiam goals. I made discoveries in my work that I had somehow overlooked before. I was writing academic texts faster and more fearlessly than in previous weeks. It was as though having an officially sanctioned creative outlet unlocked ideas on the scientific side. My heart was happy, and my mind was sharp. I realized that the influence was bidirectional: my scientific training has also seeped into my business planning. Why is what I am doing different? Who is my audience? What are others doing in parallel, and in what ways might I be the first? What is the gap I am aiming to fill, and what is my contribution? These are key questions a researcher must answer in any sound scientific proposal, and I (un)surprisingly approached the creation of Veni Etiam in exactly the same way. In creative fields and in scientific research, the ideas are endless – there are always possibilities of what you could do next. You cannot do it all at once and answer all needs in a short window of time. If you try, you'll just bury yourself in a mound of stress, without making clear sense of any of it. Instead, little by little, you pursue the main plan and follow-up with other tangential creative ideas that spring up along the way.

Another parallel between the two worlds is that, apart from the required creativity, there is also a challenging technique to learn and that, very often, this technical learning occurs best "by doing". In my everyday work, I study how the brain responds to language – how it understands it, accesses it from memory, learns it, and loses it. To do this, my colleagues and I use a super sensitive methodology where electrodes on the scalp record the electrophysiological signals emitted by the brain during specific mental processes. In a nutshell, we design incredibly meticulous linguistic experiments, engage our participants in these tasks, and record how their brain responds while they do so. Once you have the brain data, you post-process it to "clean it up", compare it to many other participants, and carefully draw inferences from it. Much like photography, post-processing can only do so much – the recordings (and the content of the experiments) have to be of good quality right from the start. If the snapshot is not clear, then neither is your message.

Science also directly helped me progress with photography by giving me the opportunity to travel near and far for academic conferences. The change of scenery opened my eyes to new research, new people and new places – all of which added to my repertoire of cultural experiences and to my collection of photographs and stories, over the years. Another striking similarity is how large a role setbacks play in moving forward; on both sides, I've agonized over obstacles, evaluated my shortcomings, tracked my progress, and counted small victories more often than major breakthroughs. On both sides, it's also necessary to recognize that you cannot credit yourself alone for your successes; elements contributed by others along the way are not to be taken for granted. There is always someone else's work that inspires you, someone's feedback that impels you to adjust your approach. There is always an audience to reach, and their response to your work is partly what validates its worth. The balance between confidence and humility is as delicate as it is crucial.

I had never stopped to ponder the parallels between my creative world and my scientific one, until the flood of responses to the launch of this project. I have always known that both sides exist harmoniously in me, but I only now realized that there is an open valve between the two.

So, the answer to the million dollar question of whether I will quit science? No way. I wouldn't be able to. One side wouldn't work at its full capacity without the other. Both in combination are what make me so profoundly "me".

(And if you're curious as to what the "scientific me" does on a daily basis, check out my academic page).