Statement of Purpose (final!)

Entering college, I knew that I wanted to do research. I had discovered in first-year high school biology, that I had questions to which there were no answers. By the time I entered college I was happy to find that nearly all of my original questions had been answered (and then some) by researchers over the passing years. My mind did not remain satisfied for long however; each new fact I learned in class seemed to produce another ten questions. Although I found many answers over the course of taking other classes, reading research articles and consulting those more knowledgeable than I, many questions still remained "un-answerable". I wanted answers. I wanted to contribute to the science community by finding answers myself. And although I was not sure in which area I wanted to do research, I knew that I wanted to do something. Or so I thought. Looking back now, I can say that I had no idea what being a researcher entailed or if I possessed the qualities needed. Regardless, I was determined to jump into the answer-finding community as quickly as possible.

I joined the lab of Brad Hyman during the last quarter of my freshman year. I owe much of where I am now to Professor Hyman for taking me in so early despite my inexperience and for immediately putting me to work alongside graduate students. I was taught the basics of how a lab operates and the basic skills needed to function in one. Learning the basics was a slow process. A very slow process. Before I became a fully fledged "researcher", I first needed to be able to use, perform, and understand perfectly, simple tasks such as using measuring equipment, making solutions, and setting up reactions. Once I began carrying out simple procedures, I learned that initial success and data quality are never guaranteed; technique must be mastered first. Even after reaching the point where I was able to conduct successful experiments, I still needed to develop the ability to analyze and draw conclusions from the data. The basics are often taken for granted; a world class chef most likely does not remember struggling to use a fork for the first time. When I walked into lab that first day, however, and picked up the awkwardly shaped instrument called a "pipette", I was fully aware of my lack of abilities and that I was at the "fork" stage of my life as a researcher.

As I developed my techniques and learned the basic experiments, I was encouraged to be more independent; I was given small projects to carry out on my own that required me to conduct several smaller experiments in sequence to accomplish a larger goal. Learning how to make mini lysates, extract mDNA from live nematodes, set up PCR reactions, and perform transformations were of little practical use until I began to understand how each step related to another. By the end of my second year, I had built an arsenal of puzzle pieces, but I still severely lacked a "larger picture" mentality. It was not until my junior year that I began to learn that the only way to put the pieces together was to focus on the picture that they were supposed to make. It was also during my junior year that I was forced to confront growing doubts of whether the lab bench was really where I belonged.

I spent my third year in Japan at the University of Tsukuba. Due to a fortunate miscommunication, I was placed into the lab of Ezura Hiroshi, given a project, and placed under the immediate supervision of the lab's head post-doc, Akihiro Takashi. My project was a precursor to a secondary project that would ultimately aim to create a GABA-enriched super tomato through the exploitation of natural synthesis pathways. Before this could be done however, GABA's role in tomato plants first needed to be identified. The primary genes involved in GABA synthesis and accumulation were isolated and their mRNA expression patterns were characterized. Anti-sense orientation and RNA interference constructs were created and transformed into infant plants using agro bacterium. If successful, the transgenic plants would lack the ability to accumulate GABA and, upon reaching maturation, GABA's role could be characterized through comparison with non-modified plants.

Although difficult to get along with, Akihiro was one of the best teachers I have ever had. He was very detailed and thorough in his explanations of experiments making sure that I understood the purpose of every reagent involved and the mechanisms of every reaction. He heavily emphasized the importance of understanding the smaller experiments in the context of the larger goal of my project. Daily he had me reiterate both verbally and through flow charts, a detailed account of the steps involved in my project.

Every week I attended and participated in lab meetings where each project's recent data was presented to and critiqued by the other members. The intelligence and experience of my lab mates was intimidating. I spent hours pouring over journal articles and molecular biology text books in an attempt to catch up to where I felt I was expected to be. Trying to absorb so much so quickly was exhausting, but extremely satisfying. My understanding, competency and ability grew exponentially during the time I spent in the Ezura lab and, although I struggled emotionally, the experience was invaluable.

Truthfully though, I hated my lab. The originally agreed upon five hours each weekday that I was to spend in lab soon grew to eight, and continued to increase to 10-12 hours a day including weekends. My lab mates were emotionally cold and distant. We worked together in the same room, but it felt if as we were still thousands of miles apart. There were days that I arrived, completed my work, and left without speaking more than three words to anyone. I had no time or energy to make friends or to enjoy the new experiences of living abroad. The work load and absence of social interaction began to take its toll; as time passed, I became more and more depressed. After a long eight months, I left the lab. Shortly after, life picked up. My grades improved, I made friends and caught up on the sleep I had missed. For the first time since arriving in the country, I began to finally adjust and enjoy myself.

I returned to the Hyman lab soon after arriving back in the United States, but my research experience in Japan had left a bitter taste in my mouth. There was a growing uncertainty inside. I had had the opportunity to do full-time research and I had hated it. Would I really be able to make a career out of it? I tried to ignore my doubts, worked during the summer and made plans to carry out my Upper Division Honors Thesis in the Hyman lab.

My senior year, when I should have been wrapping things up academically, I was just beginning my upper division. Because of my year abroad, I still had two years worth of courses to complete. The combined stress of adjusting to life back at "home", dealing with the end of a long-term relationship, managing a part time job along with multiple upper division classes, and trying to begin a new research project was too much for me to handle. I realized that if I wanted to graduate on time with decent grades, I needed to take a step back from something. I was already discouraged in regards to research, so although it was not an easy decision to make, it was an obvious one. I dropped my thesis and quit lab once again.
Each quarter was increasingly more intellectually demanding than the last. I learned about many new and specific areas of science, and my small, finite general-biology world exploded into an infinite universe of questions begging to be answered. The more I learned, the more I knew that I did not know, and the more I wanted to learn. The smoldering coals of curiosity inside me were being stoked and, finally during my last quarter, exploded into a wildfire.

Although my desire to learn more became stronger than ever, nothing held my attention for long. I found so many things interesting, but I knew that I still lacked a passion that I would need to see through a PhD project, and to overcome the hardships and periods of discouragement that I had learned were unavoidable. My very last quarter of undergraduate I finally found what I had been looking for; I took an introductory neuroscience course on a whim and I fell in love. Since then, my free time has been spent learning all that I can.

Having always been a person of both science and faith, what initially drew me to neuroscience was the way it resolved many of my personal science-spiritual conflicts. Whereas most see the scientific and religious worlds in opposition to each other, I have found that deepening my understanding in one leads to strengthening my belief in the other. The religious world worships through learning to please a "creator". The science community worships a "created" by unraveling its mysteries. I ultimately see a marriage of the two: understanding the creator by learning about the created. It is not enough to accept through hearsay and then profess that an artist is talented if you have never seen his work. Unsupported compliments mean nothing, and the only way to truly honor the artist is to enjoy the work; you honor a creator by experiencing, understanding and delighting in the created.

The complex infrastructure of the human brain, how it develops and changes, and how this is regulated through the culmination of both genetic and environmental factors is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. The intricacy and mystery shrouding the specifics of how and why kindle an uneasy excitement and a restless desire to know and understand more. It is a feeling that I have only experienced before during moments of intense spiritual worship. For me personally, understanding the molecular basis of the brain, and the transcendent characteristics that it dictates (memory, personality, emotion etc.), is one of the ultimate ways that I can pay respect to a creator responsible for making me "me".

My undergraduate journey has been one of many ups and downs. I feel as if I have scaled mountains and been lost in valleys. I am as thankful for the trials as I am for the fortune, because without them, I would not be able to make decisions with one-hundred percent conviction. Through the many short-lived initial interests to the deep passion I have finally found in neuroscience, I know that I have arrived at a place where I want to be. Only having taken one introductory class, I know I am once again back at the "fork" stage, but I have never been more certain and excited about a decision, nor more determined to see it through