“I’m going to be on ER, or, General Hospital” was my habitual response to constant questions about what I would do with an undergrad degree in Drama and a Ph.D. in Neuroscience.  After a chuckle or downright hysterical laugher the subject would shift to something else, and I evaded yet another serious conversation about my future life.

Had I known that Grey’s Anatomy would soon infiltrate our homes like toxic, clear, odorless, hypnotic gas on Thursday nights, I might have not been so “funny” about it.  I might have auditioned.

I never understood what the big deal was. The connection between the performing arts and the science of the nervous system never seemed elusive to me; what I’ve learned in the two areas has overlapped and enriched my understanding of both.  In my fourth year I learned about “Method” acting, which involves replicating, in real life, the emotional conditions under which a character operates, by drawing on one’s own emotions, memories, and experiences.  Concurrently, I was in an advanced seminar about emotional learning and memory.  I was fascinated with the physical practice of using past experiences to make goose bumps on my arms or tears in my eyes.  I could never have imagined the complex pathways in my brain that allowed this to occur.  Were it not for a tiny brain structure, the amygdala (Latin for “almond,” the nut it resembles), an amazing collection of neuronal cell bodies, a whiff of malt vinegar and salt couldn’t yank me back in time.  A time when our family was still young.  My sister’s lanky legs hung from my dad’s shoulders where she sat, and teenagers in rollerblades zipped by us on the boardwalk, flirting and laughing.  It is due to the amygdala, that the old question “Where were you when JFK was shot?” has become our generation’s version: “Where were you when the Twin Towers fell?”  And we know the answer.  We know what we ate for breakfast that day, the exact smells, sounds, and tastes of that day.  Not only is the amygdala responsible for memory, it has also shaped the careers of name actors like Marlon Brando, Robert De Niro, Marilyn Monroe, and Al Pacino, who, they said, used the Method.

The human brain performs many intricate functions. The sole job of our nervous system is to take in the world around us, and to allow us to output a response, perhaps an artistic response.  We can’t pretend to recreate human behavior without understanding what drives it.  Science, however, it is not the direction I thought I would go.  I always knew that I wanted to learn about theatre.   It isn’t as if I woke up one day and knew how well these two fields intertwine.

I believe those of us who choose the theatre path are light years ahead of everyone else.  I use my performance experience at least once a day in my role as a neuroscientist.  Now my biggest task is to communicate what I have learned in theatre to the rest of the scientific community.  Let’s just say I have endured many hours of agony, wanting to pull my hair out, as I watch renowned scientists limp through lectures.  I stop listening and fume: “Stop fidgeting, make eye contact with me, please enunciate!”   Scientists, generally, suffer from a lack of presence.  I know that communicating in a personable manner will give me an edge one day.  I may also have to “act the scientist” till I get “my lines” down pat.

My theatre background allows me to remember why I study science.  I will never let go of the ultimate goals behind my work -- bettering the quality of life for humankind and allowing the expression of thought, emotion and art.  “From bench to bedside” is a common phrase in scientific research, referring to the carry-over of discoveries from the lab to the patient’s bedside. Maybe I’ll coin a new phrase: “From scientific journal to script?”

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