People often find meaning and purpose by being part of something bigger than themselves. For me, that something is the circle of learning, teaching, and discovery. It gives meaning to my days. I belong in academia.
I was born in Tehran, Iran. I wanted to study physics in college. But I was told that I would not make money if I studied physics. The joke is on them: physicists now crank numbers on Wall Street and make perfectly respectable pounds and shillings. Like many other Iranians, I was presented with the familiar fork in the road: medicine or engineering. My reasoning was simple. Engineering had physics; medicine had biochemistry. So, engineering. Electrical engineering, in fact.
At some point, I fell in love with biomedical engineering. Medical imaging fascinated me. The physics was excellent—but then I learned that fMRI could be used to image brain activity. Imaging the brain? Sign me up. I was in love.
Long story short, Josh Berke once gave a lecture at Michigan State. I liked both the style and the subject. I read a few papers from his lab and liked those, too. I decided that I wanted to learn from him and, with some optimism, publish one of those papers with him. So I knocked on his door and asked for a position. He took the risk. I had very little background in neurobiology.
The beginning was not easy. I had to learn neurobiology and behavior. That was the easy part. The harder part was learning to think like a scientist.
Engineers are excellent at solving problems. Give them a problem, and they will find a solution. A scientist must first decide which problem is worth solving—and then ask a question that nature can actually answer.
In science, questions are more important than answers, at least in my opinion. It took a village to teach me this—thank you to Josh, Jeff, Erin, Michael, and many others. Now I lead a lab of my own, but I still feel that I am learning how to ask better questions.
I love asking questions that do not end quickly and spending years trying to answer them. After all, I am an engineer turned neuroscientist.
I am grateful to everyone who believed in me and helped me find my way here: from my third-grade Farsi literature teacher, Mr. Kamal-el-Din Adel, who hooked me on science fiction, to Vijay Namboodiri, who welcomed me into his lab and helped me master an extra technique I needed for my research program. Over the years, I have received support and mentorship from generous people, some within my institutions and some far beyond them.
Looking back, I am still struck by how many open doors and smiles I encountered. I have tried to pay that generosity forward. I intend to keep paying it forward forever.
Science is hard. Discoveries are rare and sparse. Mentorship, though, is a pure, continuous, and never-ending source of energy that keeps a work environment warm every day. The joy of teaching someone something I know—and watching that person grow, succeed, and eventually surpass what I could teach—is one of the reasons I go to work every day.
Well, I bike. But you get the point, right?