I found my gap year job in Syracuse with a professor at Syracuse doing Alzheimer’s research
By Kriti Kalary UA’25 and Jim Stellar
As KK says, I looked everywhere for a job to do in the gap year between my graduation and the start of medical school at Upstate Medical School in Syracuse. Oddly, my job is in Syracuse at the university. That was not my plan. It just happened.
Serendipity is something that JS says happens when the cognitive (neocortex) system is surprised by the conclusion of the emotional (limbic) system’s value judgement when something “random” happens on the plan, and the limbic system has a positive reaction. This is a perfect example of cognitive-emotional integration. The theory behind that integration is that evolution “kluged” a neocortex onto a function midbrain and hindbrain that was able to keep animals alive with behavior, e.g. motivation to make them eat when they were hungry. The neocortex is based on a unique cortical column structure that is not found anywhere else in the brain, even though the whole brain is made out of neurons. In modern terms, the cortical columns might be like the nodes in the artificial neural networks that underlie artificial intelligence. But down there in the midbrain is the limbic system, having positive (nucleus accumbens) or negative (amygdala) reactions to events. When the Syracuse research job surfaced, the theory suggests that KK’s limbic system sent her cognitive system a positive value judgement, even if the cognitive system did not see the process by which that value judgement was made. Hence, the “It just happened” phenomenon in this story.
The same way things simply seemed to fall into place regarding my acceptance and admission to the University at Albany and Upstate Medical School, this job offer feels like the natural next step in a path that continues to align with my goals and passions—though it didn’t always feel that way. As we wrote about in our last blog. I initially focused on applying for Clinical Research Coordinator positions at hospitals, especially in Philadelphia and Syracuse, including at UPenn and Upstate. These roles seemed like the logical next step: they offered hands-on patient interaction, involvement in clinical trials, and the kind of structured, translational research experience I thought would best prepare me for medical school.
But then I interviewed with the Principal Investigators of the lab at Syracuse University. From the first conversation, it felt different. Their energy wasn’t just professional—it was personal. They spoke about their work on Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s disease with genuine curiosity and excitement—and that energy was infectious. One draw was that they worked with both humans and rodents, which gave them the chance to connect neuron-level mechanisms with human clinical disease.
What sealed the deal for me wasn’t just the lab’s focus or the team’s enthusiasm—it was the realization that research lets me approach the human condition from another perspective. Growing up, I was fascinated by how things worked. Fridges, heaters, cars—if something moved or lit up or made noise, I wanted to know how. That same curiosity eventually turned inward, drawing me to psychology, and then to neuroscience, where I fell in love with the brain—the most complex system of all.
Through research, I get to take that childlike curiosity and apply it to the human body and mind. I get to study mechanisms at the neuronal level and see how microscopic changes ripple outward, shaping someone’s cognition, behaviour, and even their relationships with family, friends, and caregivers. That’s what excites me most about becoming a physician-scientist: the ability to do both—understand the science and hold space for the story. To see the clock and the person it represents.
In choosing this position, I’m not stepping away from patient care—I’m stepping toward it, just from a different angle. And in doing so, I’m reminded that sometimes, the most meaningful paths aren’t the ones we plan for, but the ones that find us when we’re open to curiosity and connection.
I hadn’t seriously considered a basic science position at first, but the more I learned about the lab’s work—their potential for uncovering mechanisms behind neurodegeneration and how their research could one day lead to new treatments or better diagnoses—the more I saw how deeply it aligned with my long-term goals and sense of purpose. So I shifted course. I chose the role that felt less conventional but more meaningful to me. I accepted the position as a Research Technician at Syracuse University—excited by not just what it meant for my future, but for the futures of countless patients with neurodegenerative disorders.
I feel lucky to be part of work that not only asks important scientific questions, but also honours the human stories behind them. Every dataset, every protocol, every experiment is a step closer to understanding not just the brain, but the people living with its decline. In that sense, this job isn’t a detour. It’s exactly where I’m meant to be.
Side note: JS adds that this blog is really KK’s story, but it resonates with my own. I remember as a child taking apart mom’s electric clocks (I unplugged them) to try to figure out why the hands moved at different speeds. The thrill of that discovery as a child turned into a career in neuroscience as a professor. The little kid in me loved finding something, publishing a paper, going to a conference, and talking excitedly with colleagues about how it worked. Maybe I never really grew up. Mom really did not like that I could never put those clocks back together again.
