One of the most fun, expansive, and exciting jobs I’ve ever had were the years I spent at MD Anderson Cancer Center in Texas doing cancer research in a major lab.

It required real presence, patience, and major dot-connecting. I had a reputation for making experiments work when no one else could—and I loved it. I’d get to the lab by 7 a.m., before anyone else showed up, just to start the process. It felt sacred.

The magic was in my process.
The act of paying attention to the minuscule pieces of data most people missed—because they were too focused on the end result.

But the end result didn’t matter if the process wasn’t executed with extreme care.

I was injecting human cell lines with carcinogens.
Feeding rats specific diets.
Dissecting kidneys.
Packaging tissue into phage particles.
Running protein assays to track mutation rates.
Piecing together DNA segments with ligase enzymes to trigger specific gene expressions.
Then purifying the resulting proteins and running enzyme assays to assess outcomes.

I had to be acutely aware of every step.
The final data—the so-called “result”—meant absolutely nothing if the process itself was off.

And here is the gorgeous unlock:
The real experiment begins when you stop following the protocol and start noticing what's actually happening.
The magic was always in the moment-to-moment awareness.
That microdata you get with every step.
That’s what allowed me to adapt the method, change the approach, and make it work.

My coworkers were stunned:
“How the hell were you able to make THAT happen?”

The science magic was the ability to see what no one else was tracking—and adjust in real time.
It was noticing what others ignored.

It was owning the moment the data said: pivot this way instead of that way—and then actually doing it.
Not later. Not after second-guessing. But right then and there.

It’s the slow, deliberate watching. The preparation. The days you spend noticing what no one else sees. It’s the day-by-day observation.

This isn’t a headline. It’s the real work.

When I plated human cancer cell lines in a petri dish, I wasn’t just dumping them in and waiting for something to happen. I had to prepare the environment.

Then came the waiting. Not passive. Observational.
Each day, I would check the cells under a microscope.
Look at their color, shape, texture.
Were they thriving? Multiplying? Struggling?

Some days, they looked ready. Other days, they didn’t.
There was no formula that said “on day three, they’re good to go.”
Some needed five days. Some needed more.

And until they were robust and clear and metabolically active, I didn’t touch them.
Because I knew: if I rushed the process, the data would lie.

So I waited.
Watched.
Washed the cells. Cleaned the waste.
Let them stabilize.
And then—only then—did I introduce the variable: the carcinogen.

Your life is a petri dish.
Your body is the living data set.

And just like those cells, you don’t respond on someone else’s timeline.
There is no fixed formula for healing. Or readiness. Or reaction.

If you come home from a conversation and can’t relax—that matters.
If you feel a drop in your gut when someone makes a “casual” jab—that’s real.
If your whole nervous system goes on alert but nothing “bad” happened—you’re not imagining it.

This is signal detection at its finest.

We are animals, and we have a very sophisticated energetic and intuitive detection system.
If you don’t believe in its accuracy—or aren’t tuned in—it’s because you were trained to rush through life, perform for society so you can look successful and then feel like you deserve to be here.
That conditioning numbed your signal clarity.
But the signal was always there. The signal IS THERE NOW.

These beautiful signals are not noise. They are instruction.
They tell you how to move. What to adjust. What needs washing. What’s not ready.

You go out with someone and come back feeling like crap.
You override it. Say it was probably nothing.
But now you’re exhausted. You’re spiraling. You’re snacking. You’re off.

That wasn’t “just a mood.”
That was data.

Ignore enough of those signals, and your system starts building on a false baseline.
Just like a scientist using contaminated water or rushed prep.
The downstream result is garbage—because the upstream cues were missed.

It gives you the truth in real-time—through sensation, contraction, depletion, expansion, joy, and charge.
That’s the language. That’s the intelligence. That’s the signal.

You don’t need more time. You need more attention.

Because in this lab—called your life—
every moment is data.
And every signal counts.

The body doesn’t lie.

It whispers.
Your job is to catch the whisper.

If you don’t, then it will speak.
And if you continue to ignore it—it will shut down.