Imagine a mind that’s constantly buzzing, leaping from one thought to the next, struggling to filter out the noise of a world that feels perpetually turned up to 11.
That’s the experience of living with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, a reality I know intimately. It has profoundly shaped my journey as a scientist, from the setbacks of my early years to the discoveries I’ve made in my laboratory.
My journey was like navigating a rushing stream in a rickety boat, constantly bumping against rocks and obstacles, getting sidetracked by every intriguing path that appears along the banks. School days often ended in exhaustion, not just from the mental exertion of trying to learn in a whirlwind of distractions, but from the sheer effort of trying to fit in. By second grade, I had collected a series of labels: “lazy,” “unmotivated,” “disruptive,” even “lost cause.” My teacher, exasperated by my inability to conform, even wanted to hold me back. The negativity echoed in my mind, shaping my sense of self and fueling a cycle of rumination that often stretched late into the night.
But even amid the chaos, something remarkable happened. When I was 8 years old, I realized I was the coder of my own brain. I learned to tap into the energy of learning — the energy of observation, of making step-by-step progress, of interacting with others, and most importantly, of asking questions. Questions are our greatest technology, our mental Swiss army knife, allowing us to unlock new possibilities and shape our understanding of the world.
This realization, along with the unwavering support of my parents, became the catalyst for my journey of self-discovery and transformation. It laid the foundation for the Life Ignition Tools (LIT), strategies I developed not only to manage my ADHD, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and learning differences, but to leverage in my scientific career.
One of ADHD’s most misunderstood facets is hyperfocus, the capacity to zero in on a task with laser-like intensity — especially for things that spark our curiosity. This, when harnessed effectively, has become a powerful tool in my work. While mundane tasks can feel like Herculean efforts, when genuine curiosity or passion ignites, I can delve into a subject with relentless focus, generating unexpected results.
This translates into asking high-impact questions that propel research forward in areas like tissue regeneration, drug delivery, and bio-inspired medical devices. My lab is dedicated to rapidly develop and bring technologies to patients, such as tissue glue for sealing atraumatic tissue reconstruction, targeted therapies for chronic diseases, and ‘smart needles’ for precise drug administration.
In my lab, a recurring question is, “What’s the bar we need to exceed to get people excited?” (By people, I mean the scientific community, my colleagues, the public, investors, and others.) This “so what?” inquiry compels us to think beyond incremental progress, pushing for breakthroughs that truly captivate. This question about the bar didn’t come from a lightning bolt of insight; it emerged from years of actively searching for a “North Star” question to guide our research and prevent us from gravitating toward incremental work.
Hyper-aware of my own limitations and the need for diverse perspectives, I sought to assemble an informal advisory board for my lab by regularly meeting with people in the entrepreneurial ecosystem, gathering diverse perspectives and insights for more than a decade. By learning to harness my focus, I can lock onto these questions, leading to some of our lab’s most promising endeavors, like developing a nasal spray to combat airborne pathogens, biodegradable tissue glue capable of sealing holes in a beating heart, and needles that automatically stop to deliver gene therapy to the back of the eye.
But ADHD isn’t just about focus; it’s also about heightened emotional sensitivity. For years, my intense emotions were a source of frustration, leading to unintended outbursts. However, I gradually learned to interpret these emotional surges as valuable signals, indicators of my internal state. While I frequently struggle and slip up, my hyper-awareness and ability to tune into cues from others allows me to self-correct and navigate social interactions with greater intention. By shifting from reaction to reflection, I gained greater composure, fostering deeper, more meaningful relationships.
Nature has always been my sanctuary, a place to quiet the internal storm, reconnect with my inner self, and intercept status-quo, low-energy thinking by disrupting routine thought patterns. This connection with nature also permeates my scientific work. We frequently look to the natural world for inspiration in tackling complex medical challenges. The biodegradable tissue glue, for instance, was inspired by nature’s ingenious use of biological adhesives.
For years, I viewed my ADHD as a deficit. Now, I recognize it as a source of strength, propelling me to explore uncharted territories, ask critical questions, and connect more deeply with the world around me. Embracing the tenets of Transcendentalism, with its emphasis on intuition, self-reliance — discovering that I have the capacity to consciously guide my own development — and the inherent connection to nature, has been crucial in this shift. My journey has taught me that thriving in a neurotypical world isn’t about changing who I am; it’s about leveraging my unique attributes to make meaningful contributions.
When others with ADHD ask me for tips, I share some of my own strategies. I ensure that I have short breaks between meetings and activities to allow my brain to synchronize its conscious and subconscious thoughts, facilitating lateral thinking and creative breakthroughs. I spend time outside — losing myself in birdsong and the scent of pine needles helps me find myself again so my intuition can speak clearly and guide me forward. I fuel my curiosity: I write down intriguing questions that others ask, study their structure, and analyze what makes them effective. It has also helped me learn to ask my own insightful questions. Finally, I pay attention to the subtle cues of my mind, body, and interactions with others. These are guideposts, highlighting areas where I may be out of alignment with my values and intentions.
My hope is that we usher in an era where neurodiversity is not just accepted, but celebrated, empowering every individual to embrace their unique way of seeing the world and fearlessly share their discoveries.
Once “written off” for ADHD, Dr. Jeff Karp now empowers the next generation of bioengineers at Harvard Medical School. His lab at Brigham and Women’s Hospital tackles seemingly impossible challenges, developing innovative medical technologies and inspiring students to embrace unconventional thinking, a process he outlines in his book “LIT: Life Ignition Tools.”