Los Angeles, CA. We were on set for Terminator: Dark Fate reshoots. My character, part human, part robot, spent a good amount of time in the makeup trailer having scars glued on. People often ask if I actually get to work with “the celebrities,” like we’re on separate movie sets. The answer is yes. We work together. In fact, we’re all listed on the front of the call sheet under “cast.” We share the same makeup trailers, the same sets, the same scenes.

Running into OG Linda Hamilton at Base Camp

Wig on, scars on. Camera ready.

One early morning on the Sony lot, Arnold Schwarzenegger sat down next to me in the makeup trailer while my scars were being applied. He walked in wearing workout clothes, like he’d just finished a private training session. One of his assistants followed close behind, rattling off a list of questions, and Arnold answered with a simple yes or no—checking off mental boxes like a man determined not to forget anything important.

I glanced over to confirm the familiar voice really belonged to the Arnold. He looked older in person, sure, but that iconic face and voice was unmistakable. A flood of childhood memories washed over me like a life review. I remembered him during our moment in the trailer as kind and patient with strong opinions. But what struck me most was something so small, it might’ve gone unnoticed—yet it shifted the way I think about the memory itself still to this day.

Arnold and his makeup artist were making small talk about what he’d done after wrap the night before. His assistant sat next to him in an empty make up chair, listening. Arnold mentioned trying a new restaurant in the Valley and raved about it, highly suggesting the artist to check it out. When asked the name of the place, though, he drew a blank. He paused for a few seconds, shrugged, and said, “Ah, I don’t remember.”

Then his assistant chimed in: “Arnold, you remember. Take a moment to let it come to you.”

Without hesitation, he closed his eyes and really sat with it—quiet, still, present. A minute passed. Then, suddenly, he called out the name of the restaurant like it had just risen from somewhere deep inside.

In that moment, I realized something. Even at half his age, I often get mentally lazy. Maybe this is you, too. I’ve trained my brain to take shortcuts—to give up, to reach for my phone, to say “I don’t know” instead of waiting for the answer that I know is in there.

From that day on, I made a promise to myself: don’t give up so easily. Our brains are far more powerful than we give them credit for. They’re constantly working, even when we’re not aware—picking up details from whispers, conversations, background noise. Whether consciously or subconsciously, our minds are storing everything.

The human brain is a miracle and a wildly magical muscle to which I don’t think we’ve uncovered all the secrets. It is an endless vault of experience, knowledge, and memory. And like any powerful tool, it deserves our patience, attention, and belief. The more we trust it, the more it will show us just how much it can do.

That moment in the trailer with Arnold taught me something profound: The act of remembering isn’t just about recall; it’s about presence. It’s about honoring the neural networks that hold our memories, experiences, and learning.

The brain thrives on effort—it rewires and strengthens itself through the very struggle to retrieve information. In pausing and allowing space for memory to surface, we are strengthening not just recall, but also attention, patience, and trust in our own mind.

From that day forward, I promised myself not to give up so easily—to sit with the silence, to wait for the answer to rise, and to respect the miracle that is our human brain.