An Experiment!

Because Brains Are Turds

Photo by Milad Fakurian on Unsplash

I was listening to Arthur Brooks interviewed on a podcast the other day, and he was talking about how he makes his students confront just what turds our brains are, and I thought back to that post I wrote on how we’re not the main character and it’s (almost always) never about us.

Because our brains are turds! They evolved to protect us from snaggle-toothed beasts and to help us remember where those sweet, sweet plums are on the savannah. They weren’t designed to do things like shop at malls, or get emails, or date online.

We live in a world carefully designed to get us to buy stuff. If I make you afraid, I can sell you an alarm system. If I make you feel FOMO, I can sell you a vacation package. If I make you feel old, I can sell you face creams. Our consumer culture uses our brains against us, and it’s easy to do.

Our brains, after are, are super manipulatable. Even when we’re aware we’re being manipulated, we’re not off the hook. I always curse those pre-movie commercials where that soda gets poured and you can hear all those almost pornographic soda sounds and I’m like DAMN YOU I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING NOW WHERE IS MY CHERRY COKE?

One thing our brains are reallllllllly bad at is knowing how we’ll feel if something good or something bad happens in the future. Dan Gilbert, the Harvard psychologist, calls this affective forecasting. We might think, for example, that we will never recover from the break up we’ve just experienced, or that it will take years. In reality, it might take a few months or even a few weeks. The same thing happens with good stuff. “When I get that promotion,” we think, “I’ll be set!” But two days after the promotion, we’re thinking about the next one.

So Arthur Brooks makes his students keep a record of these discrepancies. They write down the worst things and the best things that happen to them (and these are college students, so there’s a lot!), and how long they think these events will haunt them. And then he has them look back at them after six months and, lo and behold, they usually find there estimates were completely wrong.

When I listened to this, I thought about how else I could use this journaling trick, and right away I thought about other tricks my mind plays on me, involving stories.

For example, if a colleague is in a bad mood, I often assume it’s me. I did something wrong! Then I wonder about what I did wrong for days.

Or a beloved doesn’t text or call for a few days, and, once again, I assume it’s me. I did something wrong! They’re never going to talk to me again because I am wrong and bad and they finally figured it out.

Or a friend hasn’t been in touch for a bit and… guess what happens? If you guessed “all about you, yadda yadda,” you’d be right on the money.

I could go on. But it’s always the same thing, and it might be a pattern you’re familiar with in your own mind. Something either unsatisfactory or ambiguous occurs and I immediately assume two things: a) it’s something catastrophic and b) IT’S ABOUT ME.

And I know that this is both bullshit and bizarrely narcissistic. I *know* from both logic and experience that it’s almost never about me. Okay, sometimes it’s been about me but that’s been like 2% of the time. 98% of the time, it’s not about me. It’s about the other person, who isn’t even thinking about me. Or they might be thinking nice thoughts about me, but because of whatever else is going on in their life, and because they assume I’m a confident and well-adjusted person (hahahahaahahahahahahaahaa), they adjust their priority list accordingly.

In other words, I *know* this but I don’t *know* this. I know to tell myself, “Ladybird, it’s never about you. Slow your roll.” But there’s still that gremlin voice hissing, from the darkest recesses of my brainpan, “Or it really is about you….”

Our brains are stubborn and FULL of stories we’ve picked up from all over the place. From the bottoms of our society’s shoes to the detritus in the corner of our family homes. We’re all chalk full of stories that don’t serve us anymore, but we cling to them in the same way I still love family recipes that are really a big naff. Even though they’re not that good, I recognize them deep down, and I know they are home.

Even if it’s a ratty home that calls me names.

I often journal when I’m feeling blue because someone hasn’t performed some action they have no idea they’re supposed to be performing, or when someone has the temerity to have feelings that have nothing to do with me in a way that makes me feel like they might have something to do with me. That said, I often do that, anyway. It’s easy for me to journal the bad stuff.

The difference is that I’m making sure to journal what happens a day or two later when I talk to my colleague and discover they were having a bad day and LO AND BEHOLD their behavior had zero to do with me. Or when I talk to that beloved and they’re just having their own funky time and didn’t want to spread the funk and LO AND BEHOLD it had nothing to do with me.

And I think it’s making a real dent! It’s not an idea, it’s data. As an idea, “It’s not about you,” is easily steamrolled by that insidious voice that says, “But what if it IS about you.” But when I flip through a journal full of numerous, dated examples of it being 100% not about me…that’s really hard to argue with.

Knowing it’s not about me, really knowing it, glimmers on the horizon and seems like SUCH a great place. If I don’t think things are about me, think about how much brain space I can devote to, you know, real problems or fun stuff? I can also advocate for myself better, because I can recognize when it is about me, or at least how I’d like to be treated, rather than my brain crying wolf all the time.

This is the kinda person I want to be, not the person who swallowed a story and lets that story define my reactions.

I’d love to hear about your little turd brains and what turdy things they’re telling you so feel free to share if you’re comortable!