The human brain is fascinating in its complexity and should serve as an instrument through which we are humbled, considering how little we understand about it. Let me explain this by talking about a worm.
Caenorhabditis elegans is this disgusting little roundworm that happens to have the distinction of being the first multicellular animal whose genome we humans completely sequenced. How that is done and what that means is beyond my own limited understanding, but Really Smart People seem to think it to be significant, so I will too.
Despite knowing so much about Caenorhabditis elegans, there’s one thing we don’t know about it: How its brain works. We have no clue how — or even if — this stupidly simplistic worm thinks. Now consider this: Caenorhabditis elegans’ brain has 302 neurons, with 7,000 connections between them in that tiny little body. That seems incredibly complex, but compared to the human brain, it’s like the graphics on the Atari 2600 compared to today’s Playstation.
The human brain, by contrast, has approximately 86 billion neurons and an estimated 100 trillion connections.
If we don’t understand how the brain of Caenorhabditis elegans works, we sure as hell don’t understand how the brain of John and Tom and Jessica and Jaime work.
That doesn’t mean we don’t try to understand it. Lots of Really Smart People do.
I read a fascinating article yesterday entitled, “What Your Brain Is Doing When You’re Not Doing Anything.” Back in the olden days of the late 20th century, researchers began using new ways to study people’s thinkin’ spots while they were doing certain activities. They found out some really cool stuff, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that, when they started to look at the areas of the brain that lit up with activity on the scans when the activities began, they noticed that certain other parts of the brain immediately began to “cool down.”
That led some Really Smart Person to say, “So …. What the heck was the brain doing before it started doing that task?” It was a good question, considering those people were just sorta laying there and weren’t doing much of anything. Yet the scans showed that certain parts of the brain were highly active. What the hell was up with that?
So the Really Smart People decided to start studying it. That’s what Really Smart People do, thank God, or we’d be dumber than we actually are, and that’s pretty dumb. What the RSPs learned was that the brain has what they are now calling a default state. During this state, our conscious outer meatsacks aren’t doing much of anything. In the study, the participants were blindfolded and asked to let their minds wander. In a non-laboratory setting, think of what you’re like when you come home from work and plop down on the couch to veg. You think you’re not thinking about much of anything. Ahhh, but your brain says something different. You, my friend, are thinking about a helluva lot.
All these sections of your brain are lit up. These sections are the parts of your noggin associated with memory, experience replay, prediction, action consideration, reward/punishment and information integration, and together they make up what the RSPs call the default network. That’s a whole helluva lot of activity when all the casual observer would see of you is you staring blankly into the void.
So what are the effects of this complex interaction of lit-up areas that make up the default network? Well, think about what you think about when you’re thinkin’ you’re thinkin’ about nothing. Quiet is often really, really hard for people. And why is that? Well, when we’re busy, our minds are focused on a task and we’re doin’ our thing, like I’m doing now when I’m writing. But were I to stop writing and go sit on the couch, my mind is going to wander and I’m going to think about lost friendships and painful experiences from the past or I’m going to wonder about how someone I truly care about but haven’t talked to in a while is doing.
Research shows that this default network, not surprisingly then, leads to things like mind wandering, remembering past experiences, thinking about others’ mental states, picturing the future and processing language. In other words, we’re all up in it and, if we’re prone to hurt or sorrow, it might not feel all that good.
Though the article doesn’t suggest it, my thought it is the unpleasantness of this default state can be a good thing because if we’re generating uncomfortable and sad thoughts, we’re more likely to get up and do something to distract ourselves. Then, the default state will cool down and all those other places will light up and we won’t think about that person we miss so goddamn much.
I personally struggle with my own brain. I don’t like it much of the time. It has blessed me with an IQ of 141 and an EQ that is off the goddamn charts. That combination can be absolutely brutal when all you want to do is find peace and harmony and tranquility with a world that doesn’t make a whole lotta sense and that sometimes doesn’t seem like a great place to stick around in much longer. I’ve been down that path multiple times, and it never seems far from the narrow path I strive to stay on. It might seem comical to say you’re at war with your brain, but this is something philosophers and scholars and religious people have talked about for years.
From that latter realm, there’s Paul, who in Romans 7:15-20, says, “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.” If there’s ever a crystal-clear example of a man who’s at war with his brain, there you have it, folks.
From the former, there is former Roman emperor and Stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius, who fought a war with his brain when it came to getting out of bed in the morning. In his private journals, which he would be appalled to know have been turned into a best-selling book called Meditations, he writes, “At dawn, when you have trouble getting out of bed, tell yourself: ‘I have to go to work — as a human being. What do I have to complain of, if I’m going to do what I was born for — the things I was brought into the world to do? Or is this what I was created for? To huddle under the blankets and stay warm?’”
And even that wasn’t enough to silence the battle in Marcus’ head. He went on, further trying to convince himself to do what he needed to do: “So you were born to feel ‘nice?’ Instead of doing things and experiencing them? Don’t you see the plants, the birds, the ants and spiders and bees going about their individual tasks, putting the world in order, as best they can? And you’re not willing to do your job as a human being? Why aren’t you running to do what your nature demands?”
In other words, get out of bed, you weak-ass bitch, or you’re worse than a motherfucking spider. And only weird people are happy to see a spider.
I have learned over the past few years that I am in a good place when I can be alone and quiet and still be comfortable. These times are disturbingly fleeting and have been for about five years now. I have had moments of intense joy in quiet in which much of the complexity of the Universe fades away and I see things as they truly are and how they make sense. But even armed with that knowledge, peace during quiet is extremely hard for me to maintain.
My old Biblical pal Paul would understand this. There is much debate over what the thorn is that is said to be wedged into Paul’s side by the great and glorious Lord on high to keep him humble. 2 Corinthians 12:7 says, “Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me.”
Most Biblical scholars believe that thorn was nothing like an actual thorn. After all, were it that simple, Paul coulda, ya know, gotten a pair of Bible-times tweezers, pulled it out, put some salve on it and been fine in three to five days.
Some say it was a stutter or a limp. Others say it was a representation of the persecutions he faced by being Jesus’ biggest fanboy. And then there are those who suggest Paul was abducted by aliens and implanted with a chip of some sort, and, no, I’m not making that up.
Whatever it was, it bothered Paul. A lot. The word “torment” isn’t one that is casually thrown around.
Many of us have our own thorns. It’s that One Thing. The words we wish we would have said. The words we wish we wouldn’t have said. The thing we wish we would have done. The pain of the person who left. The death of a child. The missed opportunity. The lost love. The mistake at work. The distraction that led to the accident.
My thorn has been a crippling impediment stopping me from fully being the me I’m trying to build. I have spent way, way too long trying to figure out a solution to my thorn and have sought the counsel of wise others trained in this kind of stuff who all have come to the same conclusion: “I got nuthin’.”
What the actual fuck, people?
I have spent years now trying to solve the problem through determination and steadfast adherence to doing things one particular way, hoping that time and effort will heal the void inside me and make the quiet times – my default state – less painful. So far, no luck. The intensity is just as strong as it was when it first blindsided me, and I have no hope that the current way I’ve handled things will ever solve this ache.
Yet the thought of taking the opposite course in search of a solution is no less enticing. Sure, it would be going the George Costanza route, but doing the opposite didn’t exactly change his long-term prospects for the better, now did it? Doing the opposite in this case is to risk a whole lot of hurt for a whole lot of people who I never wanted to hurt in the first place — none of them.
And so I end up doing nothing.
Which is fine if doing nothing weren’t so goddamn tiring. It used to make no sense that inaction could be so exhausting. But after reading the article about our default states, I now see why. We sometimes are working awfully damn hard when we’re doing nothing. Or, at least, our brains are. Our brains are out there trying to come up with a narrative that makes sense about the meaningful events in our lives that perplex us and that we don’t think about when we’re busy coaching basketball or working on that project or having fun with our families. Our bodies might be resting, but our brains are fighting battles – and in many cases, getting their asses handed to them. No wonder why a day of rest can leave us feeling more exhausted than a busy day of yard work.
Here’s the thing: I don’t want this to be this way, and I’ve solved every other difficult thing in my life – most in the span of the past two years – simply by never giving up, by always being willing to try something else. My hope is that this situation of mine plays out in time and peace can be found, because I don’t want to live this way much longer. When I look at all I’ve accomplished over the past two years, I am so goddamn proud of who I have become and what I’ve been able to do and how I’ve stepped up to be the man I know I need to be.
One more thing. That’s all that remains out there for me to address.
Now if my default state can just provide the clarity I need on how to address it.
I think I’m gonna go back and lay down on the couch and see what happens.