Recently, I have felt lost on several levels.
When presented with myriad colleges, and thus majors, and thus occupations, and thus the sum of my entire life, I feel overwhelmed with opportunities.
I feel lost in the questions: where will I attend college? what will I study? how will I pay for it?
To counteract the fluidity and uncertainty of the future, my brain turned to checklists and straight lines for comfort. I started to worry if I have an imbalance of serotonin, a chemical in the brain that affects depression, anxiety, and obsessive-compulsiveness (three issues which have dominated the landscape of my life’s struggles). For a day or two I feared that I somehow have had undiagnosed mild OCD since childhood.
Whoa, Nelly.
Despite phases of real, self-destructive habits (eg. pulling hair out of my scalp in 4th and 6th grade, compulsively exercising and obsessing over food in 9th grade, among others), I’m probably fine.
Why am I thinking about the brain? In the past week I have read Brain Rules by Dr. John Medina and Spark by Dr. John Ratey, one author a molecular biologist and the other a psychiatrist. These books scientifically purport and explain the idea that common issues such as aggression, attention deficit, depression, anxiety, and even just a dulled mind are “neurotransmission malfunctions.” That is to say, these issues are not moral or intellectual failures and deficiencies. How freeing to imagine that this range of “personality problems” is caused by misfiring neurons and chemical imbalances! When stated in purely biological terms, these often misunderstood and socially stigmatized problems seem less shameful and much less challenging to overcome.
The books about the brain inspire me to pursue psychology or cognitive science; perhaps I will spend my life helping people understand the workings of their brains. I would like to see neurological disorders approached in the manner of an orthodontist wiring crooked teeth with braces. Genes (nature) do factor into these disorders, but environment (nurture) wires the brain’s patterns, and fortunately these patterns can be rewired.
Let me give a personal example. This coming Sunday is two years since I stood before my youth group and confessed what I had been wrestling with for a year prior: pressure to perform, crushing insecurity about my body, and obsessive eating habits.
In the months that followed, I felt that my world had been turned upside down, and I learned truth at a tremendous rate. I detailed this entire story in a post on last year’s anniversary and wrote a poem, and it was all very cathartic.
But this year I feel torn between poetry and science*: The poet says, I learned that my worth is not based on my body or fitness levels, so I live in freedom. The scientist says, I rewired my brain to understand that my image and track ability are not, in fact, threats to my survival.
I’m reminded of the poem “Autobiography in Five Short Chapters” by Portia Nelson, in which the speaker learns to avoid known pitfalls. I posted a paraphrase of the poem on my blog at a time when I, too, was learning to “take a different street.” It’s typical figurative poetry, but in fact, learning on the physical level consists of rewiring the brain. Neurons grow and die and connect in different ways, creating alternative routes and “different streets” for thinking and acting.
The learning process, especially unlearning a bad habit, is difficult at first. But in the same way that I can completely adjust to a detour route that is twice as long as the original, my brain can learn alternative courses of action. Even if a new route takes more effort, I can adjust.
Why am I so interested in rewiring my brain? In honor of my first confession, again I will confess. I want to confess my imperfections, my obsessive-compulsiveness and cognitive dissonance—how I fill my mouth with broken Pop Tarts, how I write and erase the same word 3 times until it looks just right. Not to mention the fact that I’ve gained 30 pounds in two years… I can’t explain it.
Perhaps the college planning would not feel so overwhelming if I could take confidence from my friendships or something about myself or the faith I claim to have. But I can’t. Like I said, lost.
*I wonder if science and poetry must contradict. I want to embrace both. If I am a scientist, I want to help people understand how their brains work. But as a poet, I just write metaphors using the ideas of researchers and scientists and blame all my issues on “neurotransmission malfunctions” in my brain. Regardless, the two together surely encompass the range of human health: Poetry speaks to the spirit while science addresses the rational mind and the body.
