For the second time in 3 years, we have wrens nesting in the planter just outside our front door. This means that I had to scrap my early spring plans of putting ivy in the shady planter, but it's totally worth it.
Two years ago, we called our feathered visitor "Gertie the Birdie," (we're sort of into names that rhyme with what they are -- hence our unborn child's unfortunate moniker "Cletus the Fetus.") Gertie laid 5 eggs during her time in residence on our front porch, and we watched them hatch and grow with unbridled fascination. Sadly, only four of them survived to leave the nest, and MDH had the unpleasant job of removing the poor little straggler after his family had moved on.
The planter is just below eye level - it hangs on the wall outside our door - so having a bird's nest there gives us a little taste of the discovery channel every day. MDH has affectionately named this year's mamma bird "Wrenita," and ever since she took up residence I've felt a kind of kinship with her... one expectant mom to another sort of thing. Of course, I'm a touch jealous of how quick the gestation period is for birds - they went from an empty nest, to tiny brown eggs, to babies with huge closed eyes in just a matter of weeks.
We've had fun in the past week or so, stopping by the nest and making kissy noises at them to see their hungry little mouths reach out in instinct, waiting for us to barf up something delicious (I know it's a little cruel, but it's irresistible). And now when we peer into the nest, the little birds peering out are slightly smaller replicas of Wrenita herself, already looking wise and grown.
Add to this progression of life the soap opera-like element of our cat -- who watches the birds with intensity through the front window. And this morning she was particularly frantic, running from window to window, chirping (like a cat, not like a bird) insistently to let me know there was something hunt-able and tasty-looking just outside.
When I went out myself, I found Wrenita and another bird making an incredible racket -- they were both flitting from bush to tree to stairway railing, chirping loudly and nonstop. Even though Wrenita typically makes a hasty and quiet exit whenever we enter or leave the condo, this morning she made little effort to hide from me, and the constant chirping didn't stop despite several repeated trips in and out the door.
Both adult birds kept up their noisy dance for some time, and I finally decided that they were trying to coax the little ones to leave the nest and attempt flying for the first time. I don't know if that's really what was happening -- bird expert, I am not. But I thought it was pretty cool anyway. Mamma bird (and her friend? Daddy bird? Auntie bird?) didn't climb into the nest and push the babies out. They don't carry the babies out and fly for them. But they also don't abandon them to their fates... they consistently, patiently encourage them with lots of verbal reassurance and wait for the little guys to figure it out for themselves.
It's a great reminder of what good parenting should be... and perfect timing since I am entering that neurotic phase of pregnancy that has me worrying about every little thing, doubting my parental abilities, and fighting off the urge to buy the little guy everything in the store. Which store? Doesn't matter. Every store.
Somehow watching Wrenita encourage her little ones this morning gave me a little (maybe temporary) feeling of confidence and relief. Nature has away of working it out, and I know that somehow even my imperfect instincts will help this little one find his way in the world.
Showing posts with label psychology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label psychology. Show all posts
Monday, May 4, 2009
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
A Lesson in Belonging
I read today that a recent study (summary here) at the University of Kentucky strongly linked aggressive behavior with social rejection. In other words, people who are rejected socially are more likely to exhibit aggressive and violent behavior toward others. Well, duh, right?
It may seem obvious, but this is apparently one of the more substantial studies available describing links to aggressive behavior. In an era when aggression seems to translate more and more often into horrifying displays of indiscriminate violence, I think this becomes an area of communal interest for all of us.
For me, this fits pretty well with how I view the world, and how I see my clients. I happen to work from a largely Adlerian perspective, which means I think that Belonging (Social Interest) is a critical part of each person's development and mental health. But before I had ever heard of Adler or thought about becoming a psychotherapist, I had an intuitive sense for how important belonging is... and I suspect that most people who survived adolescence in America can relate.
I remember in high school a teacher of mine was reading an interview with Stephen King, and his interviewer was asking about early influences on his writing, etc. I can't find the exact quote, but King said something about how acceptance by others is the most important thing any person can have. It's what everyone wants, especially teenagers. I remember thinking how cool it was that a writer I admired immensely was so in touch with the human condition -- and specifically, MY human condition. (Later on I realized it's this, more than anything else, that makes Stephen King a great writer.)
It does seem that a need for social acceptance is part of our essence. Some of us find it by seeking to please others and imitating those we admire. Others find acceptance through their uniqueness - standing out in order to fit in. We sometimes go to extremes in order to express our individuality, as well as our affiliation with particular groups... Think about the pierced and painted adolescent bodies clustered together at the food court; or the wildest displays of fanaticism at your favorite tailgate party.
Knowing how intense we can be about being part of a group, it's easy to understand how those who can't seem to fit in could feel resentful, self-loathing, and eventually... hopeless. Those feelings can lead to a sense of frustrated entitlement, and vengeful behavior against others. And as we've seen all too often in ways large and small, the consequences can be devastating.
I don't know what the answer is... But maybe just knowing how important social acceptance is will give us the opportunity to view others in a different light: to be aware that Chatty Cathy in the next cubicle really just wants to be liked; and the Know-It-All down the hall needs to feel important and accepted.
Perhaps by remembering our own challenges to fit in (pubescent and current), we can have a little more empathy for those who are still struggling. Our kindness to them might just be the small step that changes the world.
It may seem obvious, but this is apparently one of the more substantial studies available describing links to aggressive behavior. In an era when aggression seems to translate more and more often into horrifying displays of indiscriminate violence, I think this becomes an area of communal interest for all of us.
For me, this fits pretty well with how I view the world, and how I see my clients. I happen to work from a largely Adlerian perspective, which means I think that Belonging (Social Interest) is a critical part of each person's development and mental health. But before I had ever heard of Adler or thought about becoming a psychotherapist, I had an intuitive sense for how important belonging is... and I suspect that most people who survived adolescence in America can relate.
I remember in high school a teacher of mine was reading an interview with Stephen King, and his interviewer was asking about early influences on his writing, etc. I can't find the exact quote, but King said something about how acceptance by others is the most important thing any person can have. It's what everyone wants, especially teenagers. I remember thinking how cool it was that a writer I admired immensely was so in touch with the human condition -- and specifically, MY human condition. (Later on I realized it's this, more than anything else, that makes Stephen King a great writer.)
It does seem that a need for social acceptance is part of our essence. Some of us find it by seeking to please others and imitating those we admire. Others find acceptance through their uniqueness - standing out in order to fit in. We sometimes go to extremes in order to express our individuality, as well as our affiliation with particular groups... Think about the pierced and painted adolescent bodies clustered together at the food court; or the wildest displays of fanaticism at your favorite tailgate party.
Knowing how intense we can be about being part of a group, it's easy to understand how those who can't seem to fit in could feel resentful, self-loathing, and eventually... hopeless. Those feelings can lead to a sense of frustrated entitlement, and vengeful behavior against others. And as we've seen all too often in ways large and small, the consequences can be devastating.
I don't know what the answer is... But maybe just knowing how important social acceptance is will give us the opportunity to view others in a different light: to be aware that Chatty Cathy in the next cubicle really just wants to be liked; and the Know-It-All down the hall needs to feel important and accepted.
Perhaps by remembering our own challenges to fit in (pubescent and current), we can have a little more empathy for those who are still struggling. Our kindness to them might just be the small step that changes the world.
Friday, September 12, 2008
More Internet Musings
Two blogs ago, I made casual mention of the idea that the Internet has become a communal extension of my brain. I also toyed with the idea that maybe parts of my brain are beginning to atrophy -- or perhaps to be reallocated to another purpose because of disuse. All thanks to the convenience of the knowledge bank that Google puts at my fingertips.
In response, my friend Ross - who is a bona fide member of the technorati and way smarter than I - sent me a link to this fascinating 2003 article, in which author William Gibson expresses some of these same ideas (in a far more interesting way than I did, of course). You can read it yourself, but something I found really cool about it was that someone called Vannevar Bush envisioned something very like the Internet (in structure and purpose), way back in 1945.
For me, this reaffirms a couple of things that have been percolating on the outer edges of my intuition...
One, that the Internet and other modern technologies are in many ways an extension of the way we naturally think and act. Hyperlinks on web pages function much the same way that the human mind functions when processing thoughts and emotions: creating idea-related pathways that spider out in a multitude of directions, rather than a linear path that we simply scroll from top to bottom. Part of my job as a therapist is to try to follow that path, and figure out which "pages" are important, and which are just pass-throughs and distractions on the way to the important stuff.
Secondly, reading about Mr. Bush and his early, limited conceptions of an Internet-like machine, I can't help but wonder who will envision the next major human advance. Maybe it will be one of Bill Gates' or Steve Jobbs' followers, going to work each day on a vast technology campus. Or a part of the military machine, in an eternal race for dominance. Or maybe it will be a science-fiction writer, avid game player, or amateur poet. Someone whose creative energy surpasses the boundaries and limitations of the conceivable, and begins to explore instead the possible.
It seems that Vannevar Bush was a little of all of these things, in his way. It's hard to know if his primitive conceptualization of the Internet was born of professional practicality, free-ranging fantasy, or a little of both. In either case, I like this idea, because it at least hints at the possibility that any of us might create the seed of the the next revolutionary idea -- regardless of the capacity in which we are currently serving mankind.
It may mean that those random daydreams and seemingly silly thoughts we all have sometimes might actually be a window - not just to ourselves but to the future. I don't know about you, but the possibility of future greatness gives me a sort of permission to give in to those thoughts once in a while. Maybe I'll take a few extra moments to stare out the window next time before hurrying back to work.
In response, my friend Ross - who is a bona fide member of the technorati and way smarter than I - sent me a link to this fascinating 2003 article, in which author William Gibson expresses some of these same ideas (in a far more interesting way than I did, of course). You can read it yourself, but something I found really cool about it was that someone called Vannevar Bush envisioned something very like the Internet (in structure and purpose), way back in 1945.
For me, this reaffirms a couple of things that have been percolating on the outer edges of my intuition...
One, that the Internet and other modern technologies are in many ways an extension of the way we naturally think and act. Hyperlinks on web pages function much the same way that the human mind functions when processing thoughts and emotions: creating idea-related pathways that spider out in a multitude of directions, rather than a linear path that we simply scroll from top to bottom. Part of my job as a therapist is to try to follow that path, and figure out which "pages" are important, and which are just pass-throughs and distractions on the way to the important stuff.
Secondly, reading about Mr. Bush and his early, limited conceptions of an Internet-like machine, I can't help but wonder who will envision the next major human advance. Maybe it will be one of Bill Gates' or Steve Jobbs' followers, going to work each day on a vast technology campus. Or a part of the military machine, in an eternal race for dominance. Or maybe it will be a science-fiction writer, avid game player, or amateur poet. Someone whose creative energy surpasses the boundaries and limitations of the conceivable, and begins to explore instead the possible.
It seems that Vannevar Bush was a little of all of these things, in his way. It's hard to know if his primitive conceptualization of the Internet was born of professional practicality, free-ranging fantasy, or a little of both. In either case, I like this idea, because it at least hints at the possibility that any of us might create the seed of the the next revolutionary idea -- regardless of the capacity in which we are currently serving mankind.
It may mean that those random daydreams and seemingly silly thoughts we all have sometimes might actually be a window - not just to ourselves but to the future. I don't know about you, but the possibility of future greatness gives me a sort of permission to give in to those thoughts once in a while. Maybe I'll take a few extra moments to stare out the window next time before hurrying back to work.
Monday, September 1, 2008
The Internet is Taking Over My Brain
Ever wonder what you would do without the internet?
I know people ask this rhetorically, and conversationally, all the time... but lately I've been observing my own ever-increasing reliance on the world wide web as a source of information and connection... and the psychology nerd in me is wondering, "What impact is this having on my brain?"
Not so much the mindlessness of what I'm doing online (although, there are certainly moments when I'm lost in guilty pleasures that are probably no better than vegging out to the television)... but the way my mind seems to get less and less of a particular kind of exercise the more I rely on my online resources.
These days, I'm forever going to my computer when I need any kind of question answered: How do I get from my house to the party in East Cobb? What's traffic like on 285? What's the name of that actor I keep seeing? Who would win a competition between Josh Duhamel and Post-It Notes? Which song do I keep murmuring the partial lyrics to in the shower? (That one turned out to be "Like a Rolling Stone" by Bob Dylan). What are the mating habits of the duck-billed platypus?
There was a time when, to figure out the answers to these questions and others, I would have to track down a book (using a card catalog, no less - remember those?). Or, I'd have to ask my friends until I found someone who knew the answer. Or worse still, I'd have to be satisfied with not knowing, or just waiting for days and hoping it came to me.
But these days, gratification is instant and thorough. Before I have even finished formulating the question in my head, I'm at my computer, and in seconds I'm directed to the top ten people who are most likely to be able to answer my question, or more accurately - who answered my question months ago in some online rant or fan tribute or fit of utter boredom. I can do this at 2 a.m. or 10 p.m. or anytime in between. It's amazingly efficient, and one of the many blessings of our modern world.
But I wonder what's happening as our brains evolve (which, of course, they are). What's happening to those cranial "muscles" that I was previously using to track down or mull over factual questions and answers? As the little neurons and synapses do their speedy little firings, there's some stopping point in my brain ("The Internet Cortex?") where unanswered questions stop streaking around my brain, and are instead directed to the computer.
It's almost like the internet has become an extension of my brain (which isn't too far off, actually, since search engines and hyperlinks were all originally designed to mimic the functioning of the human brain). In some very fundamental ways, all those research skills I learned from third grade to high school are now being outsourced. And that means that my internal ability to retain information, or the critical paths for getting to information, must be decreasing.
Of course it is. Our brains pare away skills and information we don't need as we stop using them... why take up valuable brain space and attention with things you don't need to have top of mind? Why hold on to something when the digital collective is holding it for you? I've noticed that my ability to recall and retain information has shrunk over the last few years - partly because I'm creeping ever-closer to middle age, and partly because there's no need for me to retain much of the information I'm confronted with each day. I can always Google it later if I need it, right?
I don't know if there's any validity to my theory that parts of our brain are becoming atrophied because of our new easy access to information (or perhaps, being reallocated for another, far more interesting use down the line). And if there is, I don't know whether it's good, bad or just interesting -- at least to me. What I do know is that, for me, the process of going from "I'm not sure about that," to "I'll check the internet," has been reduced to a matter of nanoseconds.
I literally have no idea how I would function right now without this tremendous, spidery, instantaneous resource at my fingertips. And, for the moment, I'm hard-pressed to say whether I think I'm better off intellectually or not. Regardless, it's a phenomenon that will not be slowing any time in the near future. It will be fascinating to see how our mental faculties, educational systems, and intellectual cultures respond over time.
For now, I'll have to be satisfied with trying to stay somewhere near the middle of the technological curve -- which gets harder every year -- and content with the idea that while I may be losing my skill for answers, I can still ask some pretty good questions.
I know people ask this rhetorically, and conversationally, all the time... but lately I've been observing my own ever-increasing reliance on the world wide web as a source of information and connection... and the psychology nerd in me is wondering, "What impact is this having on my brain?"
Not so much the mindlessness of what I'm doing online (although, there are certainly moments when I'm lost in guilty pleasures that are probably no better than vegging out to the television)... but the way my mind seems to get less and less of a particular kind of exercise the more I rely on my online resources.
These days, I'm forever going to my computer when I need any kind of question answered: How do I get from my house to the party in East Cobb? What's traffic like on 285? What's the name of that actor I keep seeing? Who would win a competition between Josh Duhamel and Post-It Notes? Which song do I keep murmuring the partial lyrics to in the shower? (That one turned out to be "Like a Rolling Stone" by Bob Dylan). What are the mating habits of the duck-billed platypus?
There was a time when, to figure out the answers to these questions and others, I would have to track down a book (using a card catalog, no less - remember those?). Or, I'd have to ask my friends until I found someone who knew the answer. Or worse still, I'd have to be satisfied with not knowing, or just waiting for days and hoping it came to me.
But these days, gratification is instant and thorough. Before I have even finished formulating the question in my head, I'm at my computer, and in seconds I'm directed to the top ten people who are most likely to be able to answer my question, or more accurately - who answered my question months ago in some online rant or fan tribute or fit of utter boredom. I can do this at 2 a.m. or 10 p.m. or anytime in between. It's amazingly efficient, and one of the many blessings of our modern world.
But I wonder what's happening as our brains evolve (which, of course, they are). What's happening to those cranial "muscles" that I was previously using to track down or mull over factual questions and answers? As the little neurons and synapses do their speedy little firings, there's some stopping point in my brain ("The Internet Cortex?") where unanswered questions stop streaking around my brain, and are instead directed to the computer.
It's almost like the internet has become an extension of my brain (which isn't too far off, actually, since search engines and hyperlinks were all originally designed to mimic the functioning of the human brain). In some very fundamental ways, all those research skills I learned from third grade to high school are now being outsourced. And that means that my internal ability to retain information, or the critical paths for getting to information, must be decreasing.
Of course it is. Our brains pare away skills and information we don't need as we stop using them... why take up valuable brain space and attention with things you don't need to have top of mind? Why hold on to something when the digital collective is holding it for you? I've noticed that my ability to recall and retain information has shrunk over the last few years - partly because I'm creeping ever-closer to middle age, and partly because there's no need for me to retain much of the information I'm confronted with each day. I can always Google it later if I need it, right?
I don't know if there's any validity to my theory that parts of our brain are becoming atrophied because of our new easy access to information (or perhaps, being reallocated for another, far more interesting use down the line). And if there is, I don't know whether it's good, bad or just interesting -- at least to me. What I do know is that, for me, the process of going from "I'm not sure about that," to "I'll check the internet," has been reduced to a matter of nanoseconds.
I literally have no idea how I would function right now without this tremendous, spidery, instantaneous resource at my fingertips. And, for the moment, I'm hard-pressed to say whether I think I'm better off intellectually or not. Regardless, it's a phenomenon that will not be slowing any time in the near future. It will be fascinating to see how our mental faculties, educational systems, and intellectual cultures respond over time.
For now, I'll have to be satisfied with trying to stay somewhere near the middle of the technological curve -- which gets harder every year -- and content with the idea that while I may be losing my skill for answers, I can still ask some pretty good questions.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
#54: Learn to sit, play, and trust...
One thing I really love about gmail, aside from its other endlessly useful features, is the little rotating headline thingy -- I'm sure the folks at google have an actual, technical name for it -- above the inbox, which changes every time I check my mail. At first, I barely noticed its existence. And even now, most of the time I don't give a second thought to what is up there -- entertainment news, sports stories, movie reviews, and the occasional odd news story. I'm busy ploughing through my e-mails and trying to get on with my day.
But once in a while, the headline or topic catches my eye and I follow it, where I get a good laugh or learn something new. Found treasure. It's kind of like my inbox is a beach, and I'm strolling along, glancing down periodically to see what the gmail ocean has washed in.
What washed up on the beach today was this great article about a Hungarian study of dogs (family pets of all breeds), which found that dogs whose owners play with them regularly are more apt to play with others openly, and demonstrate fewer behaviors that reflect fearfulness and/or protectiveness. The dogs who played often didn't seem to care who they played with, as long as the game was similar and there was fun to be had. Dogs who played less demonstrated more aggressive, protective, and fearful behaviors around unfamiliar people.
Now, I realize that as a therapist, I have a higher-than-average interest in behaviorism (both animal and human). But hang with me for a minute... Like dogs and most other animals, human children need to play when we're young to help us master life skills and to hit developmental milestones. In fact, the whole concept of play therapy with children is based on the foundation that play is one of our very first languages, more primary and intuitive to us than the words we later master.
Play benefits us as adults, too. Playfulness helps us release stress, improve intimate relationships, become better parents, and increase our creativity. When we can be playful in our approach to life and love, we're generally happier and healthier.
What if -- like dogs -- we humans are more inclined to play vigorously (and to relish new people and experiences) when we get loads of playtime with people we trust? That would mean something significant about the role our parents have early on, impacting how engaged and involved we are with the world around us. It might also mean that those of us who are playful in our intimate relationships are better able to have healthy and creative lives outside the relationship.
Since I frequently work with anxiety disorders, I particularly tuned in to how our anxious human behaviors seem to mirror those behaviors exhibited by the dogs who didn't get frequent playtime with their owners. People who are highly anxious and fearful seem to approach the world with the same mannerisms as the non-playful dogs.
If I meet someone new, I worry constantly that I will say the wrong thing and get embarrassed. [Cower] I've been hurt by relationships before, so I find myself being demanding and harsh with people I date. [Snarl] If one thing goes wrong with something I'm trying to do, I might as well give up because it's only going to get worse. [Whimper].
Perhaps there's also a link for humans between how much we engage in play with our caretakers early on, and whether we are generally exploratory and playful as adults. Maybe those of us who don't play as much as kids, or don't have particularly playful parents, are more likely to be anxious as adults (fearful, wary, self-protective).
Of course I have no research to support my hypothesis, but there's a thread of common sense in there: If we learn that the world is a scary, serious, and unpredictable place, we're probably going to treat each interaction and experience as though someone is trying to steal our last rawhide bone. But if we consistently practice play - as children or adults - maybe we can learn to be more trusting, playful, and open to those new experiences when they come along.
Wouldn't it be great if, the same way we push ourselves to exercise and eat right, we also pushed ourselves to incorporate playfulness and spontaneity into our daily routines? Then we could teach our children to greet life's various characters and opportunities, not with a suspicious snarl or a shrinking whimper, but an enthusiastic play-bow and a gleefully wagging tail.
But once in a while, the headline or topic catches my eye and I follow it, where I get a good laugh or learn something new. Found treasure. It's kind of like my inbox is a beach, and I'm strolling along, glancing down periodically to see what the gmail ocean has washed in.
What washed up on the beach today was this great article about a Hungarian study of dogs (family pets of all breeds), which found that dogs whose owners play with them regularly are more apt to play with others openly, and demonstrate fewer behaviors that reflect fearfulness and/or protectiveness. The dogs who played often didn't seem to care who they played with, as long as the game was similar and there was fun to be had. Dogs who played less demonstrated more aggressive, protective, and fearful behaviors around unfamiliar people.
Now, I realize that as a therapist, I have a higher-than-average interest in behaviorism (both animal and human). But hang with me for a minute... Like dogs and most other animals, human children need to play when we're young to help us master life skills and to hit developmental milestones. In fact, the whole concept of play therapy with children is based on the foundation that play is one of our very first languages, more primary and intuitive to us than the words we later master.
Play benefits us as adults, too. Playfulness helps us release stress, improve intimate relationships, become better parents, and increase our creativity. When we can be playful in our approach to life and love, we're generally happier and healthier.
What if -- like dogs -- we humans are more inclined to play vigorously (and to relish new people and experiences) when we get loads of playtime with people we trust? That would mean something significant about the role our parents have early on, impacting how engaged and involved we are with the world around us. It might also mean that those of us who are playful in our intimate relationships are better able to have healthy and creative lives outside the relationship.
Since I frequently work with anxiety disorders, I particularly tuned in to how our anxious human behaviors seem to mirror those behaviors exhibited by the dogs who didn't get frequent playtime with their owners. People who are highly anxious and fearful seem to approach the world with the same mannerisms as the non-playful dogs.
If I meet someone new, I worry constantly that I will say the wrong thing and get embarrassed. [Cower] I've been hurt by relationships before, so I find myself being demanding and harsh with people I date. [Snarl] If one thing goes wrong with something I'm trying to do, I might as well give up because it's only going to get worse. [Whimper].
Perhaps there's also a link for humans between how much we engage in play with our caretakers early on, and whether we are generally exploratory and playful as adults. Maybe those of us who don't play as much as kids, or don't have particularly playful parents, are more likely to be anxious as adults (fearful, wary, self-protective).
Of course I have no research to support my hypothesis, but there's a thread of common sense in there: If we learn that the world is a scary, serious, and unpredictable place, we're probably going to treat each interaction and experience as though someone is trying to steal our last rawhide bone. But if we consistently practice play - as children or adults - maybe we can learn to be more trusting, playful, and open to those new experiences when they come along.
Wouldn't it be great if, the same way we push ourselves to exercise and eat right, we also pushed ourselves to incorporate playfulness and spontaneity into our daily routines? Then we could teach our children to greet life's various characters and opportunities, not with a suspicious snarl or a shrinking whimper, but an enthusiastic play-bow and a gleefully wagging tail.
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