Farther to Go!

Brain-Based Transformational Solutions

Suspend Disbelief and Commit
to the Process (Part 1)

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Disbelief: an inability to believe that something is true.

As a lifelong reader and writer, I’m on familiar terms with the concept of willing suspension of disbelief. The ability to suspend disbelief makes it possible for us to immerse ourselves in stories about people who don’t exist living in places that don’t exist (or don’t exist exactly as they are depicted) so that we can, at least temporarily, relate to them as if they and their thoughts, feelings, predicaments, and actions are every bit as real as we are.

Reading a novel is sort of like making a compact (looser than a contract) with an author. The reader agrees to suspend disbelief, which means trusting the author. And the author agrees to do his or her best to be trustworthy by getting things right, even when those things are not factual—in fact, especially when they are not factual. That includes keeping the plot and the characters straight, maintaining internal consistency, not making obvious errors, and having a juicy story to tell in the first place.

Vampires in San Francisco

I stopped suspending my disbelief in Atonement by Ian McEwan once he introduced an event for the sole purpose of moving the plot forward. I willingly suspended my disbelief in Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire until she placed the toll booths at the wrong end of the Golden Gate Bridge. Losing my suspension of disbelief in Atonement was a big deal because the plot contrivance was pivotal to the outcome of the story. The toll booths, on the other hand, were a minor issue in Rice’s Vampire Chronicles.

As a reader, I felt I was doing my part in both cases; it was the authors who let me down. I would have had a much different experience, however, if I’d approached Interview with the Vampire without a willingness to suspend disbelief. The very idea of “vampires” would have been a deal-breaker; I would never have begun reading the book. Not reading Interview with the Vampire probably wouldn’t have altered my life significantly—although it did give me that toll booth example, which I’ve used many times.

Things without Names

But there are other books I’ve read that I believe have enhanced my life, and reading them has contributed, even if in a small way, to me becoming the person I am now. One example is my all-time favorite novel, One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It begins:

Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice. At that time Macondo was a village of twenty adobe houses, built on the bank of a river of clear water that ran along a bed of polished stones, which were white and enormous, like prehistoric eggs. The world was so recent that many things lacked names, and in order to indicate them it was necessary to point.

Magical realism definitely requires the willing suspension of disbelief.

But there has to be some promise—some prospective payoff—to cause us as readers to suspend our disbelief and invest our time and energy in a story. We like the genre or the author. The book comes highly recommended by a trusted source. It’s the next volume in a series we’re already hooked on. Or maybe we pick up a copy in a library or bookstore and are immediately captivated by the opening.

Whatever the case may be, on the one hand we readers automatically understand that suspension of disbelief is a requirement of getting the most out of fiction. On the other hand, we don’t automatically or permanently suspend disbelief for every work of fiction we encounter. We discriminate. But once we’re in, we’re in, so to speak—unless the author messes up.

Imagination and Truth

Author and columnist William Safire explored the subject of suspension of disbelief in a 2007 piece for The New York Times:

[W]ho coined the phrase and in what context? The quotation books have the coiner — the English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, in his 1817 “Biographia Literaria”: “That willing suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith.”

But the context is an eye-opener. Coleridge and William Wordsworth were neighbors. They agreed one day that “the two cardinal points of poetry” were “the power of exciting the sympathy of the reader by a faithful adherence to the truth of nature” (Wordsworth’s specialty, with his “host of golden daffodils”) and “the power of giving the interest of novelty by the modifying colors of imagination” (which Coleridge was especially good at). They agreed to contribute individually to a group of “Lyrical Ballads.”

You may not have noticed, but we’ve sort of wended our way, via imagination and truth, to art and science.

Safire added:

Richard Sha, professor of literature at American University, takes this to mean that “…one must willingly suspend one’s skepticism.”

Don’t Drink the Kool-Aid!

Suspending one’s skepticism in undertaking to read a work of fiction doesn’t usually pose much danger. But in other realms of life, it can lead to a variety of negative outcomes, from minor mistakes to profound tragedy. But while it shouldn’t be done lightly or habitually, there are some times and places where it definitely should be done—where it has to be done if we’re to get anything out of the situation, the learning, or the experience. We not only need to suspend disbelief, we also need to commit to the process if we want to:

  • Learn something new (a musical instrument, a language, a creative pursuit…)
  • Start something (a business, a project, a relationship…)
  • Make a significant decision (to become a parent, to get into or out of a relationship, to take or leave a job…)

What does this have to do with creating transformational change? Maybe you’ve figured that out. If not, it’s what I’ll be covering in the next installment.

You Can’t Live Anywhere
BUT in a Bubble

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A character in a story I wrote a long time ago imagines zipping himself closed inside a transparent bubble. As it turns out, we are all living inside our own transparent bubbles; most of us just don’t realize it. We take our experiences at face value. We assume everyone accesses the world the same way we access it, pays attention to what we pay attention to, sees the same colors, and has the same understanding of basic concepts.

Yes, we disagree with some people, but they’re so obviously wrong. The rest of us are on the same page, right?

The topic of the Monthly Meeting of the Mind (& Brain) this month was imagination. One of the participants commented that he has difficulty creating and sustaining visual mental images. The inability to form mental images is called aphantasia. It was identified in the 1880s but only named a few years ago, perhaps because it affects such a small percentage of the population. I can’t imagine being unable to create mental images! Visual mental imagery is an integral aspect of my sense of self and of how I function in the world. I couldn’t be me if I couldn’t do that.

Several years ago I learned about misophonia, also called soft-sound sensitivity. For people with this condition, ordinary sounds the rest of us easily tune out, such as chewing noises, tapping, or rustling paper, can be deeply disturbing. People with misophonia may have such strong physical and emotional reactions to certain sounds they curtail their activities to avoid them. Many more people are affected by misophonia than by aphantasia.

A few months ago I created a handout with a chart using four different colors, including a dark green. So many people saw the color that was clearly green to me (and my computer program) as black or gray or brown that I changed the shade for subsequent copies. These weren’t instances of color blindness, just different visual interpretations.

And then there’s the experience of anger. A lot of people believe anger to be a negative emotion, to be avoided, mitigated, or managed—certainly contained. But others, including me, find that anger can be energizing and even motivating at times. When I described getting angry about an aspect of my health/heart conditions to a friend earlier this month, she tried to persuade me of the value of acceptance. (If you know me, feel free to laugh now.) But I often experience anger that is about something—as opposed to anger at someone—as productive rather than destructive.

That Pesky Four-Letter Word

Lastly there’s a word common to all of us, and whether we use it or someone else uses it, we assume we know exactly what it means. The word is goal. In The Paradox of Choice, Barry Schwartz begins one of his chapters* with this paragraph:

Choosing wisely begins with developing a clear understanding of your goals. And the first choice you must make is between the goal of choosing the absolute best and the goal of choosing something that is good enough.

Does this paragraph make sense to you? Did you sort of nod (at least mentally) in agreement? Apparently it made sense to him.

You could call what Schwartz is talking about a preference, a strategy, a drive, an inclination—you could call it a lot of things, but goal is definitely not one of them. The definition of goal is:

the state of affairs that a plan is intended to achieve and that (when achieved) terminates behavior intended to achieve it.

A goal has an end point. (Visualize a goal post if you can.) It represents a significant change from your current state of affairs, which is why it requires a plan. Once you reach that end point, you no longer need to keep taking the steps you outlined in your plan to get there.

Semantics, you may say. So what?

Well, Schwartz is talking about taking an action that involves choosing something. The most important thing to determine when you’re choosing something is what is your desired outcome not what is the method you are going to use to make the choice. And that’s a lot more than semantics.

So you may know what a goal is and how to set and achieve one. Or you may think getting gas on the way home from work—or making the absolutely best choice—is a goal. In any case, you probably assume others define the word the same way you do.

My Particular Bubble

I can and do create vivid mental images (don’t have aphantasia). I’m bothered by the reverberating bass sounds coming out of speakers in cars next to me at stoplights or the apartment next to mine, but I don’t have misophonia. I can distinguish dark shades of green from black or brown. I don’t experience anger as an entirely negative emotion. And I have a good understanding of what a goal is and how to achieve one.

These are all things I now know are not the same for everyone else. But there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of things I must assume to be the norm for everyone. It’s part of the human condition. It’s also one of the reasons I have always been interested in learning about temperaments or personality types—not for the purpose of “putting people in boxes” but to understand perspectives that are so different from my own.

Your view from your bubble, like my view from mine, is unique. The conditions inside your bubble, like the conditions inside mine, create our personal experience. Rather than taking everything at face value and assuming our experiences or interpretations are valid for everyone else, we might be better off adopting the perspective of one of my former clients, which is:

Isn’t that interesting?

*The subject of this chapter of Schwartz’s book will also be the subject of my next blog post.

Three Not-so-Little Words

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I’ve occasionally referred to myself, only partially in jest, as an anti-motivational speaker. I lead with the bad news because there’s so much bad-information-disguised-as-motivation out there. Following bad advice won’t lead to good results. It can keep you stuck or feeling even worse about yourself. So here’s the bad news—followed by some good (evidence-based) news—about aspiration, imagination, and transformation.

Aspiration

The bad news: You can’t be anything you want to be. While some limits may be self-imposed, not all of them are. Some things are simply outside your control. Fortune (good and bad), circumstances, genetics, and timing all play roles in the outcome of events. And you can’t count on vanquishing them with willpower.

The good news: You can be who you want to be. Aspiration is a long-term intention. It isn’t about being good at something; it’s about striving for and getting better at it. Although, it can be difficult to identify who you want to be, given that we’re seldom asked that question in life, it might be the most important question you will ever ask yourself. The answer creates the context for everything else.

Aspiration is itself a theory of change, and of how we become someone. — Agnes Callard

You can also develop a reliable sense of personal agency to help you determine where to focus your efforts and energy.

Imagination

The bad news: Just because you can imagine something doesn’t mean it’s possible. The fact that you can probably imagine (picture in your mind) a moon made of green cheese doesn’t mean such a thing exists or could exist. Imagination—creating mental images of things not currently present to the senses—is something our brains engage in automatically. However, it isn’t a magical superpower.

The good news: The intentional application of imagination can power your aspirations and ambitions. After all, it takes an act of imagination to step outside your “self” to visualize who you want to be and what you want to create or accomplish. Everyone has this capacity. If you’re unable to imagine something you want or want to pursue, it’s highly unlikely you will achieve it.

Imagination is what propels us forward as a species—it expands out worlds and brings us new ideas, inventions, and discoveries. —Valerie van Mulukom

Transformation

The bad news: There is no true self—good, perfect, untarnished—that you can discover or return to and actualize the potential of. (That isn’t transformation, anyway.) You are here, right where you are now, and you can’t be anywhere other than where you are. Sudden bursts of insight aren’t the same as transformation, either. Transformation is a process, one that requires time, effort, and energy and does not come with a guarantee. But it’s the uncertainty that allows for possibility. You can’t have one without the other.

The good news: Although you cannot be anywhere other than where you are right now, you can generate transformational change from wherever you are. You may be frustrated; you may want to change some things, or a lot of things, but you don’t have to fix yourself first. In fact, since you’re not broken, you can’t be fixed. Use your imagination to help you identify what you want: what you aspire to be or do or create. Then set out in that direction!

We lean into a future that is genuinely open. Human potentialities are not just assigned at the start but also created along life’s way. Instead of looking to the past, to that which is given though not-yet-fleshed out, one looks to the future, to that which may be, to that which is not-yet-fashioned and, in certain respects, not-yet-even-imaginable. —William Lowell Randall

The Pleasure of Beauty

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The brain takes pleasure in beauty; therefore, it finds beauty rewarding.

No matter where our brain finds beauty—in the natural world, a face or body, a song or work of art, a mathematical equation, or a perfect slice of tiramisu—it responds by activating the same neurological processes. Dopamine signals that a stimulus is rewarding and initiates the motivation and the muscle movements we need to move toward it. Mu-opiod and cannabinoid receptors then work together to produce the experience of pleasure.

We may have our own theories about why we like and take pleasure in some things and not in others. But all our aesthetic experiences are rooted in these processes that take place deep inside the brain.

Although we’re consciously aware of only a tiny fraction of them, our brain processes around 11,000,000 bits of information at a time, most of which are related to vision. The objects in our visual field, whether we’re aware of them or not, have an effect on us. As John Medina says in Brain Rules:

Visual processing doesn’t just assist in the perception of our world. It dominates the perception of our world.

But while it’s often said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, it’s much more accurate to say that beauty is in the brain of the beholder. Consider a few of the many things we can’t see that we can experience as beautiful, such as:

  • passages of music
  • scents and aromas: oranges, jasmine, fresh baked cookies
  • birds singing in the morning
  • the warmth of the sun on your skin
  • an embrace
  • laughter
  • rain (the scent, the sound, and the feeling of it)

When an epileptic seizure left painter John Bramblitt legally blind, he learned new ways to carry on with his work.

When you break it down the eyes really only do two things for a painter; they allow you to know your placement on a canvas, and they allow you to determine color. … Basically what I do is replace everything that the eyes would do for a sighted artist with the sense of touch.

The result:

Pleasures are more than simple reflexive reactions to desirable things. —Anjan Chaterjee

Many of our aesthetic preferences—including preferences for sugar, for faces and bodies, and for places in nature—developed during the Pleistocene era. The things we experience as beautiful today connect us not only with each other but also with all of our human ancestors.

Our hard-wired aesthetic preferences are an excellent example of how unconscious processes in the brain operating outside our awareness affect us on a daily basis. We think we’re unique in our preferences and beliefs and in the actions we think we’re choosing to take. Because we don’t understand how and why they developed, we come up with explanations that are bound to miss the mark—and can even lead to strife rather than to cooperation.

However, because we find beautiful things pleasant, they activate the reward system in our brain. The purpose of the reward system is to help us learn and remember things, places, people, and experiences that will contribute to our survival. This makes me hopeful. In our modern splintered world in which humans are continually engaged in various forms of brinksmanship, anything that can help us see ourselves as ultimately part of the same species might yet contribute to our ability to survive.

Aesthetics refers to our appreciation of what is beautiful. Neuroaesthetics is the study of the cognitive (mental) and affective (emotional) processes that underlie aesthetic experiences from a combined neurobiological, psychological, and evolutionary perspective.

Creative Destruction:
Painting Over the Underpainting

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This is a guest post from my friend and client Cathy Ann Connelly, who recently completed the “Trickster Makes the World” module of the Create Your Own Story course.

Definition: In painting, an underpainting is a first layer of paint applied to a canvas or board and it functions as a base for other layers of paint. It acts as a foundation for your painting and is a great way to start your painting off with some built in contrast and tonal values.

The attributes of Trickster in any culture, era, or life all add up to being one thing—a change agent.

To embody the Trickster attributes in our lives can be intense as we refine how to make change a friend rather than an anxiety-producing enemy.

And yet, isn’t that what we want? To be able to enact change? To develop more intensity—more juiciness—in our daily lives? And believe me, you don’t get that unless you make friends with your inner Trickster and Trickster’s sometimes more challenging attributes.

So, it occurred to me that overcoming some of the resistance to the Trickster package might be eased if we examine one of Trickster’s less alluring attributes through a different lens. The attribute I’ve chosen to look at in a different way is that of destruction—an essential element for change, but one we often shy away from.

Destruction or Under- and Over-painting?

I’m in no way a professional artist, but I do like creating visual art—taking painting classes and learning new techniques.

Along my art journey there have been two thoughts that totally match the concept of destruction as integral to creating something wonderful:

  1. Nothing is so precious that you shouldn’t be willing to paint over it—because anything can be recreated or improved upon, and
    .
  2. Underpainting is critical to producing a great work of art—and anything you create and don’t like can simply be called underpainting (the constructive act of destruction)!

Both these concepts tell me that in my entire life, nothing is useless, wasted, broken, or ruined, and that everything “destroyed” contributes to something better—even if the little parts I once thought were “perfect” have disappeared from view. In essence, everything can be seen as a jumping off point to be improved upon, full of surprises, and all of it can be viewed as valuable under- or over-painting for the next round of creativity in life.

Often, I find that simply playing with marks, colors, and images on a canvas—and then painting over them again and again—results in “changed art” that I could never have created through a controlled, single layer of predetermined brushstrokes. It is often the things that show through—the uncontrolled, playful surprises—that I take advantage of and embrace to make a painting far better than its original, solo layer.

Even if a specific corner of a painting starts to seem special and precious to me, and somehow I linger over the concept of preserving it, I force myself to paint over it if the entire canvas needs another rework.

It is the willingness to do this—to embody destructive change—that for me is juicy and that I ultimately know will produce even better results.

It is the very act of embracing the under- and over-painting that in and of itself can bring change that is wonderful, renewing, and liberating. It is the act that brings the juice of Trickster-change to my world.

Creative Destruction in Life

Outside my art, I believe I try to embody the Trickster attribute of creative destruction when traveling through liminal space—the threshold space of change. When my narrator tells me, “I know what’s going on and I can out think the things trying to run you off the path we’ve charted,” often that proves just downright silly. Liminal space is all about exploring alternate paths, often “destroying” the one you’ve started down. Who knows, just because you’ve started off one way doesn’t mean going a different way isn’t juicier, and might not be a better over- painting route to your desired destination. How can you know? After all, that first path might just be under-painting for the greater work emerging.

“Paint” with your personal agency and try out another path that could have fewer obstacles and might be a hundred times juicier. It’s uncomfortable, but “destroying” our “I know best” attitude with Trickster’s influence is exactly what gets us the change we want.

Cathy Ann Connelly lives in New Mexico and takes Farther To Go! classes because they’re juicy for exploring how to better use her brain for what she wants it to do, rather than her brain using her. Currently, her focus is on reawakening her own Trickster while encouraging new, longer-term intentions. This blog post sprung from that focus.

Contact Me

joycelyn@farthertogo.com
505-332-8677