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Do You Ever Find Yourself Chewing Your Mental Cud?

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ruminating woman

That’s my definition of rumination—chewing your mental cud. A more elegant definition, provided by Susan Nolen-Hoeksema of Yale University, is “a tendency to passively think about the meaning, origins, and consequences of our negative emotions.” Rumination isn’t the same as worrying. Worrying is usually focused on the future (an anticipated threat), while rumination tends to be focused on past or present events (some type of loss).

We ruminate over external situations and events and about relationships. We also ruminate over our own mistakes and shortcomings. That’s called self-rumination.

Rumination feels like problem-solving, but it actually prevents us from solving problems because it keeps us focused on negative events and emotions. We continue to dwell on our problems instead of attempting to resolve them. Rumination disrupts our self-regulation. Because we want to feel better, we try to distract ourselves or turn to immediate gratification. Rumination also increases stress levels and has a negative effect on our general health.

Rumination is a low level of thinking in which one thought leads to another but never to a solution or a conclusion. Rumination occupies mental space and System 2 (conscious) attention, which is already in short supply. So what can you do to stop yourself from ruminating?

Antidote #1: Practicing Mindfulness

Mindfulness means paying attention in a particular way; on purpose, in the present moment, and non-judgmentally. –Jon Kabat Zin

Mindfulness correlates negatively with rumination. That means practicing mindfulness is effective at decreasing the tendency to ruminate. Mindfulness helps people:

  • Observe themselves, events, and other people with curiosity and compassion
  • Shift their perspective
  • Become less attached to their thoughts, emotions, and sensations
  • See the patterns of their own mind more clearly
  • Recognize changes in their mood
  • Recognize the onset of ruminative thinking
  • Switch to a non-ruminative mode

Mindfulness can help you maintain a focused yet relaxed attention on the present moment. Observing your thoughts without judgment allows them to come and go. You don’t have to get carried away with them. The more you’re able to avoid getting attached to your thoughts, feelings, and sensations, the less likely you will be to develop a rumination habit. When you’re being mindful, it’s especially hard to slip into ruminating over past events.

Mindfulness correlates positively with self-reflection and self-awareness. While mindfulness is likely to decrease your susceptibility to rumination, it won’t affect or interfere with your ability to be self-reflective. In fact, it will enhance it.

You’ll be less likely to get drawn into ruminating if you remain open and curious about what’s going on around you and within you—and curious about your own actions and reactions.

Charles Tart (Waking Up) says:

The practice of self-observation…is the practice of being curious, along with a commitment to do your best to observe and learn whatever is there, regardless of your preferences or fears.

If you diligently practice self-observation, you will see much that is painful and much that is joyful, but seeing more of reality will turn out to be highly preferable to living a fantasy. You will begin creating “something” in yourself, a quality, a function, a skill, akin to learning how the controls of your automated airliner work. And you will be pleasantly surprised at how much more there is to life.

Antidote #2: Work on Solving the Problem

Problem-solving requires conscious attention. You can’t ruminate and problem-solve at the same time. If you focus your attention on addressing and dealing with the issue, you’re less likely to continue ruminating over it. Grab some paper and a pen and try this eight-step process.

  1. Identify and clearly define the problem.
  2. Ask yourself why you want to solve this problem.
  3. Imagine it solved.
  4. Gather information and/or brainstorm ideas.
  5. Consider alternatives.
  6. Decide on a plan and develop it.
  7. Implement the plan.
  8. Adjust as necessary.
Antidote #3: Write Your Way Out of Your Story

Negative feelings are the fuel for rumination. They can be so compelling they keep us caught up in the story we’ve spun long past the point we know we should let it go. This writing exercise can help you separate the facts from your feelings so you can disengage from the story.

You will need a pen or pencil and paper, a highlighter pen, and a timer.

  • Set your timer for at least 10 minutes.
  • Begin writing, describing what happened or what’s bothering you in in as much detail as possible. Keep your pen moving across the page. Don’t stop to think about what you’re writing. Just continue putting words on paper without editing or censoring. (Let it all hang out.)
  • When your timer goes off, stop writing. Reread what you wrote with the intention of identifying facts (as opposed to feelings, opinions, conjecture, etc.). Either highlight each fact, or list the facts on a separate page.
  • Reread only the facts. Take a few minutes to summarize in writing what you discovered or how you now think or feel. If there’s something you want or need to do about the situation, write a declarative sentence to that effect.
Antidote #4: Come Up with an Anti-Rumination Image

Rumination keeps you stuck traveling the same ground over and over again, your attention focused inward. It stops forward progress. There are many different metaphors or images you can probably think of for rumination (things that keep you stuck or block your progress or things that take up space, for example), such as:

  • A roadblock
  • Junk thinking
  • Mental clutter
  • Brain fog
  • A brick wall
  • A no exit sign
  • MindLESSness
  • Being under the influence

Find an image that works for you. The next time you find yourself ruminating, turn your attention to the image to remind yourself of how unproductive and destructive rumination is.

And if that doesn’t work, just STOP IT! (Thank you, Ana.)

Got Free Will? Yes and No.

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free willDo we have free will? To some, the answer is yes, obviously we have free will. Many others say not so fast. It’s a thorny question that has only grown thornier over the past 30 years. That’s because we’re no longer focused so much on whether an external agent or force determines what we do. Now it’s an internal agent or force we’re concerned about—namely the unconscious part of our brain.

It’s probably apparent to most of us that we spend at least part of our time on autopilot—that is, behaving automatically, not consciously registering much of what’s going on around us, or not experiencing a sense of volition or agency. Stimulus A (whether internal or external) triggers reaction B. But the growing consensus of neuroscientists and others is that we spend not only part of our time, but most of our time, on autopilot. Some have tried to make the case that all of our behavior is automatic.

On the one hand, it’s hard to let go of the notion that we have complete control over our every thought, word, feeling, and deed. On the other, that’s a lot of responsibility and a tough row to hoe. The fact that, no matter what we think—or want to think—we don’t always feel in control sets up a conflict we’ve come up with some ingenious methods to resolve.

System 1, our unconscious, keeps us alive, filters what gets into conscious awareness, and initiates most of our thoughts, feelings, and behaviors. System 2, consciousness, very often just goes along with System 1’s recommendations. But not always. System 2 is capable of initiating thoughts and actions on its own, apart from what System 1 suggests. It can also veto System 1’s suggestions.

So one answer to the question about whether or not we have free will is “yes and no.” When it comes to habits, routines, or anything else System 1 is responsible for—when we’re operating on autopilot—we aren’t really acting freely. But when System 2 gives critical attention to System 1’s suggestions and either vetoes or sanctions them—or when System 2 initiates thoughts or actions of its own—we can say that we are acting freely.

There may be no outside agent forcing us to behave a certain way. But since we normally don’t consider the unconscious to be part of “I”—who we think of when we think about who we are—the unconscious feels quite a bit like an “other.” System 1 may be my brain, but it sure doesn’t feel like me.

“Yes and no” seems to be the best answer to the question of whether or not we have free will. It’s important to recognize the situations in which we operate on autopilot because if we think we’re making choices and acting freely when we’re not, we’ll be less likely to look for effective methods to change behavior we want to change, and we won’t be able to see things from any perspective other than our habitual one.

At the same time, if we don’t recognize the situations where we have the capacity to make decisions and act freely, not only will we be in trouble, society and the entire human race will be in trouble, too. Or is this just the norm—part of the human condition?

What do you think?

Anger, Adrenaline, and Arrogance: Addiction to Certainty

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Strong emotions—the ones that amp up adrenaline and cortisol levels—increase our confidence. When we’re angry, for example, we’re more likely to feel certain about whatever position we’ve taken. We’re sure we not only know what we’re talking about, but also that we’re right and any other parties involved are wrong.

This feeling of certainty is an illusion, generated by the amphetamine-like effects of anger, which include kicking our metabolism into a higher gear while narrowing our mental focus. The unconscious part of our brain has a natural tendency to discount anything that doesn’t jibe with what we believe. It already automatically narrows our focus. Adding anger (or actual amphetamines, for that matter) to the mix further constricts our focus, sometimes closing our mind altogether.

When we’re angry, we filter out anything that doesn’t support our position. We focus on one or two aspects of a situation, sometimes taking them entirely out of context, and ignore the rest. Our confidence swells, bolstered by the boost of adrenaline, into over-confidence, even arrogance.

Our brain craves certainty and being right. This can be difficult to compensate for under the best of circumstances. When we’re emotionally aroused, it can be impossible—especially when we don’t recognize what’s going on. We’re used to thinking that the level of confidence we have about something is an accurate indicator of whether or not we’re right about it. Sometimes we are right. But the unconscious part of our brain isn’t concerned with such petty details. It’s less interested in whether we’re actually right and more interested in whether we feel right.

The illusion of certainty can be hard to let go of. Who wants to feel uncertain? Who wants to admit they’re wrong? Who wants to think the powerful sense of confidence they feel isn’t altogether reliable? Too often, we do whatever we can, whatever we have to do, to maintain the illusion of certainty. We refuse to give up the fight, no matter what damage it causes to us or to other people. We’d rather be right than happy. We’d rather be right than free. We’re so addicted to certainty that instead of using our brain, we’re willing to let our brain use us.

How Can You Live Passionately?

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passion

We don’t go looking for a solution until we have a problem to solve.

This is one of those things in life that seems pretty straightforward—and sometimes it is. But surprisingly often it isn’t. It’s more likely to be straightforward when the problem or issue at hand is small or simple and less likely to be straightforward when the problem is big or complex.

Complex problems can be difficult to see clearly. The unconscious part of our brain has a couple of habits that prevent us from seeing and defining complex issues of any kind. For one thing, it’s quick to jump to conclusions and to treat those conclusions as facts. For another, it craves certainty and being right, so it’s more comfortable with things that are easy to understand and that it already knows something about.

The result is that from time to time we go off on wild goose chases seeking a solution to the wrong problem because we asked the wrong question. No matter how good the solution, it won’t solve that particular problem.

Recently, I’ve been reflecting on the idea—or problem, if you will—of living with passion. If I believe passion means a passion, such as a calling—what and who I am meant to be—then the question I might ask is “What is my passion?” or “How can I find my passion?” That’s not an uncommon way to define the problem. Those are not uncommon questions to ask. And numerous roadmaps and processes are available to assist me—purportedly—in finding and following my passion.

But that’s not the only way to define the problem. In fact, it’s fairly narrow in scope and definition. If I believe living with passion requires finding my passion that makes me an arrow in search of a target, hoping I can hit the bull’s eye. What if I fail in my quest? Am I doomed to the booby prize: a passionless life?

If instead I ask, “How can I live a passionate life?” of “How can I live passionately?” that leads me down an entirely different path and to a much more interesting question: “What gets in the way of living passionately?” Now this is a worthy question to ask.

What gets in the way of living passionately?

I suspect the answer is the same for everyone. What gets in the way is us, specifically the things we tell ourselves, our considerations, our expectations, the preconditions we demand of life, or fear of feeling fear (occasionally known as excitement), and on and on. We’re afraid of stepping up, taking a risk, facing uncertainty, getting hurt or burned, failing, caring too much, or exceeding our reach. The unconscious part of our brain is wired for survival. Passion is definitely not part of its plan.

What gets in the way of living passionately is not our circumstances. It’s our own non-stop mental blah, blah, blah that keeps passion at arm’s length. If we want to live passionately, we can start doing it any time. There’s nothing to search for or to find, either within or without. There’s nothing stopping us from living passionately this very moment but ourselves.

What’s getting in the way of living passionately for you?

A Case for Lucid Waking

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lucid dreaming

You have to hand it to humans. As a species, we are seriously and committedly wrong-headed about so very many things. And we have a high level of confidence about our beliefs and convictions regardless of how much or how little that confidence is warranted.

For example, we think we’re aware (we understand what’s going on) while we’re awake, so it isn’t that much of a leap for some of us to want to be aware of our dreams while we’re dreaming. A Google search for “lucid dreaming” brought up about 673,000 hits, whereas a similar search for “lucid waking” brought up about 10,200. I’m surprised there were that many.

Reportedly, the person who coined the term lucid dreaming—Frederik van Eeden—considered lucid to be synonymous with mental clarity. And therein lies one of the problems. Mental clarity is sorely lacking in the waking lives of most people. This is a fact, not an indictment. We spend most of our days operating on autopilot, at the effect of biases, triggers and cues, and mental processes we have no conscious knowledge of. Most of what’s going on around us is happening outside our awareness. However, we don’t let that diminish our sense of certainty.

We’re very good at coming up with plausible sounding explanations for behavior and events. But just because we can come up with explanations doesn’t mean they’re accurate. Our stories and explanations are developed after the fact to create a cause-and-effect stream that feels like real life. We don’t do it intentionally—at least not usually. It happens automatically, with no effort on our part. It’s how we make sense of the world. Our stories and explanations provide us with a false sense of complacency, comfort, and security. They give us the illusion of mental clarity but not much of the real thing.

And it’s from this vantage point that we set out to develop mental clarity—or the illusion of mental clarity—about our dreams.

My thought is that we might want to redirect our efforts toward lucid waking. If, as a species, we developed greater mental clarity about how we operate while we’re awake, we might be able to take a stab at solving some of the serious problems we face. That seems like a more practical and worthwhile focus for our attention.

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