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It’s a Schabziger Moon. Or Is It?

November 30, 2024 by Joycelyn Campbell Leave a Comment

We can’t ask (or answer) true or false questions about something if it isn’t real to begin with. By that, I mean that reality and truth are not the same thing. I also mean that there’s a hierarchy in that we have to first determine the reality of something before we can entertain questions about its characteristics or the nature of it.

I may be able to imagine a moon made of green cheese (a notion deriving from a Slavic tale involving, of course, a trickster—in this case a fox), but since such a thing doesn’t exist, I can’t claim to be able to determine that the cheese in question is Swiss green cheese.

On the other hand Swiss green cheese does exist; it’s called Schabziger. So I can ask if Schabziger is a cow’s milk cheese or a goat’s milk cheese.

What Is Real?

Dictionary definitions of the word real leave much to be desired. For example, one definition says real means:

existing or occurring in the physical world; not imaginary, fictitious,
or theoretical; actual

Something that is real, we are told, must be:

  • tangible:  concrete; perceptible by the senses; not abstract or imaginary
  • objective: existing independently of perception or an individual’s conceptions; non-subjective
  • factual: accurate; true/truthful; conforming exactly or almost exactly to fact or to a standard

That would mean, among other things, that anything that is purely or primarily conceptual is not real. Hope, for example, or commitment or justice. What are we to make of the fact that people have apparently lived and died and killed for things—ideas, ideals, concepts, radical notions—that are, based on these definitions, not real?

Let’s put aside this characterization of real because it’s not useful—and it’s not based in neural reality. Neural correlates exist for every emotion we feel, every thought we have, and every sensation we experience. So there’s a physical basis for everything we’re aware of or even imagine. The specific thing or things we imagine may not be real, but neural activity related to our imagining can be tracked by an fMRI machine.

When I imagine a moon made of green cheese, the activity in my brain is real. The image in my mind is real, even though the image does not reflect physical reality. So I can imagine this moon to be made of Schabziger cheese—or any other kind of cheese: a different kind of cheese every day. Not only is my imagination not constrained by physical reality, it is also not constrained by a requirement for consistency. How cool is that?

What we seem to be asking when we ask whether or not something is real is does it exist, or in some cases, is it capable of existing. In fact, the definition of exist is to have being or reality; to be. Something can exist with or without being tangible. When I write fiction, I do a lot of mental pre-writing before I put words on paper or on a computer page. Those stories or story fragments are no less real when they exist only in my imagination. They don’t become real upon being written or typed. And whether or not a fictional story is transcribed, its characters and events (content) are not real, but the story is real. The story exists.

There are, of course, things we don’t know or don’t know about and things we can neither confirm nor deny the existence of. However, the idea that there are things that exist objectively, independent of our perception, is impossible to validate. Everything we perceive/experience has—necessarily—neural correlates.

What Is True (or Factual)?

The definitions of factual are even less helpful than the definitions of real, given that the words are often treated as synonyms. But as we all know, experience is real, and experience is not an accurate—or factual—reflection of reality. Our sense of self, of being a single self, is also real, but the single self we sense does not exist. It’s an illusion created by multiple processes in the brain. Our experience of it is real but it is not factual.

When we perceive a threat and experience fear, both the perception and the experience are real, but there may, in fact, be no actual threat. In order to define the nature (truth) of a perceived threat—and therefore the best response to it—we must first determine whether or not the threat is real.

Here are some things that are real, along with some facts about them that are true:

Three things that are real:

  • Climate
  • Humidity
  • Hurricanes

Three things that are true:

  • Average global temperature has increased by about 2° Fahrenheit since 1880.
  • Both air temperature and relative humidity affect the heat index (how hot it feels).
  • Since 1980, hurricanes have caused more damage in the U.S. than any other type of weather-related disaster.

Three more things that are real:

  • The book Deviate: The Creative Power of Transforming Your Perception
  • Beau Lotto
  • Neuroscience

Three more things that are true:

  • Deviate was written by Beau Lotto.
  • Beau Lotto is a neuroscientist.
  • Neuroscientists have identified patterns of brain activity that reveal how our expectations influence interpretation of sensory data.

The brain has to interpret sensory data in order to figure out what, if anything, we should do about it or in response to it. To do so, the brain constantly makes best guesses that are “good enough” for us to successfully navigate the world we live in: i.e., survive. Our brain did not evolve to interpret sensory data “factually”—meaning with complete accuracy. But we take our experience for granted—at face value—without much skepticism or even curiosity. As a result, we sometimes we get caught up in trying to determine the exact nature of the cheese constituting our imaginary moon without realizing the moon is not real.

Filed Under: Brain, Clarity, Distinctions, Experience, Mind, Perception, Reality Tagged With: Factual, Imagination, Interpretation, Real, Reality, True

Three Not-so-Little Words

September 30, 2019 by Joycelyn Campbell Leave a Comment

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

Filed Under: Creating, Finding What You Want, Learning, Living Tagged With: Aspiration, Change, Imagination, Transformation

Building Blocks of Creativity: Curiosity

June 8, 2019 by Joycelyn Campbell Leave a Comment

If we really want to understand and shape behavior, maybe we should look less at decision-making and more at curiosity. —David Brooks

Having an open mind and being open to experience go hand-in-hand. And if you’re open-minded, you’re curious. You don’t believe that what you know about something—anything—is all there is to know. You want to explore and you want to learn more. You’re not afraid to put yourself in unfamiliar situations or to expose yourself to people and ideas that challenge you or your beliefs.

Curiosity, by its nature, implies uncertainty and ambiguity. Your brain doesn’t like uncertainty, which is why the experience can be uncomfortable. But if you choose comfort and the illusion of certainty (because certainty is an illusion) over curiosity, you’re turning your back on the very characteristics that make humans human.

Besides, curiosity can also be rewarding. Mario Livio, astrophysicist and author of Why? What Makes Us Curious? says:

[The] lust for knowledge is associated with a pleasurable state, and in our brain activates regions that anticipate rewards.

It makes sense that curiosity activates reward pathways in our brain. Curiosity and openness to experience give us the ability to be inventive and creative, to solve complex (sometimes life-or-death) problems, to imagine things that don’t yet exist, and to accomplish great undertakings in the face of enormous odds.

Curiosity is the essence of human existence. ‘Who are we? Where are we? Where do we come from? Where are we going?’… I don’t know. I don’t have any answers to those questions. I don’t know what’s over there around the corner. But I want to find out. —Eugene Cernan

Curious, open-minded people see the world differently from other people, both literally—in terms of basic visual perception—and figuratively. They tend to screen out less visual information, so they sometimes see things others block out. And they “see” more possibilities as a result of being divergent (rather than convergent) thinkers.

Are You Intentional?

In order to be creative, we need to be able to change something in the world. But we also need to be able and willing to be changed by the world.

Of course, to a great extent we do create our own reality, so our interactive relationship with the world could be said to be creative. But the reality that we create for ourselves happens outside our awareness and outside our control. It’s pretty amazing, but we can’t take credit for it. It doesn’t require anything from us, and we can live our entire lives taking it for granted, having no curiosity about it and paying no attention to it whatsoever.

If you have no curiosity about yourself and your relationship with the world, you may want things to be different, but you’re unlikely to engage in the cognitive investigation and exploration that can lead to creativity and change. So you’re unlikely to do anything to change the status quo.

If you’re curious, however, the questions are more interesting—and more alive—than the answers. As a result, you never stop exploring. You take very little for granted. And you’re intentional about changing your brain, yourself, and your world.

Filed Under: Attention, Creating, Learning, Living, Mind, Uncertainty Tagged With: Brain, Choice, Creating, Curiosity, Imagination

Time to Let Go of the
Myth of the True Self

May 18, 2019 by Joycelyn Campbell Leave a Comment

The True Self is a fantasy version of you. It’s who you were meant to be—who you should be or who you could be if you hadn’t lost your way or if life hadn’t messed you up. Your True Self contains all the best qualities and potential available to you. If you could reconnect with it, you would be able to make a different choice. You would always do the right thing.

But the True Self doesn’t exist. There’s no alternate version of you to compare yourself to.

When the present doesn’t measure up to what you imagine it could be, you might have the feeling that something is missing or wrong. You might conclude that what’s wrong—or broken—is you.

If you see the problem as something being wrong with you, you will likely try to solve it by finding a way to fix what’s broken or not working. You might attempt to construct a bread-crumb trail backward to figure out why you do the things you do instead of the things you’d prefer (or think you should prefer) doing.

You might try getting in touch with your True Self or discovering your life purpose or passion. But you are many selves, rather than a single self, so what does authentic even mean in that context? And if you don’t have a True Self, there’s no point in searching for the life-purpose cheese because whose life purpose would it be?

Belief in a True Self Isn’t Harmless.

If your status quo includes such a belief, consider the implications:

  1. You need to fix yourself before you can determine who you want to be or what you want to do. So some aspects of your life are either on hold or have been abandoned altogether as you attempt these fixes—sometimes energetically, sometimes halfheartedly—usually repeatedly.
    .
  2. Your ideas about how you should be are based on looking backward rather than forward.
    .
  3. Your ideas about your True Self come from your Broken Self. (Where else could they come from?) Your concept of your True Self is most likely based on what you don’t like about your current self.
    .
  4. It is hard to trust your Broken Self to restore you to your True Self and to believe you have sufficient personal agency to do it.
    .
  5. Trying to fix yourself is hard work, and it’s neither inspiring nor motivating: the best you can do is get back to where you should have been all along. That is unlikely to be compelling enough to generate a sense of urgency.
    .
  6. If you erased the experiences and beliefs that have made you who you are, you would no longer be you. Who would you be then? And what would you want? As Julian Baggini says:

I am my baggage. I am the layers that have grown on the onion, not the tiny core at the middle. We are precisely all the things we’ve accrued, the memories, the experience, the learning. If you strip away what you call the baggage, you’re stripping away precisely the things that make us…that fill us out.

Belief in a True Self reflects a static, deterministic, mechanical perspective that is at odds with the dynamic nature of our existence. It keeps us going round and round on the hamster wheel instead of creating change or moving forward.

You Are Here.

You happen to be functioning exactly the way all human beings function: you can—and do—generate multiple possible alternatives to what’s so. Not only can you imagine many scenarios that are quite different from the present, you readily and frequently compare the actual to the imaginary—and often find the actual to be wanting. That’s only a problem if you interpret it that way.

Yes, imagination is a double-edged sword. Our ability to imagine things that don’t yet exist sets us apart and has led to our continued survival thus far. It’s an essential element of creativity and invention and without it we would be unable to formulate plans or goals or even think about the future.

Imagination is also the primary source of dissatisfaction. Without it, you would be much more content—but you also wouldn’t be you.

If you’re not satisfied with the present, but there’s nothing wrong with you, you will need to redefine the problem before you can attempt to solve it. Consider that you are just who you are: the current version of you, neither broken nor exactly as you would like to be. Instead of fixing yourself, which is not only uninspiring but also impossible, how about imagining what you want to create and moving forward into that?


Based on an article published in lucidwaking on 1/21/19.

Filed Under: Beliefs, Living, Mind, Mindset Tagged With: Imagination, Life Purpose, True Self

YOU: A Work of Art in Progress

May 8, 2019 by Joycelyn Campbell Leave a Comment

As long as you’re alive, your life is a work in progress (unfinished). But is it just work or is it a work of art? And what difference does it make?

The idea of living one’s life as a work in progress is not original. But several decades ago, when I was struck afresh by the rich possibilities of artistic metaphor, I not only looked at my own life in this context, I also queried some friends.

No one had trouble responding, and I was surprised by every one of their answers. A former insurance industry executive said his life would be a multi-media performance piece. A writer described her life as a sculpture, while a musician referred to his as a “junk” sculpture. A computer programmer declared his life was a symphony. Here are a handful of detailed descriptions:

Kathy:

I see myself as a mobile spinning out of control.
I’m not quite put together in a way that moves with the ebb and flow of gentle breezes yet.
I’m unbalanced and jerked around right now.
One or two pieces of something substantial need to be added so I can untangle myself when the forces of nature, or human hand, cause me to spin temporarily out of control.
(This temporary spinning does not inflict permanent damage. It just causes me not to be my usual self.)

Kelly:

The work of art in progress: me covered in layer upon layer of steel, concrete, wood, glass, gunpowder, feathers, year after year and lots of work…maybe some layers come off to expose this work of art…me.
Kinda like a big clump of marble, taking off what is not me and getting to the real David…um, no…Kelly.
Warning: completed works of art are not on our plane anymore.

Lee:

A sand castle, co-structured by a small child.
We came from the sea, I will go back to the sea…
Imperfect, made from tiny pieces and subject to the whims of nature…
Able to be tall and strong, ridged yet soft…
Able to be shaped by the people and the world around me…
Formed by wet sand dripping from a child’s hand or sculptured by forms and expert hands.

Linda:

I think of MY LIFE as an oil painting. Starting with a clean canvas I splash some paint on, just to see what it will look like.
After experimenting, I decide that it would be better to Have a Plan.
I draw out in pen what I want to paint. I add some color.
If I catch the paint before it dries I can change it or scrape it off entirely.
The memory of what has gone before is still there, but it is not entrenched in who I am.
When I wait too long and the paint dries, it becomes a part of the canvas.
I draw a new plan.
As I build up the layers of paint, adding depth, my canvas thickens with layers of paint.
I realize that I do not have to have a plan for everything.
I realize that my painting looks better when I have gone outside the lines of the plan.
My canvas now has years and years of paint added, paint that has dried, colors that have changed or been scraped off.
I’m really starting to like what I have painted.

Nicole:

Well, it would be a whirlwind in places spinning lots of reds, fiery and out of control, deep yellows, oranges, spinning AUTUMN colors. And then over where the BLUE starts to outnumber the red you will find other places: neatly categorized and presumably alphabetical little BLACK stacks. Each one placed with precision, stacked up to the ceilings in wavering stature, suggesting that they might fall at any moment in time.

Steve:

My life has always been a film, with music rambling in my head, the stimuli being “things passing by/me going forward”—motionless.

The Play’s the Thing…

Once upon a time, I saw my life as a play. There’s an inherent discipline in living life as a play in progress that’s different from the discipline involved in living life as a sculpture or a symphony or a painting. Staging, timing, and pacing are crucial. Significantly, in a play the props and scenery are vital—but only to the scenes they belong in. It makes no sense for an actor to become attached to any particular props.

I was aware of things as background props and of people, including myself, as characters from an early age. I wrote plays, read plays, hung out with the local drama group, and thought up names and descriptions of characters, as well as elaborate decorating schemes, to entertain myself.

At some point I noticed what I was doing and decided it was an odd way to think about myself and the world. Whereas other people seemed to make choices almost instinctively, I could consider a range of alternatives: a final choice would depend on the requirements of the scene or the plot line. Choosing otherwise seemed arbitrary. In spite of considering my view of life somewhat idiosyncratic, I continued to operate within that framework. When a major plot twist offered the opportunity for me to reinvent myself, I had no difficulty doing so. It was just a play, after all.

Although I probably appreciate the value in that point of view now more than I did then, I wouldn’t use the same metaphor to describe my current life. It often feels more like a surrealistic jigsaw puzzle: challenging, colorful, so much to look at, still not put together (still creating), and not at all what you’d expect.

There’s value in experimenting with styles and forms, imagining and reimagining our lives through different lenses and perspectives.

So, if your life were a work of art in progress, what metaphor would you choose to describe it? What shape would it take? What colors and/or sounds would it have? What process or media would be involved in its creation? What emotions would it evoke?

Would it be a painting, a sculpture, a black and white photo montage? A novel, a short story, a play, a poem, an essay? Would it be a song-cycle, a symphony, an opera, a collage, a Rodgers and Hart musical, a movie? Or…something else altogether.

A metaphor is always a framework for thinking, using knowledge of this to think about that. —Mary Catherine Bateson, author of Composing a Life

A focus on creating yourself is the opposite of a focus on fixing yourself: the motion and the action are forward rather than backward. Thinking about your life as a work of art in progress can shift your view of what you’re doing in life—and of what you’re capable of doing. Creating art is compelling and juicy and expansive. It is an ongoing process of bringing something—in this case you—into being.

It is that dimension [our imagination of ourselves] whereby we are not merely living our lives—passively, as it were—but are actively giving them shape: ceaselessly interpreting and inventing ourselves afresh. It is that dimension whereby we do not receive a life as much as compose a life—as we might compose a story. As we appreciate the extent of this dimension, it becomes impossible to see how any aspect of our lives can escape our self-creative touch. —William Lowell Randall, The Stories We Are

Filed Under: Creating, Learning, Living, Meaning, Mental Lens, Stories Tagged With: Brain, Creating, Imagination, Life, Mind, Perception

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