Stuck Outside

“Just once,” an anxious teenager tells me, “I wish someone could get inside my brain and see what it’s like.”

And I wish I could.

A few days later, I sit in the waiting room of a dermatologist. Behind the counter, two receptionists chat about a twenty-year old man who had left their office.

“Screaming like that!” one said with a shake of her head. “Like a child.”

And I wonder—was he a wimp? Or did pain pass through his brain in an unusual way?

What would the receptionist say if she could crawl inside his mind?

The problem is that we’re all stuck inside our own heads. Yet, we operate with the belief that we’re not, that our own experiences match the world as it is, and that others who differ from us are wrong, maybe even crazy.

It’s easy to forget that what we experience is highly governed by how our bodies and their systems are put together. If the munching of potato chips caused your heart rate to increase and cortisol to course through your veins, as it does for people with misophonia, you’d find eating in a lunchroom to be an entirely different experience.

We can’t be blamed, of course, for having to stay inside our own heads. Our brains won’t let us out. But there is something we can do—have the humility to be more curious than certain about other people’s experiences.

My problem is that I like to feel certain. This puts me in the role of an expert, able make judgements, give advice, and take control. But this impulse for certainty hurts relationships. Even when I think I’m acting in another’s best interests, I can come too close to making that person over in my image.

It’s only when I quiet my problem-solving impulses, when I become curious enough to ask questions, only then do I have a chance to understand what otherwise seems utterly mystifying. I can’t get inside an anxious teen’s head, but I can discover more of what’s in there.