In my head

I sometimes sit and think about the heat death of the universe. In 10¹⁰⁰ years, or a googol, I won’t be here to see it, but I think about all that will be lost when that happens. All the evidence pointing toward our existence will be gone. Documents about what we tried to do here, our triumphs and tragedies will disappear. Whatever living things that are left will be gone. Our only possible salvation would be the existence of the multiverse. If the multiverse were real, we might have a chance to survive elsewhere. Yet, it is highly unlikely.

While my mind is wandering through thoughts of distant things that won’t affect me, my brain is focusing on those anxious thoughts because the real world in which I live has once again become so overwhelming it cannot bear the noise around me.

What happens inside my head is at once a comfort and a nuisance. The thoughts and ideas never stop. Regardless of what is happening that day, there is always some nuance of some story churning inside and it’s all connected.

I could be deep in thought about whether or not we will ever get to Mars and colonize it while wondering if we would only find things there we wished we never knew existed. Simultaneously, I’m thinking about a conversation I had with a friend where I think I might revealed too much. The two are connected, but, like a puzzle, no one sees the connection when the pieces are on opposite sides of the table.

Though I was talking to a friend about the latest idiotic thing our president has done, my mind is also wondering, “Did those things from ‘Ghosts of Mars‘ really exist and have they found their way here? Maybe a version of them are here because it’s hard for them to survive in our atmosphere.” That would fully explain the actions of the president and those in Congress.

These ideas, albeit only wishful thinking, are how my brain works at all times. Right now, my brain is thinking, if it had to be one way, I’d rather life be like “John Carter” than the semi-lifeless planet that is out of reach we actually have.

Though you may think this post silly, it is what is going on in my brain 24/7. It never stops – not even when I sleep. While this can sometimes be annoying, what is going on in my head is far more pleasant than any external stimuli. When it comes to processing information, I spent far more time doing so than others. This is me. It’s not a preference, it who I am and that can cause friction in what is expected of me in American society.

As American life becomes increasingly competitive and aggressive, to say nothing of blindingly fast, the pressures to produce on demand, be a team player, and make snap decisions cut introverts off from their inner power source, leaving them stressed and depleted. Introverts today face one overarching challenge—not to feel like misfits in their own culture.

Ooops. Too late. And, now, I am processing all the information I just read and over-analyzing it all. The benefit, however, is that I can do it alone, in peace, and will come to some thoughtful conclusion of the next few hours.

Solitude, quite literally, allows introverts to hear themselves think. In a classic series of studies, researchers mapped brain electrical activity in introverts and extraverts. The introverts all had higher levels of electrical activity—indicating greater cortical arousal—whether in a resting state or engaged in challenging cognitive tasks. The researchers proposed that given their higher level of brain activity and reactivity, introverts limit input from the environment in order to maintain an optimal level of arousal. Extraverts, on the other hand, seek out external stimulation to get their brain juices flowing.

Neuroimaging studies measuring cerebral blood flow reveal that among introverts, the activation is centered in the frontal cortex, responsible for remembering, planning, decision making, and problem solving—the kinds of activities that require inward focus and attention. Introverts’ brains also show increased blood flow in Broca’s area, a region associated with speech production—likely reflecting the capacity for self-talk.

But extensive internal dialogue, especially in response to negative experiences, can set off a downward spiral of affect. And indeed, anxiety and depression are more common among introverts than extraverts. In general, says Robert McPeek, director of research at the Center for Applications of Psychological Type, introverts are more self-critical than others—but also more realistic in their self-assessments. Call it depressive realism.

All this thinking could drive some people mad, but it is how I have always been. Even as a small child, if I saw a squirrel running across the road, my eyes might be watching it, but I am also seeing the car coming down the road and calculating whether the squirrel will have time to get to the other side and not be hit.

My brain will also be processing the best route across the street for the squirrel and whether it should dart under a nearby car, hop onto the trunk of a tree, or turn around and return from where it came. While I watch all this happen, my brain automatically knows how much time I have to get out of the middle of the road before the car hits me and it is determining whether or not I should try to save the squirrel.

Many times, seeing that squirrel triggers other squirrel memories. I then think about writing down those stories, which are then added to my daily dialogue in my head.

This sounds exhausting, but this is what I do all day long with everything I encounter. I notice the subtleties in the environment that most people’s brains unconsciously notice and discard, never having it come to light.

All this stimuli before I ever do any social interacting can deplete me. It’s why I’m usually tired when I get home from work and why I have to plan for time out with friends. It’s why I don’t go out much. My battery is often at less than ten percent at the end of the day and socializing can, and often does, wipe me out, mentally and physically. So, I try to keep everything to a minimum.

When I go out hiking or visiting a giant Buddha, I know it is likely to be overstimulating, but in a good way. Those days enrich my life in a way I have yet to fully explain to other people. Yes, it allows me to be creative and write descriptions for others to read, but there is a balance between the joy and depletion which I have yet to convey to others.

It’s why, if I go to visit tourist attractions, for example in New York City, you are more likely to find me taking a tour of the Tenement Museum than visiting the Empire State Building. One is rich with history, takes small groups and is immensely educational verbally and visually while the other is filled with noise, chatter, cramped elevators, and screaming children. One feeds my soul. The other destroys it.

It’s true what my grandma always said. “You spend too much time inside your head.” I know she meant is as an encouragement so I could fit in better, but it is not me and I won’t pretend to be anyone I am not.

The world inside my brain has always more vivid than what I experience on a day-to-day basis. That world gets me through to the next day and the next, until I can rest and be in places I love where the people are not.

Right now, the heat death of the universe is an interesting thought to ponder. It’s been churning in the back of my brain throughout the 1,365 words of this post. So, too, has been the thought of “What would I do to survive if ‘Ghosts of Mars’ was real.” On this glorious, snowy Saturday, I am going to go think about the possibilities of the end of everything and whether anything even matters.