Nerves

I tell people I don't get nervous. They ask why my voice sometimes shakes or I have other physical symptoms of nerves and anxiety. Ok, it's a bit of an exagerration to say I don't get nervous. Yes, my body gets nervous. Or it gets ready for whatever risky situation I am planning on subjecting it to. But my mind doesn't interpret that emotionally and think -- wow, I'm nervous.

This NY Times article about the body's reaction to risks explains it well:

To get an inkling of how this physiology works, consider the following scenario, in which a trader grapples with a rumor that the Fed may raise rates later that afternoon:

As 2:15 — the time of the announcement — approaches, trading on the screens dwindles. The floor goes quiet. The trader feels intellectually prepared. But the challenge he faces requires more than cognitive skill. He needs fast reactions, and energy for the hours ahead.

Consequently, his metabolism speeds up, ready to break down energy stores in liver, muscle and fat cells. Breathing accelerates, drawing in more oxygen, and his heart rate speeds up. Cells of the immune system take up position at vulnerable points of the body, ready to deal with injury and infection. And his nervous system, extending from the brain down into the abdomen, redistributes blood — constricting flow to the gut, giving him butterflies, and to the reproductive organs, since this is no time for sex — shunting it to major muscle groups in the arms and thighs as well as to the lungs, heart and brain.

The announcement will bring volatility, and a chance to make money. The trader feels a surge of energy as steroid hormones are synthesized by their respective glands and injected into his bloodstream. Steroids are powerful, dangerous chemicals — they change almost every detail of body and brain: his growth rate, lean-muscle mass, mood, even the memories he recalls — and for that reason their use is tightly regulated by the International Olympic Committee and the hypothalamus, the brain’s drug enforcement agency.

These past hours, the trader’s testosterone levels have been climbing. This steroid hormone, produced by men (and, in lesser quantities, by women) primes the trader for the challenge ahead, just as it does athletes preparing to compete and male animals to fight. Rising levels increase confidence and, crucially, appetite for risk. For the trader this is a moment of transformation, what the French since the Middle Ages have called “the hour between dog and wolf.”

The stress hormones adrenaline and cortisol surge out of the adrenal glands, and the cortisol travels to the brain, where it stimulates the release of dopamine, a chemical operating along neural circuits known as the pleasure pathways. At high levels, cortisol provides a nasty, stressful experience. But in small amounts, in combination with dopamine — one of the most addictive drugs known to the human brain — it delivers a narcotic hit, a rush that convinces traders that there is no other job in the world.

Finally, at 2:14, the trader leans into his screen, pupils dilated, breathing rhythmic, muscles coiled, body and brain fused for impending action. An expectant hush descends on global markets.

This scenario illustrates just how sensitive the body is to information. We do not regard prices on a screen as a computer would, dispassionately; we react physically. Our body and brain rev up and down together, and this natural fusion makes us better risk-takers.

So yes, my body does respond to risk. And it can't just keep taking a beating. So even though my mind can handle things, sometimes my body can't, and vice versa.

Lance Armstrong and keeping secrets

People think he's a sociopath. I don't know, I just don't get the vibe from him. But I did relate to him in another way. I also have a secret that I keep from almost everybody, even people I genuinely like or even admire. For various reasons, I have been contemplating telling more people about me (not something I generally recommend, but they're probably going to find out from third parties and it seems like it's better if it comes from me).

I was reading an interview of Matthew McConaughey of all people, weighing in on the Lance Armstrong admissions and how it felt to be lied to:

"My first reaction was I was pissed off," he said, explaining that he wanted to be "delicate" in how he addressed the scandal. "I was mad. I then got kind of sad for him. First off, I had a part of me that took it kind of personally, which I think a lot of people have."

"For him, it was impersonal because he was living a lie," McConaughey added. "It was a whole unanimous facade he had to carry around."
***
"What I realized is that those of us that took that personally, like, 'Oh, he lied to me,' it's not true," said McConaughey. . . . "What I mean by this is, what was he supposed to do? Call me to the side and go, 'Hey man, I did it but don't tell anybody.' Then I would have really had a reason to be pissed off at him, going, 'You want me to walk around holding this?'"

First of all, unanimous facade? That makes no kind of sense. But it's a good attitude to have. The thing is, yes, I've done horrible things to people or good things to people with horrible motivations. I'm not a good person. I don't really deserve the benefit of the doubt. But it's also true what McConaughey said -- it's (almost) never personal.

All the world's a stage

From a reader:

In the "Handbook of Emotions," 3rd edition, chapter 3 (titled "The Sociology of Emotions") one can read under the section "Dramaturgical Approaches:"

"... These studies show how emotions are culturally scripted as to "when" to feel and "how" to express these feelings. Through the socialization process, individuals learn how to associate particular emotion vocabularies with specific eliciting situations, internal sensations, and expressive displays. [...] What makes this approach dramaturgical is that individuals are viewed as acting on a stage configured by social structure in front of an audience (of others). [...] However, individuals are more than dramatic actors manipulating emotions through expressive control in accordance with the feeling and display rules of culture. They are also strategists who present themselves to others, manipulating their forms of talk, role cues, bodies, staging props, and expressive display to their audience to realize their goals. [...] Various cognitive and behavioral strategies are available for managing emotions. [...] Cognitive strategies include invoking thoughts associated with the emotions demanded in the situation to shore up the emotions, using meditation to arouse the emotions dictated by the culture, or psychologically withdrawing from the situation to mask the incongruence between actual feelings and feelings expected in the situation..."

If that is the case, then the difference between neurotypical people and sociopaths seems to be one of degree, not quality.

Eyes wide open

I spent years studying music. After a while my ears got very sensitive to even small differences in pitch. On the good side, I am a better musician because of it. I am more appreciative of people who play or sing truly well. But I am also very acutely aware of poor playing and singing. I hear bad singing on television and cringe. I go to church and hear bad music and lean forward with my head in my hands so no one will see my discomfort. I don't necessarily want to hear these things. Sometimes I wish I didn't hear them, especially when I don't have anything invested in the activity or can't change what's going on. In those instances, the knowledge is just wasted on me.

Sometimes hearing things no one else does even makes me a target of other people's distrust. One time I was involved in a performance using primitive instruments, each with a particular "pitch". The instruments were played as a group to form "melodies". Before the performance, the instruments must have gotten mixed up because when we started playing, parts of the melody were inverted. It nearly drove me crazy and as we walked off stage I immediately remarked to my colleagues on the issue. No one had noticed. They looked at my like I was loony. No one heard it. No one believed me. I don't know why, because they thought they heard something else? My word against what they thought they heard and they trusted their own senses more. A few days later we listened to the recording together. Everyone was watching me as someone pressed "play" -- either I was wrong or they were wrong and pretty soon we would know for certain. I was vindicated, but I wasn't happy about it. Not really. The didn't apologize. They looked at me like I was a witch.

It makes me trust people less too. Once I lost a competition to someone whom I thought was clearly playing out of tune. Because I believed that surely everyone else could hear how badly the intonation was, I thought there must be some other explanation for why his performance beat mine, something nefarious at work. I saw a conspiracy and cover up where there was none. It would be one thing if I could just convince myself that I  have idiosyncratic preferences that aren't shared by many people -- which is better, beer or wine? There's no certain answer in matters of opinion. But matters of pitch are objective. Either you are playing or singing the pitches that are being requested of you or you are not. A tuning machine would be able to make these fine distinctions and so can I, for all the good it does me.

As a child I saw and understood a lot of things that I know I was not supposed to. Even now I see things that I don't necessarily want to see. I see people's fear and their betrayal, how weak and unreliable their love is, how soft their convictions are. And especially when I was growing up I thought that a lot of the world must be corrupt. Because why didn't other people see these things and act accordingly? It seemed like a cover up. And when I mentioned it to people they didn't believe me. They thought that I was making things up, and in blatant bizarre ways. I learned to stop pointing these things out, but I did feel a bit like Alice in Wonderland.

By the way, does any one else hear the wrong notes in penultimate and ante-penultimate timpani pitches in the theme song for Fringe?

Mellowing with age?

I've written a little about sociopaths mellowing with age. I was reminded of the concept again when I read this recent comment:


I've reached the point where I'd like to get some help for my impulsive traits. I'm' saying "impulsive" rather than "psychopathic" because I'd like to focus on what I see as the problem.

You could say that I'm a high-functioning psychopath. I'm Machiavellian, narcissistic and psychopathic. 

I've apparently got enough impulse control (and intelligence) to get me what I need. But I sense that there's a gap. I'm missing something.

In the past, I wouldn't have done this because I was too proud. I wasn't able to admit that I was behaving "badly" or had a problem. And I was young enough that I was substantially getting what I wanted. 

Now that I'm middle aged, that isn't happening. Perhaps because I'm not getting what I want, I can see I've behaved anti-socially, and it has cost me. E.g. I'm heading into old age, and no matter how optimistic I'd like to be, it is clear that it is going to get harder and harder to have sex with women in their twenties. And eventually I will die, no matter how much I fight it.

Have any commenters, motivated by the same sense of "oh shit I'm screwed" sought help? How'd it go? 

I do have this general sense of trending towards being more actively aware of potential consequences of my actions to the point where I am able to assert more "self-control" than I could as a young person. And sometimes people say that I seem like I've gotten better -- either people in my life or even sometimes commenters on the blog in response to things I have written. But's also interesting to re read other posts like this one, where as recently as two years ago I wanted to burn it all to the ground. But I didn't. Maybe that's the difference that's come with age.