Category Archives: Psychology

Things Which Aren’t True

Prepare Yourself!

What follows is a list of things that people believe despite the evidence.

Starting with the big one: intense investigation confirms that full moons do not correlate to increased madness, births, traffic accidents, or anything else. It is the perfect example of illusory correlation. Centuries of the myth being repeated have cemented this fallacy as truth. People will almost fight you over this one.

Not directly related, but think of how we look at the tides. The earth turns into a bulge, and water reacts accordingly. Yet most people have a hugely oversimplified idea of what tides are, correlated to the Moon. Even saying ‘the sun rose’ is a means to confuse language. It’s pervasive, and we don’t give it a second thought.

The “fact” that menstrual cycles synchronize cannot be substantiated. It’s so pervasive that it’s meaningless to argue with someone who believes it. Science says “no.”

Cracking your knuckles causes arthritis. Completely untrue.

Einstein failed math. He didn’t.

Acne is almost entirely genetic, not a result of environmental factors.

Vikings did not wear horned helmets.

The world is not 6,000 years old.

Edison didn’t invent the light bulb. He made one of the first practical ones.

For the most part, sugar does not make kids hyperactive.

The Pythagorean Theorem was used centuries before Pythagoras. He popularized it with the Greeks.

Napoleon was not short. Due to conversion errors, the myth persists. He was of average height for his time and place.

Stretching before general exercise is not always beneficial. Often, it’s harmful. Repeated studies have proven this. But you can’t convince people because that’s how they were taught.

Iron maidens were never used as medieval torture devices. You can look it up.

Shaving does not make hair grow back thicker. It’s perception. The tips of the regrowing hair are darker.

Bagpipes did not originate in Scotland.

Were there three wise men mentioned in the Bible? Eastern tradition sets the number at 12. Western tradition indicates three. The Bible never states how many.

How many of each animal did Noah take on the proverbial ark? It is not two, a fact that is clearly spelled out in Genesis.

Vaccines don’t cause autism. The flu shot does not give you the flu.

Nowhere in the Bible does it say that Adam and Eve ate an apple. It was some kind of fruit or plant.

Generally speaking, it’s not always harmful to touch baby birds. Or to move them back to their nest.

Yellowstone isn’t overdue for a massive supervolcano eruption.

Waking a sleepwalker results in much less harm to them than letting them continue walking. Some of the belief stems from centuries ago when it was believed that one’s soul departed while sleeping.

Bats are not blind.

As a whole, we’re less violent, more educated, and healthier than we’ve been throughout human history.

The Pilgrims didn’t land at Plymouth. Instead, they landed at Provincetown. Plymouth came weeks later.

Delilah didn’t cut Samson’s hair, no matter which version of the Bible you’re reading.

Bulls are colorblind to red.

Salted water does not make boiling water on the stove more efficient.

There is no legitimate reason to drink eight glasses of water.

Generally speaking, caffeine does not stunt one’s growth.

Your mouth isn’t divided into different regions for each type of taste.

That story about Ben Franklin wanting a turkey on the national seal? It’s not true. He wanted Moses. You can look it up.

The word “Xmas” has been around for 1,000 years and is based on language. Not the perversion of Christmas as so many people still insist on.

Ninjas didn’t wear black. It’s a myth. They wore comfortable clothes and wanted to blend in. Another one you’ll argue about but still a myth perpetuated needlessly.

Peanut butter was eaten by the Aztecs centuries before it was “invented” here.

Microwaving can reduce nutritional value – but much less than most other conventional ways to cook. It’s a myth that never dies.

The term 420 was invented by a group of high school kids in 1971 in California. It was literally the time they went to smoke.

How many witches were burned at the stake during the Salem Witch Trials? Zero.

American Gothic, the famous painting, isn’t supposed to be an artwork of a couple. Rather, it is that of a father and daughter.

The Jonestown Massacre didn’t use Kook-Aid. They used a competitor’s product, Flavor-Aid, instead. So much for “drinking the Kool-Aid.”

Walgreen owes much of its success to Prohibition. Alcohol was commonly prescribed. By the way, Prohibition did not outlaw the consumption of alcohol. Look it up.

Astrology is no better than random guessing. It’s all nonsense.

Tang wasn’t invented for astronauts.

Lemmings don’t run off cliffs. The misconception is older than a Disney documentary that popularized the falsehood.

Alpha wolves in packs? Not true. They function more like families.

Sharks do get cancer. This myth was furthered by a book intended to sell supplements.

Birds are therapod dinosaurs. We use the word “dinosaur” to mean “non-avian” dinosaurs. Humans and non-avian dinosaurs never coexisted. Petroleum and fossil fuels are made almost entirely of plant matter.

Most diamonds are not formed from highly compressed coal. Most diamonds that have been dated formed before coal, and usually formed 80+ miles before the surface.

This is one that drives me nuts: an increase in gross income will NEVER result in lower income due to a high tax bracket. So few people understand what a marginal tax rate is – or that they are only taxed higher for anything above the tax bracket threshold, rather than the total amount. It’s so pervasive that it’s useless to argue with people who say things like, “I don’t want overtime. The government will take more of it and I’ll end up with a smaller paycheck.” It does NOT work that way. Good luck trying to convince people.

Urine is not sterile. Again, this myth is so pervasive that it’s pointless to argue with someone who states it as fact.

Using Q-Tips in your ears has no associated medical benefits. Seriously.

Vitamin C has ZERO effect when taken after a cold has started.

A dog’s mouth has about as much bacteria as a human’s mouth.

Spicy food doesn’t have much of an effect on getting peptic ulcers. It was a major discovery to learn that ulcers are caused by bacteria rather than stress.

There isn’t much variation between people’s resting metabolic rate. Despite what you constantly hear.

Happy learning!

X

Without Criticism We Are All Dinosaurs

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It’s no comfort to know this, but if people work to keep you silent, they inadvertently tell you that you have power. Silencing you is an attempt to avoid the consequences of mistreating you or confronting that you’re right about something. (It’s the same in relationships as it is at work.) People without valid points or influence are ignored. People who tell the truth or cause discomfort upset the status quo. Again, it is no consolation. But remember that silencing treatment is a de facto acknowledgment that you’re on the right track. Everything sounds crazy until it becomes the truth. We do not celebrate the people who make us uncomfortable. About our behavior as individuals and certainly not as a group.

While my thoughts aren’t about book banning, the same concept applies. People with the urge to limit content, ideas, and information are admitting that they are afraid of what’s inside. You don’t ban things or ideas that don’t threaten your opinion. It’s usually a nod to the fact that they fully know that much of their opinions and worldview aren’t sustainable under the lens of logic.

No one likes to be wrong.

No one likes having to confront their mistakes.

No one likes being judged for the associations we have: friends, religions, politics, sports, work.

Looking at where we are as people and our lack of focus as a society, the last thing we need is for the outliers to stop pushing our buttons. A therapist once told me that the more we stop hearing criticism, the more in danger we are of being cemented in the past and of playing it safe.

Silencing behavior is the cousin to secrecy. Almost all misbehavior and turmoil derive from secrecy and the lack of transparency. Whether it’s us as a whole or each of us as individuals.

PS I wish it were okay to say, “I think you’re wrong,” without starting a fight. Because we damn well think our friends, family, and coworkers are wrong a LOT. Why isn’t it okay to just admit it? And why can’t we accept this sort of observation for what it is: someone’s opinion. We take everything personally as if we’re surprised that people haven’t had the same lives as us, the same education, the same religion, or the same interpersonal relationships.

X

A Dream, Another Reality, A Remembrance

I stood next to the extravagant nickel-cornered casket. A woman I vaguely recognized was attempting to say words that might reach me. “Everything is temporary. One morning you’ll wake up, and it will be different. You just need some time.” I nodded.

I turned to my left as someone cleared their throat. It was an older distinguished man wearing a dark suit. He was probably in his late sixties. A pair of forgotten reading glasses perched on top of his head. His face seemed familiar to me, but his voice was one I’d never heard before. It was a deep baritone.

“She’s right. Everything is temporary. This pain. The breakfast you ate. The tingle you feel when the right person touches you. Even your life. Temporary is a mindset.”

The woman I was talking to turned to him and asked who he was.

He just shook his head, dismissing her.

He nodded again and held his hand out. I didn’t even hesitate as my fingers reached his. He shook my hand briefly, and then his fingers circled my wrist. It didn’t surprise me. Déjà Vu doesn’t cover it. I was certain he’d done it before. When my eyes met his, I was struck by how much like blue skies they looked.

The surge of electricity that passed through him to me didn’t cause me to jerk. Instead, it caused paralysis. My eyes closed. For how long, I’m not certain. When I opened my eyes, the man no longer held my wrist. He now stood by the foot of the casket.

His voice resonated. “X, please help me with the viewing by lifting the other end?”

I moved to help without pausing to wonder about who the man was or why he asked me to help. Oddly, I couldn’t remember who lay inside the casket. The woman who had been talking to me no longer stood nearby.

We each lifted both ends of the coffin lid as the man nodded. Unlike most coffins, this one had no separation in the top. The coffin was empty.

The man watched my eyes. “He was cremated. The urn will come in a few minutes. For now, we’ll place his book here in the coffin. He said it was his only achievement. The man reached behind the coffin and retrieved a hardcover book from a small table behind the casket and held it up. “Time Is Short” was emblazoned on the cover as the title.

“Ironic title, don’t you think?” the man asked me, smiling.

“Yes. It sounds like something I’d say.” I laughed.

The man walked to the middle of the casket and placed the book face up inside the casket. I walked a few steps toward him and stood next to him, facing the room. It was a large, open room, filled with rows of pews and comfortable chairs. We were the only occupants.

“Let’s sit down for a moment so you can collect your thoughts.” The man wasn’t asking so I followed him to the front row pew, all the way to the right.

We sat on the cushioned pew. Oddly, my brain was absent of almost all thought.

“Do you have any questions, X? Ask me anything.”

“Whose funeral is this?”

He laughed. “Aren’t they all so similar? I don’t want to spoil it. Go up and turn the book over. The author’s picture is on the back.”

I stood up and walked over to the casket. While I know several writers, I was having difficulty remembering names and faces.

I looked at the picture behind the “Time Is Short” title running across the face of the book. It was a collage of colors, each coalescing across an auburn field and a solitary tree illuminated by a sunset. “Amen Tailor” was the author’s name. The name evoked an odd familiarity for me. Then I remembered that it was an anagram for “I am not real.” I smiled.

I turned the book over. My fingers went numb as I looked at the face on the back. It was me, but not quite a me that I recognized immediately. I realized it was the man seated behind me. I turned with the book held tightly in my hands. The man stood two feet away from me, staring intently at me with his piercing cloudy eyes.

“Interesting, isn’t it, that you, or we rather, had to use a pseudonym to get people to listen to us? It wasn’t enough to already have a new name.” He laughed, and I smiled.

“How much time is left? 10 years? 20?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. This is one possible outcome. Obviously, though, you have enough time to do that.” He pointed to the book in my hands. “When I jolted you, I gave you just enough push to do one thing you’d love to accomplish in life. Now, you get to choose what that might be.”

I extended my left hand to shake his, a habit only left-handers would understand. As his fingers touched mine, I felt a slight shock again.

“You’ll have to leave the book here with me before you go. You can exit out the side door next to the chapel service area behind you.”

I handed him the book, took a long look at the casket, and walked outside. No more than any other day in my life, I didn’t know what the awaiting sunshine might hold.

Reality TV Is Us

This is not a post about reality TV per se. Reality TV fascinates me; not as a watcher, but more for the process of misdirection, drama creation, and constant familiar themes to provoke an emotional or shocked reaction. When I do watch reality TV, I spend an inordinate amount of time looking up the people and places to find out what really happened and how the writers and producers repackaged it for entertainment.

Again, this post isn’t about reality TV per se. It’s about the fact that a great number of people are exactly like reality TV. They aren’t living authentically, they don’t say what’s on their mind, emotional connection feels foreign to them, and honesty tends to be in short supply. We tend to be reactionary by nature. And even with legitimate reasons to react with frustration, anger, or emotion, our tendency is to bite our natural response to whatever is happening around us. We watch one another, evaluating what’s going behind the facade. It’s why memes caution us to remember that each of us has things going on that others don’t know about.

Turn off the TV. Surprise yourself and other people. As a self-admitted hypocrite, I can write these words without feeling like a fraud. I hate the disparity between who I am and how I communicate and behave in a lot of situations. All of this artifice we build up around us is a cage. The strange thing is is that we are our own guards. The key is in our pocket.

Love, X

Lemon Moment / Glimmer

“If you go into the building with that much enthusiasm and energy, you’re going to end up with a nail driven into each palm.” That’s the quip I hollered at someone as they came in this morning and the one which inspired the following words:

When you run into somebody who is so full of enthusiasm and energy, it is either one of the best things in life or a trigger. It’s a trigger if you’re missing those things. But when the mutual laughter and enthusiasm collide, it’s a joyous ball of energy. Probably one that annoys onlookers. For that reason, I carry both Lone Ranger masks and COVID masks for the potential naysayers.  Due to legal issues, they confiscated my taser. My plea that I only used it on myself went unheeded.

Because I didn’t want to miss the opportunity, I took my shoes off in the work parking lot and walked down to the creek nearby instead of one of my usual spots. The water is much cooler than my last visit. Unlike me. I’m as hip as a polyester suit at this point. But my desire to come down here and stand in the water stands among my best decisions. It tickles me as people race by and see me in their peripheral vision. I probably look like a rutabaga with a dumb smile on my face. I look goofy enough to get a nomination to the Supreme Court.
Love, X

Worry Or Not

My grandma was a worrier. I have a lot of stories about teasing her and the seemingly outlandish ways she would creatively invent to worry about new things. She was born in the early 1900s and lived through apocalyptic tornadoes, the depression, wars, and things that probably would have debilitated me. It’s fascinating to be older and to understand her a little bit more. At a certain point, you think you’ve seen it all. That’s when the universe looks down on you and says, “Hold my beer.” X

It IS You

I’m no fan of photography, but I do love pictures. Over the years, I became so tired of people’s reluctance to have their pictures taken. I was once a fan of guerilla photography or in-the-moment shots. Digital transformed the world. I could take endless pictures without concern for staging, lighting, speed, or detail. Except the one consequence that emerged was people’s reluctance to have their pictures taken. I let it dampen my enthusiasm and slowly stopped enjoying the attempt. People do have the right to express displeasure at having their photos taken. But. I don’t understand it. They want to curate, approve, or control their image. The weird thing about it is the element of control. These same people walk around all day, and people see them in all manner of contortions and situations. They are in view, observed, and noted hundreds of times a day without the slightest possibility of them being able to reduce, filter, or affect it. Most of us are in countless passive surveillance videos and camera shots. We’ve become mostly blind to it. At the heart of it all? If someone is taking a picture of you, it’s overwhelmingly because they know you, like you, love you, and want to capture a small slice of you, captured in time and place. Everyone has a camera in their pocket now. I shake my head at the fact that so many want to take pictures of other people and yet recoil if the urge is reciprocal in others. It’s becoming unhealthy – that urge to curate. As for me, I might not love some of the pictures taken of me, but all of them ARE me in whatever moment is captured. I relish it when anyone wants a picture of me. Not because of vanity… (because I’m not George Clooney). Rather, because it demonstrates interest. I’ve lost almost all my aversion to worrying about how pictures of me look. I miss the days when I could snap a photo of any moment filled with the people around me. Because no matter how you think you look, you are still you twenty-four hours a day. The fact that a picture is being taken is a testament to your presence in life. It is bewildering to me in an age of constant surveillance that people strive so hard to control their own curation. Let it be, let it flow, and feel appreciated. Photography isn’t accusation. It’s a frozen moment in time of how you really look. It isn’t intended to provoke an identity crisis. Relax. We all see you as you all day. Love, X

Who We Are

I’m a very hands-on affectionate person. Could it be a trauma response to my childhood? I hope so. I unilaterally rejected almost all the behaviors and habits of my parents. There are some consequences to growing up that way that have positive benefits. I’m not worried about being emotional, saying I love you, hugging, or expressing myself. I’m not aggressive, but there is a buried hardness inside me thanks to my dad. I didn’t realize that it could be a good thing until much later in life. It’s there if needed. My instincts are a guide for me. That too is probably a trauma response. I’m aware of the fact that it developed from needing to be dialed into the potential for drama and violence and the danger of lesser people. It can be an anxiety response that doesn’t serve my happiness sometimes. But its presence and the overthinking it causes has at times been a lightning bolt in my head that frequently categorizes people for me, even when there’s nothing observable to justify it. I can’t change things that happened decades ago. Likewise, I am happy that the maelstrom of toxicity affected me. I would have rather grown up otherwise. I can’t change that, though. I wish I could double back twenty years and see if these realizations would yield a different me. But that past thinking always robs the present and the future. I’m me, and you’re you. Both of us have the opportunity to redefine and discard the things about ourselves that don’t work well for us. Mostly, though? We don’t. Change is hard, insight is sporadic, and the motivation to put in the work to be who we’d like is unimaginably uncomfortable. Love, X