The Composite Human

Musings on Neuroscience, Psychology, Biology, Physics, Philosophy, and Human Nature

Recent Posts

  • You Can’t (Directly) Control Your Future Self

    Instead, you have to take small steps today to improve the odds you’ll follow through in a week.

    If I said, “three Saturdays from now, I’m gonna wake at 5 AM and go for a run,” it’d be like throwing a wish in the wind. So much could happen between now and then to deter me from my path. Even at the last minute, I could give in to laziness and say “eh, I’ll sleep in today instead.”

    My present, though, I can directly control. As I type these words, I could decide, “I’m gonna go for a run right now.” In order to get my future self to do a 5 AM run, I need to make sure I’m rested, have nutrients in my system, and am used to or am prepared to wake early. Taking tiny steps today shapes who we will be tomorrow and thereafter.

    Jamal H. Goodwin Jr.
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  • Out of Sight, Out of Mind

    It’s an adage I’ve found gratifyingly true. Often my phone sucks in my attention like a vortex. When it lies beside my laptop, I’m always tempted. No matter what I’m typing, no matter what I’m watching, my eyes feel a pull, and inevitably I give in, just to glance at the black mirror—and usually, the notifications are bland. If I’ve received any at all.

    It’s the rush of dopamine, it’s the curiosity and the anticipation that keep my alertness hovering around that timesuck device. But things change when I can’t see it.

    By merely hiding my phone under a pillow, my thoughts are more focused on the thing in front of me, whether it’s my laptop or a book I’m reading.

    I feel that on a subconscious level, even if I’m deeply focused on a task, my brain has bits of awareness focused on my surroundings. And because smartphones are so huge in our lives, and have more functions than, say, a box of paper clips, it’s easier for them to steal our focus.

    I can still get things done with my phone around, but I find the experience more pleasant when it’s hidden under something, or even in a different room.

    Jamal H. Goodwin Jr.
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  • Tangled in What We Are

    Unconscious mimicry. Catchphrases. Gestures. Old habits. Thought loops. Lack of self-awareness. How can we possibly say or do anything new with these forces working against us, humanity? It’s hard enough negotiating freedom with our subconscious through therapy and escaping capitalism’s maze of choice architecture. How do we save ourselves from being just another cliche? From being just another “How’s it goin’?” “Good how are you?”

    Somehow, chaos saves us. Despite our already jumbled up system, our knotted brain, we act the same way in familiar situations, but we become clueless in new situations. We become forced to be creative instead of taking the automatic route.

    When I’m writing, I get to a place of newness by rearranging old elements to create a totally different sound or meaning. Cleverly worded phrases, whether made by me or by someone else, make me think harder about a scene instead of taking the gist of it and going on with my day.

    Novel experiences also bring me freedom: the first time I went ziplining; getting lost in the woods; turning down a street I’ve never been on before.

    To say or do anything new, to expand your identity or change yourself, expose yourself to new things. Set a goal to do something you wouldn’t otherwise do, and everything else will fall into place.

    Jamal H. Goodwin Jr.
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  • The End, and What Is This?

    The End, and What Is This?

    Questions I don’t have the answers to. “I think therefore I am” is the saying, but it doesn’t go deep enough. I know the logic behind life and consciousness, but why am I conscious? Why am I experiencing each moment?

    But where… does the information go? And if you could take all that information from my brain, play it like a vinyl record, would that bring me back? Bring back my consciousness?

    A rock in the sand is an easy thing to imagine. But me? The guy looking at the rock? I feel like a camera, recording each moment. The rock is what I’m observing, but then, where is the recording being stored? Not the neurons or brain chemistry that makes me perceive the rock, but the actual scene that I’m viewing. As in, the vivid combination of color and lighting and texture. Does my brain have a .jpg stored in there somewhere? Or is that scene something tangible but spiritual?

    What happens at The End? To my consciousness. Does it just, stop? I suppose it would be like a camera shutting off mid-recording. But where… does the information go? And if you could take all that information from my brain, play it like a vinyl record, would that bring me back? Bring back my consciousness?

    And once the recording’s stopped and if the information is irretrievable, who will I be? Will I still… be? As I “be” now, in each second? Seconds will still exist when I am gone, but for me, will they just, freeze? Like rain paused midair?

    When my limbs decay, when my body becomes dirt, the atoms which were once me might spread across the planet. The dead skin that was from my childhood has already evaporated and dispersed who knows where by now. So where will I be, mentally, spiritually, hundreds of years after my body is gone?

    Maybe the scenes we see in our brains are irretrievable. Maybe they can’t be found outside of ourselves after all. Each moment nothing more than a combination of senses, the whole picture something we create but ultimately not real.

    Or maybe the opposite is true. Maybe reality contains a concrete spiritual tapestry that guides us but we have yet to uncover. In either case, there is more to learn about the world. About human life.

    Jamal H. Goodwin Jr.
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  • Why Do We Like Fun Facts?

    Are fun facts good for us? Are they useful? In each of an octopi’s tentacles is a brain. If you didn’t know this, you might find it interesting. But how will this fact help you in daily life? And how likely are you to remember it a week from now, let alone a year from now? I’d venture to say fun facts take up unnecessary real estate.

    A large portion of media exists to tell us useless information. Some things have substance—a good movie for instance. Movies not only cause a range of emotions to arise in us, they also engage our focus skills with a plot. And, thematic moments can cause us to reflect on our own lives. But a top 10 video on interesting jellyfish facts—what does that do for me?

    Follow me on this example for a moment. If I don’t plan to study jellyfish in college, don’t find the speaker of the jellyfish video funny or likeable, if nothing in my daily lived experience would necessitate that I interact with a jellyfish, why would I watch the video? I don’t know, but we donate our attention like this all the time!

    Fun facts can be conversation starters. “Did you know that no two zebras have the same stripe pattern, just like how every fingerprint is unique?” It’s a nice segue to pique someone’s interest, to transition into talking more about you or about them or about animals. But will they remember the fun fact?

    Fun facts are certainly less useful than life hacks. “Did you know putting a paper towel sheet in a salad bag will keep the salad fresher for longer in the fridge?” See, this is information you can do something with. What’s the point of the zebra fact?!

    Maybe the brain’s just wired to love learning. Maybe for survival, curiosity in everything was better than ignorance. Maybe curiosity led to better meals or escape routes from lions. But who knows?

    Jamal H. Goodwin Jr.
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