Stop for a moment and take in the scene – really look around. For those of us accustom to city life, it looks pretty normal, right?
Now start adding the layers.
Look closer at all the movement. Everyone and everything seems to be moving, but none of those movements seem abnormal, right? To the average person, it’s just another day in the neighborhood. Add in the smells: dog, smog, cement dust. Getting a little more real, but nothing too bad, right? What sensations do you feel? A light breeze, the feeling of the concrete shaking beneath you, maybe warmth from the coffee cup in your hands. Now for the sounds: an airplane…then a helicopter. A dog barking at the birds chirping from their nest on the stoplight. The crying baby near the musicians who continue to play on despite the jackhammer next to them. The traffic cop blowing his whistle at the cars that are noisily zooming by. The woman on her cellphone in the car next to you – you can hear her talking, but can’t quite tell what she’s saying over the sounds of an idling bus and the rambunctious children it contains. At this point, can anyone even pick out the sound of the steelworker hammering, or the noises filling the work site the crane is at?
Go back and look at the picture again. Now what do you see?
Perhaps you now see what I immediately saw: commotion and (relatively controlled) chaos. A few years ago, being in this scene would have invigorated me; now, my brain doesn’t know what to focus on – there’s simply too much happening, so my brain begins hemorrhaging power.
Imagine we are walking down this sidewalk together – we’ve just rounded the corner and stepped right into the middle of all this. Our conversation stops because I can’t seem to come up with more than one or two monosyllabic words, which come out in a flat, dead tone. You say my name a few times, and when I do finally realize you’re saying something, I seem dazed and a little confused. My face and affect are flat, my eyes wide. You reach out to touch my arm, and I startle (and, knowing me, likely spill the coffee in my hand). My anxiety increases as my mental capacity decreases; my brain is completely overwhelmed! I can’t focus well enough to tell you what I need; in fact, it was only a few concussions ago when I realized that all of this is being driven by stimulus.
So here we are, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, surrounded by the sights/sounds/smells of life (including my coffee-drenched sleeve). I look at you, my face blank and absent; you look at me, uncertain and concerned.
So now what?
*Stay tuned for part two*
The Girl with the Glass Brain 