I want to thank those of you who replied to my query. A lot of your advice converged to a few simple themes:
1. Keep blogging
2. Go with reviews of interesting research, bridges and connections between data and interpretation, opinions about where we are and where we’re going in the science and policy of substance use (and its discontents).
3. The style and form of the blog can be intriguing in themselves. Let the blog wander but keep my own voice.
4. Let it be personal, yes, and detailed, and most important, don’t limit the blog to addiction. There are many other topics, only loosely related to the neuroscience of addiction: the science of behaviour, the neuroscience behind clinical disorders, issues concerning willpower and self-control, and my thoughts while stuck in traffic or eating lunch. I agree: there’s lots to talk about!
Today I won’t share my thoughts while in stuck in traffic, but I will share with you what I had for lunch.
What I had for lunch was dopamine, and plenty of it. Isabel had made these incredible ribs the night before. Thick, dark, juicy sauce stuck intimately to the most tender meat, which pulled easily off the bone in my exultant teeth. (Hope not too many of you are vegans) So you’d think I’d be very aware of the taste — the delicious taste — of these succulent morsels — brought to you by the opioid bath (internal, please!) washing over those orbitofrontal neurons. But I was hardly aware of the taste or texture at all. What I was aware of, during the execution of each bite, was the following bite. Dopamine, which is the chief underpinning of anticipation, drove my attention to the near future — the next bite, getting the right amount of sauce on the next piece to enter my mouth — even as I commenced on the present bite.
How stupid is that?
My kids also gobble down their food without tasting it. I tell them, “Taste every molecule!” But they don’t, and neither do I. During my rib extravaganza, I was somewhat aware of the waste of consciousness, and not pleased about it. I tried to slow down. I reflected on how different the experience of eating is when you’re sitting at a nice restaurant, with candles going, very aware of the moment, I think, but perhaps more aware of the imperative to be in the moment. That’s not quite being in the moment. It’s just another algorithm for focusing on the future.
What's next?
What I’m railing against is the power of dopamine to suck you away from the now, into the future. It’s so ubiquitous. For example, my last post was entitled “What’s next…?” That’s where we live: in the future. The purpose of dopamine uptake into the ventral striatum is to define and sharpen the focus of attention — attention to the next goal, or the next step toward the next goal. After all, present pleasures are in the bag. Future…opportunities…are where one’s attentional focus can really make a difference. It is of no adaptive advantage to focus on what’s happening right now. What’s happening right now is just about over.
I guess the upside is that this state of affairs provides steady employment for Buddhists, meditation teachers, contemplatives, and so forth. They’ve got lots of work to do, mainly in helping us resist impulses nested deeply in our brains.
But for now, I’m feasting on dopamine — the exquisite anticipation of the next bite. And that’s pretty typical of the evolutionary lunch stand where we gobble down what we have and prepare for what’s next. It’s also the common neural pathway of all addictions.
Informed by unparalleled neuroscientific insight and written with his usual flare, Marc Lewis’s The Biology of Desire effectively refutes the medical view of addiction as a brain disease. A bracing and informative corrective to the muddle that now characterizes public and professional discourse on this topic.” —Gabor Maté, M.D., author of In The Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters With Addiction
Marc, I think that what is sucking you away from the now is not dopamine, but an overlearned – and thus automatic – ability to monitor and police your thoughts. I find that food is enjoyed more when the present is not a hyperreflective spiral of self-ironizing.
Moreover, some social psychologists (Strack and Deutsch, specifically) would argue that our ability to live in the future and – if possible – delay gratification was the
basis of our rational abilities. Or maybe rational thought came first, I forget.
In the spirit of the late Bill Hicks, perhaps some non-addictive psilocybin mushrooms might help make the present that much more real. They’re more fun than Buddhism and cheaper than meditation courses.
Yes, mushrooms are more fun, but they don’t last as long. An interesting thing about intentionality, or even mindfulness, is that it may require some meta-cognizing before it’s set in motion. Ok, this sucks. I’m not noticing anything and my life is passing me by. I’d better, meditate, or just BE HERE NOW, or take some mushrooms, or do something so that I can taste my goddamn ribs!
Besides, I hate to break it to you, but that higher-order self-monitoring is also fueled by dopamine, it just happens in a different location — the dorsal ACC.. And if that sounds like neurobabble, it’s not my fault. Dopamine fuels a lot of what goes on in the front half of the brain. It’s what it does in the striatum that’s particularly problematic for rib-eaters and addicts.
Well, that’s interesting, Marc. I expect there are good evolutionary reasons for future orientation and dopamine flooding. I can relate completely to your ‘rib experience.’ I had the same experience a short time ago with an amazing cassoulet, but it’s part of my daily life too. Sometimes I’ll step out of the shower and because I’ve been so pre-occupied about my schedule that day I don’t even remember washing my hair and I definitely was not enjoying the experience of the warm water and soap on my body. No being in the present moment for me!
I expect it was more of a life-or-death thing for our distant ancestors who turned rocks over on the plains of Africa looking for whatever edible thing could be hiding under there. Or getting lucky and killing an antelope didn’t mean one could relax for too long. Even while eating the tasty bits of meat around the fire, I’m sure our ancestors were already thinking about where to hunt next. I’m not sure they would have savoured the moment. Maybe future thinking was accompanied by dopamine flooding in our ancestors to keep them motivated to get out there and hunt. Workaholics must be swarmed constantly by dopamine!
Hi Roger. The shower experience (or lack of experience) is another great example. I watched one of my 5-year olds in the shower the other day. He was grinning from ear to ear the whole time, shifting his body around and glorying in the feel of the water. Such a shame that we miss all this stuff!
Your thoughts about our ancestors are pretty much the focus of my last post. These guys really lived a tough life, and there wasn’t the luxury to sit around and savour the moment. (although I read recently that Homo erectus fossils showed evidence that they had a hearth of some kind, implying some casual socializing)
Anyway, they say that leisure is a pretty new invention, and it seems clear that our brains were not designed for it. And you’re right, if those upright apes of a couple of million years ago had been leisure seekers, well, we wouldn’t be here to call the whole issue into question.