Living in the House of Denial

"Oh the house of denial has thick walls
and very small windows
and whoever lives there, little by little,
will turn to stone."
- Mary Oliver, "Hum Hum," in A Thousand Mornings

I read Mary Oliver's poem in bed last night and stabbed my pen through the page in surprise. How could the universe know that I was in the house of denial at that very moment, not believing the truth that my daughter will register for high school in two weeks. I've watched her grow every minute and hour of the past thirteen and a half years so this should not come as a surprise, and yet, as I walked the halls of the high school last night at parent orientation, I felt guilty, as if a red T-shirted peer advisor would come to gently grasp my upper arm and lead me away from the group, then release me into the snow for pretending to be the parent of a rising ninth-grader.

My shock at the parent orientation was real, and I know this because I felt the heart-pounding, sweat-inducing stress of it; I also know this because I know our brains lie to us. My brain believes that I recently graduated high school myself, and that - if I could have just jumped into the new 8-lane pool and sprinted a few laps - I would have been forcefully recruited for the varsity swim team.
I don't remember the way my face looks after a mere forty-five minutes of goggle wearing (like the raccoon from Guardians of the Galaxy without fur or bravado) or the fact that thirty years stand between me and my high school graduation.

Here's a quote from the NY Times to add some heft to my argument: "Adding to this innate tendency to mold information we recall is the way our brains fit facts into established mental frameworks. We tend to remember news that accords with our worldview, and discount statements that contradict it." ("Your Brain Lies to You," Sam Wang and Sandra Aamodt, New York Times, Link, retrieved 1/22/15). I believe I'm young, fit and strong, and so my brain discounts the truckloads of information that dispute that. It's so busy tossing out loads of old real data that it fails to take in new info.

When I ask my brain to take in data that I need now, like our insurance company, my password for the university's email, the steps I need to take to collect for hail damage, my brain draws a blank and then fills in something random. It does not want to admit that it doesn't know, so it makes stuff up. This article on cracked.com will explain: "It's like your brain is sitting in class, staring out the window at a cloud that sort of looks like a boob. When you call on your brain it does the same thing you do when a teacher calls on you in those circumstances: Start bull*****ing."  (5 Ways Your Brain is Messing With Your Head, Brian Walton, cracked.com,   link retrieved 1/22/15)

So what do we do when our brain lies, omits relevant data, even makes things up?  We stop, take a deep breath, and question our first response. We think for precious minutes while the insurance adjuster taps impatiently, our children yell in frustration, and our cats roll their eyes. We seek the truth so we can respond with the truth. Just as I - after a few deep breaths in the high school lobby - could answer another parent's question about my rising ninth-grader, remembering fully that I am now on the sidelines as chaffeur, chaperone and cheerleader, happy to watch as my kiddo takes central stage.