September 25, 2006

The Curse of an Overly Analytical Mind

Have you ever engaged in an experience with the full knowledge that it would be the last time you ever experience it? How did that change that experience? Is there a fundamental duality between engaging in an experience—physically, mentally, emotionally—and garnering an understanding of the implications of that experience? Does a Heisenberg-esque Uncertainty Principle exist in social interactions as much as it does in quantum mechanics?

My short answer to that question would be: absolutely. I do not think there can be any doubt that one's expectations of an experience inherently influence that experience, thus perhaps altering what the experience might have been had one not held any expectations. This is especially the case for terminal experiences—ones representing the last time you ever do something. Knowing a priori that what comes next will be the last time it ever happens certainly influences your emotional state going into that experience. Analogously, not knowing that a certain experience is the last and realizing this ex post facto brings about a completely distinct set of emotions when the moment of epiphany finally does occur.

It is this latter case—the lack of proper closure—that I would like to explore further. How often in our busy lives do we stop to consider the implications of routine interactions with the people around us, whether they be friends, family, significant others, acquaintances, or coworkers? Any one of these routine interactions could be the last ones you ever have with that person. Either or both of you could die the next minute. You could be hit by a bus or shot in the head. You could fall into a hole or die in a car crash. Nothing is certain, and yet, we hardly consider this lack of certainty in the course of our day to day lives. To do so would be incapacitating. Hardly anything could ever be accomplished were one to consider each interaction with a person as potentially the last.

Yet, in cases where those personal relationships terminate, whether that be through a particularly bitter argument, a general insouciance, or an unnatural death, the closure demanded by the human psyche is irretrievably lost. One is cursed to replay that final interaction for the remainder of eternity. What if I had been in less of a hurry that day? What if I had not been such an asshole in that conversation? What if I had said what I felt at that moment? What if. What if. What if.

I have become more and more aware of this phenomenon in recent weeks and in many ways, it has made interactions with those I hold close significantly more difficult. The implicit recognition that any encounter may very well be my last with that person—and will hence be analyzed millions of times—has come to overwhelm any other emotions I may have felt in the moment—happiness, anger, frustration, or sadness—and left only one: anxiety. How will I replay this interaction if ultimately it is the last one I share with someone? Will I regret it? Be proud of it? The postmortem analysis begins too soon and before long, I am paralyzed, unable to say much of anything. Ironically, saying nothing is likely the response I would regret the most in hindsight.

What is to be done in such situations? How does one bring one's overly analytical mind in check? Frankly, I have never had a good solution for this problem. It is one I have struggled with on-and-off since the third grade when I first became aware that relationships can indeed terminate (this was the year I first moved and changed schools). And as a result, I have replayed hundreds of interactions thousands of times to no avail.

Is the desire for closure overrated? Is the solution just to accept that some things in life will never conclude in the way one might have hoped or desired or expected, shrug, and deal with the corresponding mental and emotional fall out? And if so, how? Without a doubt, as long as one interacts with others, this nasty lack of closure will indubitably rear its ugly head. My method of dealing with it has simply been to control it and ignore it until time and work force me to forget it, but as I have been repeatedly told, that is probably not the most healthy solution.

Yet, while bottling up one's emotions and throwing them down a black hole that no one dares venture into may, perhaps, be a suspect method of dealing with the lack of closure, I cannot imagine it being worse than the alternative of letting these regrets preoccupy your every waking moment and destroy your entire life in the mean time. The latter is not a feasible solution to me, and as long as I am not shown the merits of it, I will continue to deal with curse of an overly analytical mind in the way that has always worked best for me. Healthy or not, it is certainly the more effective and efficient approach, and in the end, isn't that what matters most?