We often talk about thoughts as if they were an outpouring of words, with word after word reeling off like widgets coming off an assembly line. When I hear my thoughts they are more like participants in a conversation. As social animals, our behaviors are often communicative acts. And that includes cognitive behavior. Seen in this way, thoughts that involve words could be considered a type of communicative behavior: silent speech acts.

When I become aware of thoughts, they are almost always talking thoughts. By “talking”, I mean they are prosodic, with conversational inflections – not just reflecting semantic content but also employing rhetorical devices, as if trying to have an effect on an audience. And they seem to be talking to someone. Who’s the audience? Sometimes oneself – like when we try to persuade, remind or convince ourselves of something: “You idiot! Why did you do that?” “God, you’re good!”, “Remember to buy cheese”. Sometimes the audience is someone we know, like when we replay a difficult conversation but fix our part to produce a better outcome (in our heads). Sometimes the audience has no specific identity; we’re simply engaging in a silent monologue. Even though monologists are speaking to no one in particular, they are still speaking to be heard.

The world places conflicting demands on our brains. When we are intentionally paying attention to sense impressions or tasks, “stimulus-independent-thought” (aka “tasked-unrelated-thought” aka “mind wandering”) is unable to proceed. This is because focusing on something taps into the same general cognitive resource, one which can only “handle only one coherent data stream at a time” (Teasdale et al 1995, p 38). In other words, paying attention to what we’re doing or what we’re perceiving disrupts the progression of thought and vice versa.

To focus on one stream of data prevents us from focusing on other streams of data. So if we’re looking at a painting and also thinking about the painting, these cognitive acts are alternating. The switching back and forth often happens so quickly that we’re unaware that one stream has been turned off while another becomes active. It may feel like a seamless experience but it’s not. There’s a lot of switching going on.

Of course, our brains are constantly processing multiple streams of information and making decisions outside of what we happen to be paying attention to. We couldn’t walk, drive, eat, talk, or basically do anything without the automatic brain system doing all that simultaneous information processing. That type of processing is happening in outside of and along the edges of consciousness. It’s not the same as paying attention.

So, can we be “present” to the external world while watching our thoughts “unfold” in real time. I’m thinking not. Different data streams are involved. At best, we can flit from stream to stream, making it seem simultaneous. But it’s not.

References:

Teasdale, J. D., Segal, Z. V., & Williams, J. M. G. (1995). How does cognitive therapy prevent depressive relapse and why should attentional control (mindfulness) training help? Behaviour Research and Therapy, 33, 25-39.

Teasdale, J. D., Dritschell, B. H., Taylor, M. J., Proctor, L., Lloyd, C. A., Nimmo-Smith, I., et al. (1995). Stimulus-independent-thought depends upon central executive resources. Memory and Cognition, 28, 551–559.

To “accept” a thought that just unfolded and then to redirect attention to something else is a type of shallow processing. It’s like listening to the first few notes of a song and then turning your attention to something else – all you can really say is you heard a few notes, not the entire song. What you’re really doing is accepting little notes of thoughts. If you’re already pretty sure where those notes lead to and you don’t want to listen to the rest of the song, then there’s no need to listen to the whole thing. But acknowledge that this is “acceptance” writ small. What is being accepted is a taste, not the whole enchilada.

Of course, thoughts aren’t just a string of  words – thoughts  bob along on seas of emotion. So part of what is being accepted is the emotion that carries the thought along. Actually both are carrying each other: the words support emotions and emotions support the words.

But then, “bobbing along” makes thoughts sound like inert objects. Another way to think about thoughts is as directional behaviors – going towards something, whether toward a solution to a problem, the next step on the way to a desired outcome, further self-clarification, or an effective comeback in a re-imagined conversation: a resolution of some sort. In this sense, a thought’s meaning is also in its “actionable” implications.

Of course, thought-streams often peter out before resolution of their concerns and new subjects take over, sometimes in a matter of seconds. That doesn’t mean that thoughts are inherently inert – only that the wind in their sails blows with variable force. A weak breeze won’t sustain the course for long. And the reality outside our heads keeps asserting itself.

Think of thoughts as guests at the party of your mind. Imagine being at a family gathering and the relatives are a talkative bunch. You are “observing” the scene not as a detached bystander but as a loving, involved family member. You catch snatches of conversation, some not that interesting, some best to ignore. But you’re watching out for someone who may benefit from your attention (Granddad looks confused) or maybe someone is saying something that you want to pursue, then you listen and maybe even get involved in the conversation.

You might want to correct someone’s misstatement, or maybe just listen and give them support because you feel what they’ve saying might be important to them. You engage in active listening: trying to sense the feelings and intentions behind what the other person is saying, trying to understand their meaning, sometimes, asking questions or trying to steer the conversation to “bring them out” because you sense that they’re working out an understanding or idea and might need a little patience and encouragement.

Uncle George is always spouting his opinions about politics at these gatherings. You like to argue with him, because he welcomes disagreement and vigorous debate and doesn’t seem intent on winning the argument at all costs. Sometimes these arguments with Uncle George help you see things a little differently and you’re grateful for the learning experience. Sometimes you even manage to change his mind.

On the other hand, you avoid arguing with Aunt Irva. She complains about the same things over and over and there is no use trying to talk her out of her opinions.

Like Aunt Irva, there are always a few relatives at these gatherings who seem to be endlessly kvetching about something. You find yourself wanting to talk them out of their bad moods but past experience tells you that’s a losing proposition. You’ll just get entangled and never convince them of their wrongheadedness. In fact, trying to talk them out of their opinions can only make matters worse – like fanning the flames of a fire.

At the same time, you love these relatives and talking with them can be rewarding when they’re not in one of their moods. Sometimes they’re more receptive to gentle persuasion than other times. They are not a lost cause. You want to maintain a relationship with them, and that means paying some attention to them at family gatherings, regardless of what’s in it for you. So, you go over and listen for a while, nod occasionally, but simply not engage with their complaints.

You might find that by simply listening and acknowledging, but not agreeing or arguing, Aunt Irva will eventually calm down. The fire of righteous anger will slowly burn itself out. The clouds of her bad mood will dissipate.

Some thoughts are like endlessly kvetching relatives. Engaging with them only encourages them, regardless of whether the engagement is supportive or resistant. But not all thoughts are problem relatives and problem relatives aren’t always pointless to engage.

If we want to avoid deeper processing, then lingering in observation mode is just the ticket. While we observe, we are not actively inhibiting thoughts and feelings, we are just watching them to do their thing. After a while the act of observation interferes with directional or associative elaboration of thoughts and feelings. It prevents them from going further. It prevents them from branching out. Without letting ourselves get “caught up” in them, thoughts and feelings peter out. They may be initially intense but the process of just watching eventually takes the wind out of their sails. It might be a wild ride for awhile but observation eventually stops the spreading activation of associated thoughts, feelings and memories.

This is all well and good if we want to pay attention to the outside world, avoid unhelpful or counterproductive thinking, like rumination, or when we recognize a line of thinking/feeling isn’t going to do us any good so might as well watch and surf it for a while until it sinks under the weight of observation.

The challenge of surfing is to move with the wave while keeping one’s balance and not falling into the water. Sounds good – and often is good. There’s still something to be said about deep sea diving and becoming immersed in the water. There’s a whole world there you never see riding on the surface. Yep – can be scary, not always pleasant, possibly stressful – but so what? Distance and control collapse and you encounter strange-looking creatures.

Keeping one’s equilibrium isn’t everything. Of course, one can’t remain in the depths. Sinking alternates with surfacing. Thus is our mental life.

To truly observe a thought as it “unfolds” would disrupt its progression. As soon as we direct attention to the thought, it loses its vitality. It stops moving. The thought-process chokes. Observing a thought is more like hearing the echo of what just passed. An echo is a dead thing: it has no vitality. Observing a thought kills the thought. But our thoughts die and are reborn or die and are replaced by new thoughts all the time.

Hard attention stops thoughts in their tracks. But we can’t keep a hard focus for long; our focus becomes softer, more diffuse. Thinking happens in the interstices of hard attention.

Thoughts do appear to unfold as they are expressed, like with speaking or writing; hence the phrase “thinking out-loud” – the act of expression clears a path for the thought to move forward, towards a sort of clarification or realization. Of course, not all thoughts are worthy of expression or elaboration. The interesting thing about thinking out-loud is that it involves a relinquishing of control, a yielding to something else that is taking over. It can be embarrassing; we can regret it – and yet, the process of thinking out-loud (like typing away) can generate great insights and understandings. Or lead us down a thorny path we’d rather not go. Or both. Or neither.