Firing my mental neurons

 There’s a lot of talk around here about “the aging brain.” I hear that phrase and scary images of dementia and Alzheimer’s rise up to haunt me. I wonder if conditions like this are inevitable. It’s happened to a lot of good people. Why not me?

It used to be accepted as fact that dead brain cells could not be replaced, giving scant hope to an aging population. This is no longer considered good science. It seems that the human brain is more amazing that we ever expected and that new cell growth and new mental pathways can indeed be generated. The aging brain seems to be getting younger all the time.

These last few years I’ve been reading a lot of brain books and the new information is reviving my hope that maybe I won’t turn into a slobbering, shuffling, dim-witted old lady. Or at least that there some things I can do to make that scenario less likely.

Let me give you a list of helpful books I’m learning from: Switch on Your Brain, Carolyn Leaf, 2013 (information for changing addictive negative thought patterns); The Body Keeps the Score: Brains, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma, 2014 (probably the best of the lot); The Brain that Changes Itself: Stories of Personal Triumph from the Frontiers of Brain Science, Norman Doidge, 2007 (explains neuroplasticity, with lots of examples); and Think Again: The Power of Knowing What You Don’t Know, Adam Grant, 2021 (encourages us to be open-minded, ever learning, able to change our perspectives).

The retirement home I live in is good in providing educational opportunities and activities to keep our brains active. A puzzle rack lets us take home our pick of crossword puzzles, word searches, or Sudoku games. A continual menu of lectures, seminars, book clubs, and conversation groups offers chances to sharpen our mental acuity.

A year ago, I noticed some publicity on our bulletin board, announcing a seminar of brain exercises for the aging. The blurb promised that if we attended the seminar and did the exercises, we would fire our mental neurons. That sounded like something good for us aging citizens. It inspired me to go right upstairs to my room and write this poem.

It Had To Be Done

Seated behind my hard
wood executive desk,
looking down
on the city below,
I finally did
what had to be done.
I invited all my mental
neurons in and I told them,
Guys, you’ve been doing
a great job, but times
are tough, and I have
to let you go.
I fired them all.

 

Humor aside, there really is something to the idea of firing our mental neurons. While I don’t understand the science of it all, I’m convinced that neuroplasticity is a reality. Neuroplasticity. It’s not only a fun word to say, it’s an incredibly hopeful concept.

According to the experts (and there are an inordinate number of them around), we can do things to help neuroplasticity along. Some of it is commonsense, stuff like getting plenty of sleep, cultivating friendships, drinking lots of water, learning new things, walking in a forest, doing puzzles, and so on. We don’t really need an expert to tell us this. But it helps to take it seriously.

Knowing about neuroplasticity gives me hope, but my realistic self clicks in at this point. Aging is real, and I know my body is changing, slowing down. I’m getting shorter. I’m saying, “What? Speak up!” more often. It seems only natural that there be some wearing-down in my brain, too. It’s a part of my body and all of it is getting older.

For example, I used to pride myself on being a multi-tasker, juggling all sorts of balls and not dropping any of them. People could depend on me getting all my tasks done. I was so very organized. Well, no more. It’s now one thing at a time, with a list to remind me what comes next. Actually, I like it this way. Juggling all those balls wasn’t that much fun. But the point is, I no longer have a choice.

And take forgetfulness. Hal and I have a large daily calendar taped on our bedroom door. If we don’t write down every appointment or meeting, we possibly won’t show up. I can’t read an email message and think, “This is really important. I’ll answer it later when I can take my time.” It won’t happen. Time will take me and the important message will vanish.

So I have to strategize more, take less for granted. Be more careful, less proud of my innate abilities. Maybe these kinds of mental strategies are my brain’s way to cope.

Some very intelligent and responsible older people are afflicted with dementia in all its forms. Science still struggles to understand and help people with these conditions. We can’t pinpoint the causes or know ahead of time who it will happen to. Maybe us, our spouse, or our friend.

Even so, the brain’s neuroplasticity gives me hope. This is real. Knowing I can do things to cooperate with the process of renewal motivates me.

I take courage from the words of St. Paul in Romans 12: “I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies [including your brains] as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship. Do not be conformed to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.”

Let’s fire those mental neurons!