To see your home city anew, try this

A traffic light showing a green transgender symbol in front of a historic city square with statues and buildings.

One of my favourite walking routes though London goes from Waterloo Bridge to the London Eye, across the Thames to Big Ben, up Whitehall, and on to Soho for much-needed refreshment. But this spring, when a friend was visiting me from the United States, something happened on that familiar walk that made me see my home city with fresh eyes.

At a crossing by Trafalgar Square, she stopped in her tracks, though the lights were green. ‘What’s that?’ She pointed to the light flashing, not with the usual walking man, but with two female symbols, intertwined. ‘Oh that,’ I said shrugging. ‘The gay traffic lights of London.’ They’d gone up years ago, for the annual Pride Festival, and were so popular, they’d stayed – a little like my friend and I, who had a blast running back and forth between crossings so she could photograph all the LGBTQ+ symbols. Though she lives in San Francisco with her wife, these lights tickled her pink – and now they had the same effect on me.

This is an example of what the social psychologist Clayton Critcher at the University of California, Berkley calls the ‘vicarious construal effect’. By seeing an experience through someone else’s eyes, you can capture a feeling you’ve lost – or one you never even had. In an interview, Critcher said: ‘Simply trying to think about what someone else might see actually changes the way we see and interpret what we’re doing, changes the emotions we feel.’

This effect works whether rediscovering your hometown or more fully understanding another’s lived experience. So next time you notice yourself becoming oblivious to the place where you live, try to see it through the eyes of a visitor. Or better still, invite one over and share their perspective.

by Elena Seymenliyska

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For looking at the world with the wide eyes of a child, check out the Psyche Guide ‘How to Revive Your Sense of Wonder’ (2022) by Frank Keil.

And for more on the joys of exploring with an open mind, follow the Guide ‘How to Wander’ (2023) by Jordan Fisher Smith.


What I found in one of the tiniest languages

Illustration of a colourful green and red parrot perched on a branch, against a plain beige background.

Imagine trying to describe everything you see, think or feel with only 120-140 words. That’s the challenge posed by Toki Pona, a constructed language developed by Sonja Lang in an effort to simplify her thoughts while struggling with depression.

At first, my appreciation for the language was due to its impossibly cute script:

Image showing a chart of Toki Pona symbols with corresponding words, arranged in a grid.

But once I really thought about its tiny lexicon, I wondered about metaphor. Every word is expected to stretch: lete means ‘cold’, ‘raw’ or ‘to cool down’. Kili is ‘fruit’, ‘vegetable’ or ‘mushroom’. The question is what happens to the literal-figurative distinction with such underspecification?

Consider two metaphors, drawn from the poets Emily Dickinson and W S Merwin:

1. Hope is the thing with feathers.
2. Everything I do is stitched with your absence.

Now rendered in Toki Pona (translated by my spouse):

1. Wile li ijo pi selo waso – literally: ‘Desire is a thing with bird skin.’
Wile covers want, need, desire, longing, and will. Bird skin is more descriptive than metaphorical.
2. Weka sina li kama lon insa pi pali ale mi – literally: ‘Your absence enters into all my actions.’
Spatialisation echoes the joining effect of stitching, but the translation lessens the metaphorical feel.

In English, metaphor stands out against a background of literalness, a departure from a more ‘default’ use of language. In Toki Pona, the literal-figurative distinction forms a spectrum, since words are always stretched to specify meaning. That shifts the burden of sense-making from writer to reader. In English, metaphor is a writer’s flourish. In Toki Pona, resolving tension falls heavily on the reader.

I used to think alongside Ludwig Wittgenstein that the limit of my language is the limit of my thought. But Toki Pona makes me rethink that. Minimalism in language doesn’t reflect a minimalist world. Meaning-making is inevitable, and constraint simply shifts where the complexity lies.

by Hannah H Kim

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Check out the official website of Toki Pona if you would like to explore the language yourself.

In the Aeon Essay ‘Metaphors Make the World’ (2024), Benjamin Santos Genta illuminates the metaphors that form the texture of our thought.


NOTE TO SELFFEAR AND PHOBIA

A memory hack to help you face your fears

Listen to this article

A microphone in focus with a blurred background of people seated at tables in a dimly lit room.

If there’s something you’re especially afraid of, you’ve likely heard that the worst thing you can do is to keep avoiding it. It’s only by confronting your fear and learning that it’s safe that you can overcome it – which is actually the basis of ‘exposure therapy’. The problem is, as I’ve discovered, the benefits of exposure can wear off, or you can have a bad experience that brings all the negative associations rushing back.

That’s why I was excited to come across some preliminary research in the journal Behaviour Research and Therapy that shows a way to address this – by deliberately weakening your negative memories of what you fear. The key to this is a process called ‘retrieval-induced forgetting’. It’s based on the fact that, when you recall certain aspects of a past experience, it doesn’t just strengthen your memory of those details, it actually weakens your memory of the other aspects that you don’t recall.

In the study, socially anxious participants gave a series of one-minute speeches online. Afterwards, they noted several negative memories (for example, someone yawning) and positive memories (such as someone clapping) from the experience. Next, some of them spent time deliberately recalling only the positive memories. This seemed to weaken their negative memories and, even better, the more this forgetting occurred, the less anxiety they felt about public speaking in the future.

If you’re socially anxious or you have a different fear, you could experiment with this strategy. After facing your fear, spend time deliberately recalling positive aspects of the experience, such as what you enjoyed or something that went well. This isn’t just a case of looking on the bright side – it might actually weaken your negative memories of what happened and help you feel more confident the next time you face your fear.

by Christian Jarrett

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If you find this technique useful, you might also like a different memory trick that can help to trigger more spontaneous positive memories – the subject of a previous Note to Self, ‘A Way to Enjoy More Positive Mental Images’ (2025) by Christian Jarrett.

For more in-depth expert advice on overcoming social anxiety, check out this Psyche Guide (2023) by Fallon Goodman.


NOTE TO SELFFEAR AND PHOBIA

How scary is it really?

A silhouette pressing hands on a frosted glass door in an abandoned room with peeling paint on walls and door.

Many situations in life that are supposed to be fun also involve a high degree of uncertainty: dates with strangers, rollercoasters with unpredictable twists and turns, unrehearsed karaoke. For those of us who like to be able to see what’s coming, many of these potentially enjoyable opportunities may as well have warning signs hanging over them. Sometimes it’s tempting not to take the risk. But I recently came across a study that made me wonder if I should challenge myself more often.

The researchers, including members of the Recreational Fear Lab at the University of Aarhus in Denmark, surveyed visitors to Dystopia Haunted House – one of those immersive attractions where you wander past menacing costumed actors, not knowing what will pop out next. Before they went in, the participants completed some questionnaires, including one tapping their intolerance of uncertainty. (They rated how much they agreed with statements like ‘I can’t stand being taken by surprise’ and ‘Uncertainty keeps me from living a full life’.) As you might expect, visitors who were less tolerant of uncertainty had dimmer expectations about how the haunted house would hit them. They anticipated less positive emotion and more anxious and generally negative emotions than the uncertainty-tolerant did. And yet, afterwards, visitors across the board (including the uncertainty-averse ones) reported feeling more positive emotions and less unpleasant emotions in the haunted house than they predicted they would.

In other words: despite the frightening surprises they’d encountered, it wasn’t so bad after all. It seems that for me and other certainty-craving people, the real problem might not be the ghoul hiding around the corner or the possibility of singing off-key at the karaoke bar, but our pessimism about how it’ll make us feel.

by Matt Huston

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If uncertainty causes you discomfort, too, you might benefit from reading the Psyche Guide ‘How to Embrace Uncertainty’ (2023) by Arie Kruglanski.

To learn more about research on haunted attractions and the benefits of horror, check out the Aeon Essay ‘Fear Not’ (2021) by Mathias Clasen.


NOTE TO SELFFOOD AND DRINK

The dissonance of meeting what you eat

There were about seven birds of different colours that I used to see wobble around my neighbour’s urban chicken run. I frequently passed it on the sidewalk. Peering through the fence, I’d feel a bit of unease. I was a not-quite-vegetarian then: I’d given up some meat due to concerns about animal welfare, but still ate chicken. Yet here I was, charmed by these same feathered creatures.

What I felt was cognitive dissonance, a concept first described by the psychologist Leon Festinger in the 1950s. It’s the psychological discomfort someone experiences when what they know or believe is inconsistent with what they do. For instance, you might believe it’s wrong to lie but do it anyway, or know that a major corporation is harming people but still buy its stuff – and that might cause you some internal disharmony. Sometimes, people deal with that by rationalising their behaviour (eg, ‘everyone else does it’). Other times, they change.

A new paper by the researchers David Fechner and Sebastian Isbanner suggests that my increasing cognitive dissonance may have put me over the fence (so to speak) into vegetarianism. They compared several groups of people: those who ate meat and had no plans to change; those who were considering no longer eating meat; and those who had actually made the change. They found that cognitive dissonance (gauged by how uneasy, uncomfortable, etc one felt thinking about eating meat) was higher in the potential-vegetarian group than among the meat-eaters, and higher still among vegetarians.

Other factors differed too, such as how feasible a vegetarian diet seemed to them. But according to the researchers, the results suggest that cognitive dissonance helped to explain why some people who believed in vegetarianism’s benefits actually adopted it. When it comes to morally loaded behaviours, believing might not be enough. Our conflicts might have to stare us in the face.

by Matt Huston

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If you’re contemplating going meat-free yourself, the Psyche Guide ‘How to Go Vegetarian or Vegan’ (2022) by Reed Mangels explains how to do it in a planned and satisfying way.

The initial spark for my eventual dietary shift was the book Eating Animals (2009) by Jonathan Safran Foer.

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