NOTE TO SELFJOY

A way to enjoy more positive mental images

A person drinking next to a large poster depicting steaming coffee cups on a green background.

I spotted an old beach ball in my shed the other day and I was suddenly transported to a joyful memory of running and splashing with my children on the sand at low tide. Psychologists call this ‘positive involuntary mental imagery’ – and they’re testing out ways to deliberately seed more such images (not least because experiencing them is associated with being more optimistic and less depressed). It’s early days for the research, but there’s no reason why we can’t try out one of the methods for ourselves.

To give it a go, take some photos from your daily life, such as what you see when you first get up in the morning; your trip to work; or from a typical evening out. Next, for each photo, combine it in your mind with a positive word, such as ‘pleasant’, ‘success’ or ‘triumph’, to create a completely new imagined scene. For instance, say you took a photo of your morning coffee cup. You’d look at the photo and, to combine it with the word ‘pleasant’, you could create a mental image of yourself sitting by a campfire with friends, savouring a hot chocolate from the mug. The idea is that when you encounter the real objects in the photos – such as your morning coffee cup – it serves as a trigger for the associated imagined scene while you go about your daily life.

A team led by Mahdi Bagheri at Ruhr-Universität Bochum in Germany – and including the Psyche author Simon Blackwell – enjoyed modest success with this very approach in a recent study published in the journal Memory. They think one trick to boosting the technique’s effectiveness is choosing the right photos – distinct enough to create a memorable association with the positive mental image you created (for the example above, try photographing your mug from an unusual angle), but not so unusual that you never actually encounter the trigger in your daily life.

by Christian Jarrett

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Simon Blackwell’s Psyche Idea ‘It’s Possible to Help More Positive Images Pop into Your Mind’ (2021) provides more background on the science of positive involuntary mental images and ways to induce them.

For a broader overview, this article in The Psychologist looks at the research into involuntary autobiographical memories.


NOTE TO SELFEMOTION REGULATION

Finding solace in Murderbot

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A person wearing a futuristic robotic suit walking through a lush green forest.

A science fiction fan in my teens, I recently decided to dip my toes in the genre again. When I asked Claude for recommendations, it suggested the Murderbot Diaries (2017-), a book series by Martha Wells, about a half-robot, half-human ‘construct’ with a rich emotional life (maybe Claude was dropping me a hint?)

Murderbot is designed to be a SecUnit for protecting humans on space missions. It manages to deactivate its ‘governor module’ granting it the ability to make free choices. If you’re interested in the limits and ethics of machine intelligence, you’ll find the series compelling. But that’s not its only appeal, especially if you’re someone with non-optimal levels of angst and self-consciousness.

The novellas are told through the inner monologue of Murderbot. Its wry, detached observations about its own emotional and social discomforts can be hilarious and surprisingly relatable. On occasion, I’ve found myself emulating its narrative style in my own head, and it can be an odd comfort.

For example, you know that panicky feeling when someone expects you to open up? Murderbot describes one such instance in Book 1, All Systems Red: ‘I had cycled out of horrified that they wanted to talk to me about my feelings into grateful that she had ordered them not to.’

Murderbot is effectively modelling how to notice your own inner thoughts and feelings from a distance – similar to how an ACT therapist might coach you in ‘defusion’ with prompts such as: ‘So, what’s your mind telling you now?’

There is an irony in a fictional form of machine intelligence helping us to feel more normal – more human – about our own insecurities. But as Jason Sheehan put it so well in a review for NPR: ‘we are all a little bit Murderbot.’

by Christian Jarrett

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Read an interview with the Murderbot author Martha Wells at Scientific American, covering personhood, neurodiversity, and how contemporary forms of AI compare with those depicted in her books.

For a simple way to create psychological distance from your thoughts and feelings, try this simple linguistic trick that was explained in a Psyche Idea by the social psychologist Ariana Orvell.


How I became more facially expressive

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A man in a hoodie on a phone walking past a wall with posters and graffiti-covered advertisements.

For most of my life I was not, I don’t think, a very facially expressive person. I’m ethnically Korean, and we tend not to move our faces too much (partly because it’s just the norm, along with a shared cultural concern that it encourages wrinkles). Even when telling a dramatic story, big expressions never felt natural to me, the way they seemed to be for others, and I’d wonder whether the restraint on my face was limiting my ability to connect with people.

It’s not an absurd idea. Research from 2024 concluded that being facially expressive is socially advantageous, suggesting it might lead others to like you more and see you as more agreeable. Another study found that expressiveness predicted how attractive people seemed to others.

My relationship to facial expressiveness started to change about three years ago, when I started learning American Sign Language. ASL is a language of the body. Individual signs provide a vocabulary, but much of the grammar and descriptive nuance comes from how you move your body and face. Suddenly, my stiff and muted facial expressions became a fluency issue, getting in the way of my legibility as a signer.

Signing ‘I like’, for example, communicates something far different when you do it with bright eyes and strong movements compared with signing it with a shrug and noncommittal expression. I’ve learned to make these distinctions clear across my face.

Over time, I’ve noticed a difference – I am more expressive now with everyone, not just when I’m signing. This, in turn, has made me feel more outgoing in conversation. I have a hunch that people now perceive me as friendlier.

Sometimes, when I’m feeling tired or shy, I’ll notice myself under-expressing, slipping back into my old ways. In those moments I remind myself that showing your feelings on your face is rewarding, and a way to invite greater understanding.

by Hannah Seo

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The Psyche Idea ‘Speaking a Different Language Can Change How You Act and Feel’ (2024) by Antonella Gismundi explores how changing from one spoken language to another can affect speakers’ sense of self.

I wrote more about learning ASL in The New York Times Magazine in the article ‘How Sign Language Can Help Us All Be Better Communicators’ (2025), describing how the physicality of this tactile language and its grammar butted up against the instinct for precise language.


NOTE TO SELFPOETRY

Existential crisis? Try reading Wordsworth

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Portrait painting of a man in a thoughtful pose with hand on head wearing a dark coat and white cravat against a dark background.

William Wordsworth was just a few years younger than I am now when he wrote the ageless poem ‘Ode on Intimations of Immortality’ (1807). He laments the falling away of his childhood as it departs ever further into memory:

It is not now as it hath been of yore;–
Turn wheresoe’er I may,
By night or day.
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

I too sense a receding past, as childish certainties are replaced by rather harrowing questions: what am I doing here? Is this it? What does my life mean? As I become increasingly aware of the finitude of my days, my desire for answers grows more urgent.

These sorts of questions can induce a sense of existential imbalance, even crisis. Two great American philosophers, William James and John Dewey, had crises of just this sort when their sense of purpose seemed to evaporate. And they both navigated their angst in a similar way.

For James, an episode of intense crisis was alleviated by poetry, when he read of: ‘Authentic tidings of invisible things … subsisting at the heart / Of endless agitation.’ It gave him a sense, he wrote, of freedom. For Dewey, relief came in the form of a full-blown epiphany, which he later gamely tried to articulate: ‘everything that’s here is here, and you can just lie back on it’. The poet who aided both philosophers? Wordsworth.

So I read his masterpiece, The Prelude (1850). He too describes finding moments of poetic lucidity that unburdened him of a certain human painfulness. When he climbed Mount Snowdon, he recognised – in a flash – that an impersonal God speaks through nature, that love is the fount of all that’s worthy, and that suffering is necessary for true creativity: pertinent answers to pertinent questions. Though mine still remain.

by Sam Dresser

FIND OUT MORE

On the Romantic (though German) generation of poets and thinkers, you could hardly do better than this Aeon Essay by Andrea Wulf, ‘The First Romantics’ (2022).

William James has been fortunate enough to find a brilliant expositor in John Kaag. His Aeon Essay ‘The Greatest Use of Life’ (2018) is a classic.


Snorkelling taught me stillness

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Photo of a flounder underwater, lying on a sandy seafloor with seaweed, showing its eyes pointing upward.

What comes to mind when you think of snorkelling? Tropical, crystalline waters teeming with flamboyant fish and vibrant corals? Or perhaps spectacular encounters with charismatic marine megafauna like dolphins or whale sharks? Last summer, I moved away from the coastline-spoilt Sydney, where I’d regularly encountered dolphins, whales and fish that looked like novelty running shoes. Arriving on Melbourne’s more muted shores, I felt bereft – until I discovered how much life this unfairly maligned bay holds.

Leafing through Day Trip Melbourne: 52 Nature Adventures (2023), an excellent guidebook on the natural spaces in and around Melbourne, I was surprised to discover a marine sanctuary a quick half-hour drive away. From the outside, it frankly looked a bit drab, dominated by muddy greens and browns – certainly no Great Barrier Reef. And when I first braved its frigid waters, it didn’t instantly pay off. While kelp and algae forests undulated gracefully in the currents, I couldn’t make out any of their residents until I stilled myself – no easy feat for a chronically impatient person. But just as I was about to give up, a metre below my hovering body, I spotted a flounder digging itself into the ocean floor. It was an enchanting, beige-on-beige spectacle, enough to entice me to return the next weekend, and the next. Over time, my attention to detail sharpened, revealing tiny seahorses, colourful nudibranchs, and the subtle changes in the underwater landscape throughout the seasons.

Even outside the water, the sanctuary has delivered on its name: I recall the rhythmic flapping of a banjo ray’s nasal flaps or the bay’s static crackling in my ears and a calm rushes over me, no matter how restless I feel. And as I wander the city’s parks and bustling centre, I tune in to the close attention the bay’s creatures are teaching me, noticing little details – miniature spectacles unfolding everywhere.

by Natalie Bühler

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If you aren’t close to a body of water, listening to and watching birds can provide a similar experience – check out the Psyche Guide ‘Learn to Tune into Birdsong – Respite and Fascination Await’ (2025) by David M Logue.

To discover how paying close attention in general can fill our lives with more awe, read the Psyche Guide ‘How to Experience More Wow’ (2021) by Summer Allen.

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