DeTrious

Theorist Kurt Goldstein was the first to coin the term “self-actualization” when he identified the ultimate motive to realize one’s own potential. This was the dominant motive or driving life force in that all other motives were merely products of it. However the phrase didn’t receive much light until Abraham Maslow later highlighted and expanded this idea in his hierarchy of needs theory, with self-actualization at the top. The term has become quite common in present day psychology with regard to the humanistic approach.

Maslow’s hierarchy of needs consists of five levels leading bottom-to-top. The base level of needs is physiological in nature, and consists of things needs for human survival. Food, water, sex, breathing, and homeostasis are some of the needs located in this level. The next level builds upon the previous one. So long as the physiological needs are met, one may begin meeting needs of safety. These include personal and financial security, health, and general well being. The third level is concerned with love and belonging. This includes family, friendship, sexual intimacy, and social or religious groups. Often times the need for love can outweigh the needs of lower levels. For instance, a person may engage in an intimate relationship with violent person, thus ignoring the obvious need for safety and personal welfare. The fourth level of needs is that of esteem. This consists of self-esteem, confidence, respect from others and personal achievement. The top and final level of needs is self-actualization. This level can only be reached if all lower levels of needs are not only satisfied, but also mastered entirely. This level embodies the realization of one’s individual potential.

To be self-actualized is to be fully independent and free from the power of society’s rules. When the needs of lower levels are satisfied we begin to pursue our destiny or calling in life. It is not possible for one to completely attain one’s full potential, so those who have mastered all other levels of needs are referred to as self-actualizing people. Maslow regards these people as spontaneous, creative, and able to perceive reality accurately without judgment. This acceptance of reality and recognition of one’s own abilities is, to Maslow, the ultimate purpose in life.

Needless to say, these people are extremely rare in the world, approximately two percent of the population. Although this need to become all one may be is innate and natural, a few things get in the way of that. As a humanistic psychologist, Maslow believed there to be nothing of value learned from non-human animals. The lower levels of needs are long standing and have evolved through time, and we can see the drives for food and survival in all life. The higher up we move in the hierarchy of needs, the more fragile the drives become. To conquer these instinctual needs is simply difficult for most, if not all people.

The other barrier for people is the fear of self-knowledge. To become a self-actualizing person, one must exercise a great deal of honesty in regards to oneself. Most people would rather ignore their own shortcomings than look them in the face. On the other hand, many people experience the Jonah complex and fear their own greatness and destiny. Many people, in Maslow’s opinion, fear success as much as failure and prevent themselves from self-actualizing in that way.

I can definitely see the importance of this theory in its time and understand why it is still prevalent today. Maslow, along with all humanistic psychologists, looked at the ideal subject rather than the flawed one. Instead of focusing on the problem Maslow turned his attention toward the solution. Albert Einstein, a perceived self-actualizing figure, was known to treat science in the same way.
The criticism that lies against the theory is also notable. Maslow interviewed only 100 people whom he predetermined to be self-actualizing. This doesn’t appear very thorough or scientific in nature.

However, it was rumored that Maslow intended to pave the way for others to continue his work in a more vigorous manner. There have been adaptation since the 70’s, including 3 more levels of needs not present in Maslow’s original hierarchy. Another criticism that begs to be recognized is that hierarchy itself. Many argue that the needs do not work in static levels building upon one another, but fluctuate and can be satisfied in any order. Regardless, the theory of self-actualization is still a popular concept today, serving a goal for many in the way they live their lives.

When I originally thought about self-actualizing people in society, I ran through the list of wise, creative, influential people of the ages. Deciding upon a present-day figure, I chose Dr. Wayne Dyer. To my surprise, Dr. Dyer was a student of Abraham Maslow. In 1980, Dyer wrote The Sky’s the Limit, which he dedicated to Maslow. It’s should be no surprise that Dyer chose to continue the work of his old professor and bring self-actualization into the 21st century. He’s the author of over 30 books and has appeared on thousands of television and radio shows. He has dedicated his life to helping others realize their own potential and live their lives to the fullest. He lives in the moment, demonstrates acceptance of all people including himself, displays creativity and innovation with his work, and lives in service to all humankind. He also looks at the ideal of human nature rather than the flaw, which coincides with his humanistic roots. In my opinion, Dr. Dyer is a poster boy for self-actualization, not to mention a model for us all.

In Dyer’s latest book, Excuses Begone, he touches on the very essence of the Jonah complex in how we fear our own success. According to his theory, we create excuses to prevent us from attaining our full potential and successfulness. In his book, he invites the reader to become extremely honest about his/her self without judgment. This type of service and guidance to others is a common theme in his work. Not only does he strive to live a fully aware life, he encourages all others to does so as well. It would seem in continuing the work of his previous professor that Dyer has dedicated his life to making that two percent a bit bigger.

My Instructor’s comments:
“Excellent paper, and good choice of self-actualizing model. I didn’t realize Wayne Dyer was a student of Maslow . . . the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Good work.”

Posted in: Scholastics, Spiritual Journey by Detrious /
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This was a very short writing response to a question posed by my cross-cultural psych professor. I’ll admit it’s a bit more pessimistic than I usually look at things. But what can I say, I was on a roll.

What does it mean to be an American? America symbolizes freedom. We as a country arose from the ashes of a tyrannous England. We were the heroes. What does it mean now? It means to be rich, fat and happy. It means he who dies with the most toys wins. He who carries the biggest stick rules the playground. We grew too fast for our own good. We care not for world peace, simply world dominance. This “Land of the Free” concept that carried our country to fruition is the very poison that bites our tongue today. We’ve gotten so used to getting our own way, we’ve lost what it means to be compassionate.
In the beginning America represented good triumphing over evil. We were hard-working farmers and tradesmen rebelling against the corrupt tyrant in the hills. These are the stories of glory our children are wooed with in school. But we’ve had too much of a good thing. We grew bigger and bolder, every war, every conflict, every victory made us more resilient to the suggestions of others.
Now here we stand, drowning in 40oz. buckets of soda and Double Whoppers with cheese, blinded by consumerism, and spitting on anyone who doesn’t share the same. Then we wonder why extreme religious groups want to bomb our cities and terrorize our citizens. We’re no longer the beacon of civilization, the light to guide all other countries of the world. We symbolize an insatiable child greedy for immediate satisfaction. We’re just another power-hungry country amidst the lot. Just another shark in the dirty water.

Posted in: Scholastics by Detrious /
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When your ethics professor brings Ancient Greek philosophy into discussion for the first time, your initial thought might be of a white-bearded senior citizen wearing a toga and notably teetering with theories of virtue and justice.  He emits a perpetual sense of curiosity and wonder while prying into the cracks of human nature.  If the universe were a clock, he would contemplate how it works, how it ticks, why it ticks, what time it tells and what that time means, or perhaps why the time it tells should matter to us anyway.  This image, regardless how generic, fits the description of one of the most admirable and controversial minds of history, the founding father of philosophy: Socrates.  Far from being just another name in a history book, Socrates’ views and methods of inquiry set the pace for future philosophers.  He was the Mohammed Ali, the William Shakespeare, or the Leonardo DaVinci of philosophy.

Socrates was born approximately 469 B.C.E. in a little village just outside of Athens.  The date is not exactly known by anyone, particularly because his birth was not nearly as paramount as his death.  As a child, he worked with his father Sophroniscus, a successful sculptor, until Socrates was sent to study with the philosophers Anaxagoras, Archelaus, and Parmenides of Elea.  He quickly found his bearings in philosophy, as these three wise men were but stepping stones for Socrates’ real potential.  But unlike these and many other pre-Socratic philosophers, Socrates refrained from attempting to explain the natural world around him, viewing it as an utterly hopeless endeavor.  Rather, he explored the universe hidden within a man’s soul (or psyche, as the Greeks would say), which he believed to be immortal and infinite.  That, as he would say, is the greater journey.

As things progressed for Socrates, Athens and Sparta grew to war with each other in 431 B.C.E.  Now in his late thirties, Socrates enlisted as a hoplite (private, third class) in the Peloponnesian War.  As a hoplite, or foot soldier, a man was required to provide his own armor and weapons for battle.  Socrates did just that.  With his body cast in iron armor, helmet, shield and sword, “Socrates distinguished himself for bravery at the siege of Potidaea, 431/30, and again at the defeat of Athenians by the Boeotians in 424.”

With no apparent need for comfort, he was renowned for his simplistic attire worn year-round.  He “not only looked like a philosopher, he dressed like one.  Winter and summer he invariably wore the same shabby tunic with a threadbare half-length cloak,” and went about barefoot regardless of weather conditions.  His comrades were perplexed by his relentless composure, as if he were a stone weathering a storm.  His ability to endure great personal hardship without complaint allowed Socrates to make quite a name for himself.

Despite his time spent smashing shields with Spartans, Socrates never held an occupation other than the one he regarded as the most important.  He was a philosopher, and unlike many sophists of his time, Socrates refused to receive payment from the students he taught.  Hence, he criticized the sophists for doing so.  He would never admit to being wise, much less a teacher.  It’s no surprise he never wrote anything down, he believed himself as ignorant as the next man.  After returning from war, Socrates was greeted by an old friend, Chaerephon, whom spoke of a visit to Delphi.  While there, Chaerephon found himself in the temple of Apollo. Present was an oracle to answer inquires from pilgrims of all kinds.  At the time, the Greeks believed some women to have greater spirituality than others, which made them sufficient mediums through whom the gods often spoke.  The oracles would undergo trance-like states, as if invoked with the very spirit of Apollo.  Curiously, Chaerephon asked of the oracle if there lived anyone of greater wisdom than Socrates, to which she answered that there was no one.  Puzzled upon hearing the response of the oracle, Socrates sought out to test the theory by questioning men with a reputation for wisdom.  Hence, he sought out a supposedly wise politician, and after interrogating his mind to pieces, Socrates “decided that he seemed wise to a lot of people, and especially to himself, but in fact he was not.”  He would not be so easily satisfied.  Socrates persistently engaged in conversation with anyone he encountered, testing each one and often making the man contradict himself.  His smart-aleck, sarcastic, and sometimes patronizing inquires often left his opponents unsettled and aggravated.  No doubt, he became notorious for provoking anger in the wisest of men.

His favorite spot to consort with (and irritate) Athenians was the Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios in the Agora, a “shady colonnade lined with stallholders selling wares.”  The Agora served as a marketplace for Athens, with dusty shops and stalls, and was later converted to town center to house government and political matters such as the people’s court.  With such a strange appearance, awkward attitude, no apparent concern for clothes or possessions, and a resounding condescension in his conversations, Socrates was a familiar figure on the streets of Athens.  He sustained that extent of his own genius was, as he would say, that he knew nothing except the fact of his own ignorance.  Much later he realized why the oracle recognized him as wise—”for he more than anyone else appreciated the limits of his own knowledge.”

Ultimately, the provoking system of questioning men left Socrates with few devoted followers and numerous enemies.  His followers were often wealthy young gentlemen, like Plato, whom were generous to offer an open ear to his relentless questioning and skepticism.  Without being bolted to a cross, he acted as an enlightened father-figure to the youth of Athens.  In 423, Socrates was ridiculed by the comical playwright Aristophanes.  In his play “The Clouds,” Aristophanes “portrayed Socrates as a master of pointless wordplay and verbal trickery. The head of an institute called ‘The Thinkery,’ he literally had his head in the clouds.”  This illustrated mockery of Socrates became quite popular in Athens, and had ultimately damaging effects on the community’s view of him.  Initially, Socrates didn’t see this as a threat, and viewed it more like a roast: close friends poking fun in a public fashion.

However, with far more enemies than friends, this depiction of Socrates was a loudspeaker to broadcast an already popular image of a threat in Athens.  In the year of 399 B.C.E., three meddlesome citizens, Anytus, Lycon, and Meletus, approached King Archon concerning the prosecution of Socrates, on the grounds of corrupting the youth and refusing to worship ancestral gods.  Upon this, Socrates was given four days to visit King Archon to state his defense and go to trial.  As a citizen of Athens, Socrates happily obliged.  Next, the trial was held over the course of a full day, in the court of the Agora of Athens.  The recorded indictment in the court of Athens stated:

“Meletus, son of Miletus, of the deme of Pitthus, indicts Socrates, son of Sophroniscus, of the deme of Alopecae, on his oath, to the following effect.  Socrates is guilty (i) of not worshipping the gods whom the State worships, but introducing new and unfamiliar religious practices; (ii) and, further, of corrupting the young.”

The jury consisted of 501 male citizens, and much unlike the courtrooms today, a majority vote was the rule rather than the exception.

During the hearing, Meletus presented his argument first.  In addition to the charges placed on Socrates, Meletus warned the jury of Socrates’ manipulative eloquence and rhetoric, claiming he would attempt to trick the jury with verbiage.  Given his chance to speak (arguments were short and timed with a water-clock), Socrates promptly replied to this warning by promising only truth, and asked to be forgiven in his lack of eloquent speech, for he wished not to mislead the jury.  He maintained that his life and actions in Athens were not unjust or impious in any way, but a good deed to Athens and its citizens.  Juries at the time were easily swayed by sob stories and suck-ups.  Yet, instead of catering to the jury by displaying a “pitiful appeal” or showing any remorse, he chose to lecture them on these discreditable practices of their court.  Socrates, while on trial for his life, condemned the procedures of the Athenian court and its jurors.  With ironclad principles in hand, Socrates smirked at Death from across the courtroom.

The time to vote had come, and the judges did so by dropping pebbles into earthenware jars.  Of the 501 judges, 280 voted for conviction, with a majority of barely sixty people.  Had thirty people decided to acquit instead of convict Socrates, he would have walked.  Athenian law required both Socrates and Meletus to suggest a sentence.  Meletus demanded the death penalty; however, Socrates refused to suggest anything.  He remained a rock, unmoved in his belief that he had done no wrong, and in fact, that he was a public benefactor to Athens.  As a just and deserving sentence, he thought, Socrates proposed he should be granted free meals at the expense of Athens, an honor offered to Olympian athletes.  He finally settled to pay a small fine to the state, which Plato and other supporters immediately multiplied thirty-fold.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough.  Socrates had infuriated the jury with his cavalier behavior and resilience to weep and wail for his life.  It was a Pyrrhic victory for Socrates; he refused to yield in mercy and signed his death warrant.  Without discussion, the jury voted on the sentence—the penalty was death by poison hemlock.  Socrates, upon hearing the verdict, remained undaunted.

Over the next month, he sat patiently in his cell awaiting his execution, as a man might wait for his coming vacation trip.  During this time, a faithful follower, Crito, came to Socrates pleading with him to escape imprisonment and flee Athens.  Crito had arranged the escape and would pay for all bribes necessary.  Money was of no concern.  However, Socrates saw no reason to leave the city in which he lived all his life.  He took no evasive actions, even after being sentenced to death.  As a citizen of Athens, he was bound by her laws.  He personified the law in Athens, portraying for Crito what the law would say to this evasion, being Socrates faithfully lived by Athenian law all his life.  During the four days given to approach King Archon and the time before the actual trial, Socrates had the opportunity to leave Athens and avoid conviction.  This alternative would have been happily accepted, if not advised.  Yet, even in the absence of guilt, Socrates embraced his fate, and “he looked forward to meeting the immortals.”

After a month’s time, Socrates’ execution was to take place.  He was required to drink a toxic mixture extracted from hemlock, a poisonous plant in the parsley family.  The plants toxins directly target the central nervous system, calmly shutting down nerve endings, numbing the body into paralysis, and ultimately falling into a fatal sleep.  As the cup was handed to Socrates, he “received it quite cheerfully…without a tremor, without any change in colour or expression.”    Surrounded by friends and followers, all eyes were fixed upon him.  As if he were toasting with friends, he raised the cup to his lips, and calmly, without distaste, gulped down the poison in a single shot.  At this sight, the room began to weep and sob broken-heartedly.  The deed was done.  Yet Socrates, as he realized this, replied sternly: “My friends, what a way to behave…Calm yourselves and be brave.”  He walked around his cell lethargically, until his feet became heavy, dragging behind him like stones attached to his legs.  He then laid down, having been over-encumbered by the effects of the hemlock.  Sleepily, he suggested to Crito that he sacrifice a cock to the god Asclepius, to ensure the well-being of his soul in the after-life.

“It shall be done,” Crito responded, “are you sure that there is nothing else?”  To this, Socrates gave no reply.  His body remained still, cast in iron and statuesque, and Crito closed his eyes and mouth.  “This…was the end of our comrade, who as…of all those whom we know the bravest and also the wisest and most just.”  His execution profoundly changed ideas about heroism, primarily because his death was due to his refusal of abandoning his own principles.

Posted in: Scholastics by Detrious /
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My father was my role model. My father was a great man. My father was a drug addict. Some would say my choice in heroes is poorly made, given the options available to me. But I have witnessed no better. He was not a saint, but I choose him for his flaws as well as his strengths. My father was an addict, recovering and relapsing, yet still an amazing person. He was one whose character I respected and admired, omitting only the parts I didn’t agree with. He was my tragic hero, my invincible warrior with a vulnerable heel.

My father was a polymath, a genius, a renaissance man, and the DaVinci of my life. In a world of drummers, he marched to his own jazz band. For him, the voyage of learning was far greater than the act of knowing. There was always something more to know, something he could learn, some chunk of genius he could sink into. He took a particular interest in how things worked, and nibbled on details of ancient civilizations and wonders of the world. He tinkered with puzzles, planted lush gardens, and refinished furniture. My father prepared meals fit for a king. Each sauce he made had a story to tell of how, who, where and when. Every meal came with its own history lesson. He was an artist with a side of perfectionist. Everything he touched had to be one hundred percent, nothing half-assed. His mind was a labyrinth, complete with mystery, dark corners, and dead ends.

From facial features to foods we like, my father and I are almost identical. The act of using drugs is the only trait he and I didn’t share. I never needed a doctor to tell me that drug addiction could be hereditary. My father had eight brothers and sisters, and each one hosted a severe drug addiction at one time or another. All were intelligent individuals, all struggled with addiction, and all suffered from depression. Half of them made suicide attempts, and one succeeded. I suppose it’s a little consolation to say it was in our blood, as if they had less responsibility for their actions.

In times of relapse, my father hazily glided through life gorging on a buffet of narcotics, his little roller coaster of substance abuse. Cocaine was his preference, or more accurately, his weakness. It was the monkey on his back, as he so eloquently put it, the one he struggled so hopelessly to shake off. Cocaine was my father’s Kryptonite, the soldier’s arrow embedded in his tender heel.

The addiction was always a secret; he never openly spoke of drugs to me. Everything was in code, and the nicknames were abundant: crack, coke, crystal, blow, booger sugar, freebase, nose candy, happy dust, white lady, white horse, snort, snow, speedball, stardust, yayo, and my particular favorite, the stuff. Stuff was what needed to be picked up from the store when my sister and I couldn’t tag along. Stuff was why my family moved five times before junior high school. Stuff kept my father from calling me for months at a time.

My father’s addiction was a mix between business and pleasure, although I question how much of it was actually enjoyed. Contrary to the luminescence Hollywood gives drug dealers, there was nothing glamorous about selling dope. My father wasn’t Scarface rolling around in money. The family barely made ends meet, if they could find the ends at all. New faces frequented my house daily, and I met a new “cousin” or “uncle” once a week. It was normal for me. Italians families are like that; everyone was family, no matter who the hell you were.

Often I awoke late at night at my parents’ fighting, mostly about money or missing stuff. He’d usually punch a hole in the wall, curse and yell at my mother while she sobbed in the kitchen. Occasionally my dad would disappear for a few days, breaking away for rehab or whatever. My mother’s shakes and sniffles would keep me awake at night. My sister and I would hug her, and she’d cry more, realizing we were listening the whole time.

In place of pearls of wisdom, my father taught me history. I learned about marijuana, the different types, how to grow it and use it. I knew that Coca-Cola (at one point in time) actually had cocaine in it, and the recipe was changed in the early 1900′s. Acid was a hallucinogen, and there were good trips and bad ones. He taught me the health benefits of using natural drugs instead of man made varieties. I knew about the Navajo tribe, and how their use of peyote was righteous and sacred (or how to cut the cactus and extract the mescaline). I knew heroin’s chemical compound broke down to morphine before I could multiply. His addiction for knowledge quickly became my own. I learned everything I could about drugs. Absorbing every detail meticulously like some twisted obsession, I studied the evil that was killing my father. These were my pearls of wisdom.

Role model or not, as a dad he was anything but perfect. I didn’t come with a manual, and the hospital was fresh out of father-son parenting books the day I was born. He and I talked a lot, but we never really bonded the way I would see in the movies. We never played catch. He didn’t help me with my homework. He didn’t rouse me at five o’clock in the morning to take me fishing. He never shared a beer with me while we talked about girls. I missed out on those experiences, and in their place I got my pearls of wisdom, a Broadway play of trial and error.

Although addictive personalities swarmed through my family tree, alcohol never posed a problem with my father. He could drink a fish under the table and solve a Rubik’s cube simultaneously. A few glasses of Christian Brother’s Brandy and my dad became the most lovable sonofabitch on the planet. He’d sit at the kitchen table sipping generously, gabbing on about politics and how we kids took everything for granted. “You shouldn’t take everything for face value, ya know. You’re smarter than that.” His slushy words and lubricated chuckles seemed to lighten the gloom of our lives. It quickly became a very welcome substitute for his substance abuse. Anything that left him coherent and conscious of my existence was accepted in my eyes, if not openly encouraged.

Marijuana fell into a slightly similar category of substitutes. With weed he was harmless, tranquilized and lethargic, sitting there glassy-eyed in his tattered recliner watching civil war movies, completely robbed of urgency or anger. He was peaceful then, serene, and everybody smiled on days like that.

When sobriety occasionally stopped by, my father and I would sit and talk for hours as if he had been saving his words for weeks. He’d tell me I was the reason he would stay clean this time, or that his children were his anti-drug. That concept always stayed with me. I made initiative to call him often, constantly reminding him of his family. I had a responsibility to keep him focused, to keep him from lingering too far with temptations and chemical happiness. If I talked to him every week, if my life was good and he was a part of that, then he’d have no reason to go back. We were Daedalus and Icarus, but with opposite roles. I, the son, reminded my father of the dangers in flying so high with fake wings. My advice was sporadically successful.

My father taught me how to win in life, and showed me how to lose. He was a man of character, pride, and uncompromising spirit. He was a man of faults, flaws and imperfections. He was my tragic hero, the fallen angel climbing out of the mud, painfully realizing the price of free will. He taught me how to survive by exploiting his weakness. He reminded me of my “potential,” and how I was going to make a difference in the world. Like my father, I too have been dipped in the river Styx, and must always keep watch for falling arrows.

Posted in: Scholastics by Detrious /
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Hand-eye coordination is one of those essential things to develop as a human being. As hunter-gatherers, this skill comes in handy all too often. When something is flying toward your face, perhaps a nice chunky rock, the common reaction might be to close your eyes and make a stupid face. But the adept, tool-using caveman knows he can catch that rock. Now if he finds two more…he can be the first stone-age juggler! The cavewomen will be so impressed, right?
Okay, so juggling doesn’t have a whole lot of purpose in everyday lives aside from showing off a bit. Or does it? The age old idea that our brains are static and do not change (aside from disease and deterioration) is being replaced with a better one: juggling can increase your brain’s size. Recent studies have shown learning how to juggle can cause positive changes in the motor detection areas of the brain within seven days (Bell, 2008). This not only effects grey matter, but white matter as well. This area of the brain is concerned more with sending and receiving information rather than processing. If gray matter consists of computers, than white matter acts as a bundle of Ethernet cables creating a network throughout your mind. Juggling, then, is the IT guy. The act of juggling causes our brains to condition our wiring in white matter, making the information transfer faster and more efficient (Paddock, 2009).
Juggling is a complicated exercise, employing the visual cortex and motor cortex simultaneously. It’s easy to see how the brain would accommodate for this activity, given enough time practicing. This is the first sign of a training exercise having a structural impact on white matter (Paddock, 2009). After juggling, researchers found an increase in anisotropy (using diffusion tensor imaging with MRI’s) around the intrapariental sulcus (Scholz, 2009). However, studies appear to be hindered by technology, which seems to be the case throughout history. MRI only gives us so much information and the brain is a dense little universe we’re trying to explore. Researchers noted their inability to determine what is changing in the brain, whether the cells are growing in size, generating more neurons, generating more glial cells, or just increasing levels of fluid in those areas (Bell, 2008). Time and technology will hopefully tell as these are small changes, but changes nonetheless. With eyes on future, continued research could lead to better treatments for diseases such a multiple sclerosis, not to mention a better understanding of the learning abilities of the brain.
Coincidentally, the newly embraced idea of neuroplasticity in the brain comes at a cost: one must continue using these areas of the brain. Just like the muscles in your body, your brain needs exercise. If you don’t use it, you lose it. Quick expansions in gray matter soon return to normal after a few months without juggling practice. Also, greater increases are recorded at the beginning stages of learning to juggle, and plateau after that (Bell, 2008). Similarly in dieting, the brain doesn’t respond to a quick fix; one must keep it up. Otherwise you’re back to lose-fitting jeans, or more accurately, easier math problems.
Works Cited
Bell, Vaughan (2008). Juggling can change brain structure within 7 days. Mind Hacks. Retrieved November 2, 2009 from http://www.mindhacks.com/blog/2008/07/juggling_can_change_.html
Scholz, Jan (2009). Training induces changes in white-matter. Retrieved November 2, 2009 from http://www.nature.com/neuro/journal/v12/n11/abs/nn.2412.html
Paddock, Catharine (2009). Juggling boosts brain connections. Medical News Today. Retrieved November 2, 2009 from http://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/167052.php

Posted in: Scholastics by Detrious /
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