In his new book Chatter, Ethan Kross gives all due respect to the inner voice we hear as move about our daily lives. That voice, he reminds us, allows us to remember past experiences, reflect on our lives, and move toward our goals. We’re not quite human without it.
But we all know how easily it becomes annoying. Even destructive. We face a job interview—or the prospect of karaoke—and that inner voice revs up to an insane speed and volume. Then it just won’t shut up. It paralyzes us, shuts us down, makes us stutter and stammer. Or, because of what we heard at some point in our lives, it’s relentlessly critical and negative, so we pick at ourselves, constantly tearing down any good we’ve done or any progress we’ve made. Or it runs in an obsessive loop about some humiliation or loss, fueling our anger or sorrow until we can’t find any clear space to react to daily life with much clarity or grace.
In other words, that voice turns into chatter.
Kross, a research psychologist, has some interesting thoughts about chatter. Luckily, he has some scientifically based advice, too.
“Chatter,” Kross writes, “consists of the cyclical negative thoughts and emotions that turn our singular capacity for introspection into a curse rather a blessing.” So, exactly when does something so essential to our humanity become a curse?
Kross lays several types of such moments. One of the most dramatic is when athletes, who learn to perform complex motions automatically, suddenly become self-conscious about what they’re doing. If, for some reason, they try to do the action consciously, they mess up. Then, angry with themselves, they often mess it up again. A string of such moments can signal the abrupt end of a career. Although I vividly remember a hot, miserable afternoon playing golf when I was seventeen—every hole, the temperature rose, and I played worse—it’s more common for destructive chatter to arise in my head when I’m trying to write something difficult. Probably most of us know that moment: we need to solve a problem or write a memo, and if we’re to do so well, we need to marshal every bit of our brainpower. Yet a loop of distress running in the background makes us unable to plan, focus, or reason effectively. (As a not-so-random example, take as an example writing scholarly work that unfriendly colleagues will be judging for tenure.) As Kross says, chatter is a “marvelous saboteur.”
You probably knew this much already. So did I. (From so much experience of hearing unhelpful chatter in my head, I consider myself an untaught expert in it.) Kross’ research did surprise me, however, when he addressed the interpersonal aspects of chatter: what happens when people share their distress with friends, family, or co-workers. Venting, for example—which most of us need to do from time to time—turns out not to help in the long term. It’s comforting in the moment; it meets the immediate need for empathy and emotional support. After a while, though, it can exhaust our friends. And over time, it can harden into a story we wallow in.
For moving forward out of distress, we need not just emotional support but also cognitive support. (Kross cites recent research on public traumatic events for this.) We need wise friends to help us process bad experiences–to go beyond just rehearsing them–and quiet down the negative thoughts when they become overwhelming. Finding the right people to talk to when we’re upset isn’t always easy. Nor is it easy to support others effectively when they’re in distress. It’s delicate: people don’t always want anything beyond emotional support and can hear advice as impatient and condescending. (Often enough it is impatient and condescending.)
And the practical tools? Kross summarizes them in the final chapter.
One of his primary techniques for subduing the chatter in one’s head is one I’ve used for years: what he calls “distanced self-talk.” In other words, you talk to yourself as if you were talking to a good friend in the same situation. (Weirdly, just using “you” and your own name helps dramatically in calming the nervous system down. So, apparently, does re-imagining the event from the outside, as if watching yourself.) He also suggests broadening the experience (that is, giving it context in your life or in history, which normalizes it), reframing the experience as a challenge or an event that will one day be in the past, and acknowledging the way the body is responding as part of one’s human biology.
Even changing the environment can sometimes help. He suggests creating order around yourself, going out into green spaces, and seeking out awe-inspiring experiences. Amusingly, his evidence shows that rituals, lucky charms, and superstitions often work. (They function as placebos, but placebos have real effects on health. Apparently, placebos can work even when you know they’re placebos. The human mind is strange and wondrous.)
Chatter is real problem for lots of people, and Kross seems to be a nice guy. (Find his interview with Anderson Cooper if you want to hear him talk.) His book offers a sensible, scientifically based advice. What’s not to like about that?
Hi Nancy! Sounds like an interesting book. And I’ve always thought that placebos get a bad rap. Everything I’ve read about them backs up what you’ve said, that even when we know they are a placebo there is something about them that can help us. To me it reminds me that what and how we think about things has more power than we usually acknowledge. AND if we can learn to “train” our thinking we can often influence it towards our intentions. That includes learning to quiet the chatter. Did he mention meditation? To me that is one of the most powerful things we can do. But I do agree getting out in nature is very healing and calming. Thanks for sharing what you learned about his guy. I’ll have to look him up. ~Kathy
Chatter is my big nemesis. Sometimes it is helpful. Sometimes destructive. Like a weapon— it can protect you or harm you.