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The conversation women aren’t having with their doctors about menopause and memory loss isn’t just overdue — it may be one of the most important health decisions of their fifties

Most conversations about menopause, to the extent they happen in a clinical setting at all, start and end at the same set of symptoms. Hot flashes. Night sweats. Sleep disruption. Mood changes. These are real, they are common, and for many women they are severe enough to significantly affect quality of life. But they are also, in an important sense, the surface of a much deeper physiological story — one that involves the brain directly, in structural and functional terms, and one that most women are not hearing from the people who are supposed to be helping them navigate this transition.

The cognitive dimension of menopause — the memory changes, the concentration difficulties, the particular kind of mental fatigue that many women in their late forties and fifties describe — has been systematically underrepresented in clinical guidance and research funding for decades. That is beginning to change, but the change is arriving slowly, and the practical consequence is that women are frequently left to interpret their own symptoms without context, without a framework, and without information about interventions whose effectiveness is, at this point, reasonably well supported by evidence — provided the timing is right. The timing, it turns out, is everything.

What the brain actually goes through

A 2026 review published in The Lancet titled “Advances in understanding of cognitive symptoms during menopause” brought together the current state of evidence on what happens neurologically during this transition, and the picture it presents is more specific and more structural than the popular understanding of menopause typically includes. Estrogen is not merely a reproductive hormone. It has well-documented neuroprotective effects — it supports synaptic plasticity, promotes the production of acetylcholine (a neurotransmitter central to memory and attention), and appears to modulate the brain’s inflammatory response. When estrogen levels decline during the menopausal transition, the brain is not simply losing a hormone. It is losing a system of support it has relied on throughout adulthood.

The structural consequences are measurable. Research cited by the Menopause Society has documented reductions in gray matter volume in the frontal and temporal cortex and in the hippocampus — precisely the regions involved in memory formation, executive function, and the ability to hold and manipulate information in working memory. These reductions are not subtle on a population level. They are consistent enough across studies to be considered a feature of the menopausal transition rather than an incidental variation. What this means, practically, is that the brain fog many women report during perimenopause is not psychosomatic, not a side effect of stress or poor sleep alone, and not a symptom that politely awaits acknowledgment before making itself felt in daily life.

The cognitive symptoms women are experiencing but not naming

There is a particular kind of suffering that comes from experiencing symptoms you cannot name, in a domain where your reports have historically been met with skepticism or normalization. Many women going through perimenopause describe a cognitive texture that is difficult to articulate precisely because it is diffuse — not a single dramatic deficit but a constellation of subtle difficulties that compound over time. Forgetfulness that feels qualitatively different from ordinary absentmindedness. Difficulty holding a thread of thought through a complex task. A kind of mental friction that wasn’t there before, an extra effort required to do things that previously felt automatic.

The research vocabulary for this cluster of experiences covers attention, working memory, verbal memory, and executive function — all the cognitive capacities associated with the prefrontal and hippocampal regions where gray matter reductions have been documented. The SWAN (Study of Women’s Health Across the Nation) cohort, which has followed women longitudinally through the menopausal transition for over two decades, found that cognitive performance declines measurably during perimenopause. Crucially, the SWAN data also suggests that this decline may not be permanent — there is evidence of possible reversal, or at least stabilization, in the postmenopausal phase as the brain adapts to its new hormonal environment.

That potential reversal is important information. It means that what women experience during perimenopause is not necessarily a preview of permanent cognitive decline but a transition period with its own arc — one that the brain navigates, imperfectly and with varying degrees of difficulty, toward a new equilibrium. The problem is that understanding this arc, and making informed decisions about whether and how to intervene, requires a conversation that is not yet happening routinely in clinical settings.

The timing problem with hormone therapy

The most consequential piece of information in the current evidence base — and the one most likely to remain unshared in a routine clinical visit — is that the effectiveness of hormone therapy for cognitive outcomes is not uniform across time. It depends critically on when treatment is initiated, and the window during which initiation appears most beneficial is the same window during which most women are still actively navigating the transition and most actively need support.

An observational study published in Neurology found that estrogen therapy initiated in midlife — during or shortly after the menopausal transition — was associated with improved verbal memory. The same intervention initiated later in life showed no such association. This is not a minor calibration note. It is a fundamental characteristic of how the intervention works, and it means that a woman who waits until her sixties to discuss hormone therapy with a doctor, perhaps because the cognitive conversation never happened in her fifties, may have missed the window during which that therapy could have meaningfully supported brain health.

This timing dependence is sometimes described as the “critical window hypothesis” — the idea that the neuroprotective effects of estrogen are most available when the brain’s estrogen receptors are still responsive and the menopausal transition is still underway. The research supporting this hypothesis is actively contested. A 2025 meta-analysis in The Lancet Healthy Longevity, applying stricter risk-of-bias criteria, found no evidence for a cognitive benefit tied to the timing of hormone therapy. Other analyses, including a Weill Cornell meta-analysis of 34 randomised trials, found timing-dependent effects on verbal memory for certain formulations. The broad signal is present in parts of the literature, but it is not yet settled science. Individual variation, hormonal formulation, and interaction with other risk factors all affect outcomes in ways the research has not fully resolved.

But the broad signal — that earlier intervention is more effective than later intervention for cognitive outcomes — is consistent enough that leading researchers have begun calling explicitly for earlier, more routine discussion of these options with patients.

The UK Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists identified the cognitive effects of menopause as one of its top ten research priorities — a designation that reflects both the seriousness of the issue and the relative thinness of the clinical infrastructure currently built around it.

Why the conversation isn’t happening

The reasons the conversation isn’t happening are multiple, and none of them are particularly flattering to the systems involved. Menopause has historically been undertreated and under-researched relative to its prevalence and impact. The WHI study of the early 2000s, which raised concerns about hormone therapy and was widely interpreted as a broad warning against it, cast a long shadow over the field — even though subsequent analysis substantially revised that picture, particularly for younger women and for the specific question of cognitive outcomes. That shadow has been slow to lift from clinical practice.

There is also the matter of consultation time. A standard appointment is not well structured for a conversation that requires explaining neurological mechanisms, walking through evidence about timing and formulation, discussing individual risk factors, and arriving at a genuinely informed decision. Many women do not bring the cognitive symptoms up, partly because they are uncertain whether they are real or significant, partly because they have absorbed the cultural message that menopause is something to be endured rather than managed. And many clinicians, even those who are receptive, do not ask — either because it falls outside their training, because they are uncertain of the evidence, or simply because the appointment ends before the topic arises.

What changes if the conversation does happen — earlier, more routinely, and with better information on both sides — is that women can make decisions about their own brain health during the window in which those decisions carry the most weight. Not all women will want or be appropriate candidates for hormone therapy. There are legitimate individual differences in risk profile, personal preference, and clinical judgment that should shape those decisions. But the decision cannot be made well if the information never arrives. The current situation, in which timing matters enormously and most women are not told that timing matters, is not an acceptable equilibrium — and the evidence base is strong enough that calling for more routine clinical discussion is not premature.

The post The conversation women aren’t having with their doctors about menopause and memory loss isn’t just overdue — it may be one of the most important health decisions of their fifties appeared first on Space Daily.

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Laughter activates many of the same brain reward circuits as food and sex, and a 2025 study finds it measurably lowers cortisol and may restructure how the developing brain builds resilience to stress

We tend to think of laughter as a social performance — the audible signal that something is funny, the punctuation on a joke well received. Even people who study emotion professionally can drift into treating laughter as essentially expressive, as the outward visible surface of an inner state. But a growing body of research is pushing back against that framing, and the pushback is coming from neuroscience rather than philosophy.

Laughter, it turns out, is a biological event with measurable consequences for the hormonal environment, the neural reward system, and — in the case of children — the actual architecture of the developing brain. It is not merely the sign of a good mood. It is, in important respects, a driver of one.

A 2026 book, “The Brain Loves to Laugh” by Dr. Jacqueline Harding, an early childhood researcher at Middlesex University, published by Routledge, brought a degree of biological specificity to this question that has rarely been attempted at the developmental level. Harding’s analysis synthesized research across neuroscience, developmental psychology, and endocrinology to ask what laughter does to the brain — not in the abstract, but in the physiological and structural sense, and particularly during the period when the brain is most susceptible to experience-dependent shaping. The findings complicate the idea that laughter is something that happens to children. They suggest it is something that happens inside them, at a level that shapes who they become.

The reward circuit connection

One of the more striking findings in Harding’s analysis is the mapping of laughter onto the brain’s mesolimbic reward system — the same distributed network activated by food, sex, social bonding, and other stimuli that evolution has decided are worth pursuing. This is not a metaphor about how laughter feels good. It is a description of neural architecture. The experience of genuine laughter recruits the ventral tegmental area, the nucleus accumbens, and the prefrontal cortex in patterns that overlap substantially with other primary rewards. Dopamine is released. So are serotonin, endorphins, and oxytocin.

What this means, from a developmental standpoint, is that laughter is not a secondary or incidental feature of a child’s emotional life. It is wired into the same motivational circuitry that drives learning, attachment, and the pursuit of pleasure more broadly. The child who laughs is not simply reacting — their brain is generating the same neurochemical conditions associated with reward and approach behavior that are foundational to motivated engagement with the world.

This helps explain something that developmental researchers have noted for decades but struggled to fully account for: the surprising intensity with which young children seek out the experiences and people that make them laugh, long before they have language to explain why.

It also reframes laughter’s developmental timeline. Laughter precedes speech — children laugh reliably before they produce words, and the emergence of shared laughter between caregiver and infant is one of the earliest markers of social bonding. The fact that this emerges so early, and that it maps onto the same reward circuitry as other primary biological drives, is not coincidental. It appears to be how the social brain bootstraps itself into function before language is available to do the same work.

What the cortisol data shows

Beyond the reward system, Harding’s analysis is specific about what laughter does to the hormonal environment — and the finding that has attracted the most attention is the effect on cortisol. Cortisol is the primary stress hormone in humans, produced by the adrenal glands in response to perceived threat or demand. It is not inherently harmful — cortisol plays important roles in metabolism, immune function, and alertness — but chronically elevated cortisol is associated with a wide range of negative outcomes, and in developing children, sustained cortisol elevation has particular consequences for neural development that research has tracked with increasing precision.

Laughter, Harding’s analysis found, physically lowers circulating cortisol. This is not a claim about mood or subjective wellbeing. It is a measurable change in the hormonal environment, and it comes paired with a reduction in epinephrine — the other major stress-response neurochemical — while simultaneously raising the neurochemicals associated with positive affect and social connection. A systematic review and meta-analysis of interventional studies on spontaneous laughter and cortisol levels provides convergent evidence for this effect across populations, and a 2025 meta-analysis of laughter interventions in children found large effect sizes for anxiety reduction in pediatric patients — specifically in hospital settings using structured clown-therapy interventions. This suggests the hormonal mechanism has meaningful real-world consequences, not just lab-based correlates.

The phrase “physically lowers cortisol” is worth pausing on. It is not unusual, in popular writing about emotional states, to describe psychological experiences in language that implies biological reality without committing to it. The research here does commit. When a person laughs — genuinely laughs, not a performed social laugh but the involuntary kind — the body produces less of the hormone associated with threat-response and more of the hormones associated with approach, bonding, and reward. That is a biological event. Its consequences are biological consequences.

How this restructures the developing brain

The most significant dimension of Harding’s analysis, from a developmental perspective, is the argument about what repeated emotional experiences do to the architecture of a young brain. Early emotional states, she argues, do not merely pass through a child — they become embedded in its neural structure. The brain develops in the context of its dominant emotional environment, and the circuits that are most frequently activated during early childhood are the circuits that develop most robustly. This is a version of the Hebbian principle — neurons that fire together wire together — applied to affective experience at scale.

The implication is that a child who experiences frequent shared laughter is not simply having more pleasant moments than a child who does not. They are developing, gradually and through repetition, a brain that has built stronger infrastructure around the states associated with those moments: reward, safety, approach, connection, the resolution of playful tension. The prefrontal network that laughter activates — and that humor, as a cognitively demanding activity requiring the resolution of conflicting ideas, exercises with particular intensity — is the same network involved in executive function, emotional regulation, and the management of stress.

This last point about humor as cognitive work is underappreciated. Harding’s analysis notes that humor is genuinely demanding — understanding a joke requires holding two incompatible frameworks simultaneously and resolving the incongruity between them. That is not a trivial cognitive task, and doing it repeatedly appears to exercise the neural machinery of flexible thinking in ways that have downstream effects on cognitive and emotional resilience. The child who laughs a lot is, in this account, also a child whose brain is being worked in particular ways that matter for development.

The co-regulation dimension of this is equally important. When an adult and child share laughter — when the adult’s face and voice and body communicate delight, and the child’s nervous system responds to that signal — what is happening is not merely bonding in the social sense. Research into parent-child co-regulation during positive shared experiences — including play and laughter — has found measurable physiological coordination between caregiver and child, including heart rate alignment and coordinated brain activity, suggesting their nervous systems are actively attuned during these moments.

The child’s limbic system is, through that alignment, acquiring a working model for what regulated emotional states look like and feel like — a model it can eventually deploy independently. Co-regulation through shared joy is, in this sense, a form of instruction in self-regulation that requires no words and no deliberate teaching.

What remains when the laughter fades

There is a temptation, when encountering research like this, to reach immediately for prescriptions — to convert findings about laughter and neural development into a program, a set of recommendations, a checklist of things parents should do more often. That is probably not the most useful response to what the science is showing. The research does not describe a deficit to be corrected. It describes a mechanism that is already operating in most children’s lives, in the ordinary texture of play and silliness and shared delight that tends to happen naturally when adults and children spend time together without too much pressure on either side.

What the neuroscience adds is a more accurate description of what is actually happening during those moments. The child who collapses in giggles is not simply expressing happiness. Their hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis is producing less cortisol. Their reward network is receiving a signal that the present moment is safe and worth approaching. Their prefrontal circuitry is being exercised in ways that contribute to cognitive flexibility and emotional regulation.

Their nervous system is synchronizing with the nervous system of the person laughing with them, and that synchrony is building a model they will carry forward. None of this requires anything more complicated than what most adults, at their best, already bring to the children in their lives. The science is not an instruction manual. It is an explanation for something that was already working.

The post Laughter activates many of the same brain reward circuits as food and sex, and a 2025 study finds it measurably lowers cortisol and may restructure how the developing brain builds resilience to stress appeared first on Space Daily.

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Scientists Locked ‘Virtual’ Astronauts in a Moon Base with Equipment Failures, Moonquakes and Extreme Radiation. Here’s What Happened.


When George Mason University‌‌ scientists ran thousands of virtual simulations looking for the best ways to optimize group dynamics in future Moon bases, including NASA’s planned ARTEMIS mission base facility, they found that smaller crew sizes and longer mission durations adversely affected task completion, whereas shorter missions and frequent astronaut replacement mitigated challenges.

The Moon base simulations also found that extreme events such as moonquakes and radiation exposure increased group stress, resulting in what they described as an “emotional penalty that is applied multiplicatively” to the likelihood that the entire crew would execute the task.

Although the team behind the model reported no scenarios that resulted in a complete Lord of the Flies-level breakdown of crew cooperation, they said that their simulations explored the internal human and external environmental factors “that are more likely to lead to sustainable versus catastrophic scenarios on the Moon in the next couple of decades,” including planned NASA missions to the Moon and Mars as well as the burgeoning commercial space market.

Virtual Astronauts Evaluated on Task Performance

In a published paper detailing the study’s results, the George Mason University team behind the Lunar Base simulations noted that recent technological advancements and the emergence of the burgeoning commercial space industry “have led to substantial leaps in planning for future space missions.”

“The largest planned upcoming mission is the Artemis program, supported by NASA and the international Artemis Accords, which aims to create the first permanent human presence on the Moon and in deep space (the Moon to Mars architecture),” the study authors explain.

While engineers will test and plan for potential equipment failures, the authors also note that the success of any future base on the Moon, Mars, in orbit, or elsewhere in deep space will depend on how well the astronauts interact with each other in an extremely challenging environment. This gap led researcher Raymond Vera and colleagues at George Mason University in Virginia, USA, to develop their agent-based module (ABM) simulation tool for the Lunar Base.

According to the study authors, the model’s main objective is to “simulate a theoretical lunar mission environment” including the primary surface habitat (Moon Base) and the orbiting Gateway station, “for astronauts to perform relevant space mission tasks.”

“The successful completion of the mission is measured by task performance, which is significantly influenced by cognitive skills, psychological state, and interpersonal relationships, in addition to the exogenous factors of the extreme environment,” they explain.

Different Personality Types and Skillsets Improve Simulation Accuracy

To make their simulated astronauts as realistic as possible, the George Mason team said they randomly assigned each one with “DISC personality types” such as dominant, influential, steady, or conscientious. The virtual astronauts were also given different professional skills, physical health parameters, and what the researchers termed “other characteristics.”

With their virtual astronauts programmed and ready, Vera’s team had to create the perfect simulated Moon base, complete with task assignments, base operations requirements, and environmental factors gleaned from previous isolated, extreme environment missions and simulations.

moon base lunar base
Lunar Base ABM input-output flow diagram. This diagram illustrates the mapping between exogenous parameters (left, in blue), endogenous astronaut and task-related parameters (top and bottom, in red), and the model output indicators (right, in green). The flow of information represents how simulation inputs are processed to generate key performance metrics such as TLX score, coping capacity, tension, and task completion. Image Credit: Vera et al., 2026, PLOS One, CC0 (https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/)

“Drawing from the literature on proxy environments (extreme environments on Earth (i.e., Antarctica), space analogs, and past space missions), and on theories of small group complex systems and team science, we created a highly probable representation or simulation of expected social interactions between astronauts, and astronauts with the lunar environment for the Artemis program (i.e., Artemis IV (Lunar Gateway) and Artemis V (Lunar South Pole Base)),” the study authors explained.

Like real humans, the virtual astronauts learned to adapt over time in response to interpersonal dynamics and environmental conditions, becoming more efficient at performing routine tasks. These improvements resulted in the virtual astronauts advancing in skill level over time.

Because the Moon, Mars, and space itself are all challenging environments for humans, Vera’s team periodically introduced ‘extreme’ events into the virtual astronauts’ daily routine. In more basic scenarios, the astronauts had to work together to overcome broken equipment or a malfunctioning rover. During more challenging conditions, the virtual astronauts inhabiting the simulated Lunar Base were exposed to moonquakes and “intense radiation events.”

Thousands of Simulations Including Moonquakes and Radiation Events

First, the researchers noted that “Monte Carlo simulations consisting of tens of thousands of iterations show trade-offs in productivity and psychological well-being.” For example, a subset of the thousands of Moon base simulations involving more mundane tasks was mostly successful, with compatible personality and skill types working together to complete tasks accurately and in a timely fashion.

However, as mission duration became extended, incidents of task failure and virtual astronaut stress increased. To address this issue, a statement announcing the findings noted that “increasing crew size helped to optimize advancement in professional skill levels and boosted chances of teamwork-enhancing personality compatibility.” In short, adding more virtual astronauts with more diverse skills and personality types to the existing group of overworked or overtasked astronauts helped to stabilize the base’s operations.

To evaluate psychological health, the model evaluated coping capacity (the astronaut’s internal emotional state), and group tension defined by the researchers as “interpersonal strain.”

“These factors change over time based on personality interactions, environmental stressors, and unexpected activities,” the researchers explained.

For example, while increased crew size and improved virtual astronaut skills “boosted chances of teamwork-enhancing personality compatibility,” the team found that factors such as “longer mission duration and lack of astronaut replacements” introduced unnecessary psychological stress that “decreased performance on mission tasks” across the entire crew.

When the virtual astronauts experienced more extreme events, such as simulated radiation or moonquakes, they showed increased signs of stress, including reduced coping capacity and higher tension levels. The researchers said this convergence of stresses and reduced coping capacity can add up over time, resulting in an “emotional penalty that is applied multiplicatively to the task execution likelihood.”

“Scenario analysis shows that increasing crew size results in optimizing skill specialization and increasing the chance of teamwork personality compatibility,” the team explained in their findings. “In contrast, prolonged mission durations, higher learning rates, and the absence of astronaut replacements introduces additional psychological stress resulting in a decrease of task performance.”

Human Factors Increasingly Important in the Commercial 21st Century Space Age

The researchers suggested that future efforts could include examining the physiological effects of extended space missions and communication delays with Earth, which can reach several minutes depending on the base’s distance.

When discussing the implications of their work, the team said that using simulations like theirs “demonstrates how agent-based modeling can help mission planners evaluate operational resilience, team structures, and workload dynamics in support of future lunar exploration.”

“As humanity prepares to establish a permanent presence on the Moon, understanding human behavior becomes just as important as understanding engineering systems,” the study authors conclude. “Although human psychology and team science have been crucial for the success of past space missions, from the Apollo program and Skylab to the Space Shuttle (STS) and the International Space Station (ISS), human factors and social behavior will become even more ubiquitous and essential for space missions in the new era of commercial space.”

The study “Lunar base agent-based modeling – A benchmark for simulating crewed space missions” was published in PLOS One.

 Christopher Plain is a Science Fiction and Fantasy novelist and Head Science Writer at The Debrief. Follow and connect with him on X, learn about his books at plainfiction.com, or email him directly at christopher@thedebrief.org.

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Cannabis, Not Psychedelics, Is the Most Common Microdosing Drug in the U.S.


Microdosing is typically associated with psychedelics, specifically small, sub-perceptual doses of psilocybin or LSD that some people use to improve focus, mood, or anxiety. However, a new national survey upends this common association.

A research team at the University of California, San Diego, found that cannabis is the most widely microdosed substance in the United States. An estimated 24 million adults reported having microdosed cannabis at some point, nearly double the number who reported microdosing psilocybin or LSD. The study, published in the American Journal of Preventive Medicine, is among the first to examine national patterns of microdosing across multiple substances.

“Microdosing is often discussed in the context of psychedelics like psilocybin or LSD, but what surprised us most was that cannabis microdosing was almost twice as common,” said Kevin Yang, MD, a resident physician in the Department of Psychiatry at UC San Diego School of Medicine and first author of the study. “That suggests conversations about microdosing may be overlooking a large group of people who are using small amounts of cannabis in similar ways.”

Survey Results

The team surveyed 1,525 adults across the U.S. in late 2023 using a probability-based panel designed to reflect the U.S. population to understand these trends nationally. They asked people whether they had ever intentionally taken very small amounts—roughly one-fifth to one-twentieth of a usual recreational dose—of substances like cannabis, psilocybin, LSD, or MDMA. The idea behind microdosing is to avoid the strong psychoactive effects while still hoping for subtle benefits.

About 9.4% of adults said they had microdosed cannabis at some point, compared to 5.3% for psilocybin, 4.8% for LSD, and 2.2% for MDMA. While fewer people reported currently microdosing, cannabis still led the way, with 3.3% of adults saying they use it in this way now.

People’s reasons for microdosing varied depending on the substance. Most cannabis microdosers said they were looking for medical benefits, like easing anxiety, depression, or chronic pain. On the other hand, those who microdosed psychedelics or MDMA tended to be after a gentler version of the recreational effects, rather than using them for health reasons.

Mental Health and Policy Patterns

The study found that people who rated their mental health as poor were more likely to report microdosing any substance. About 21% of adults with poor mental health said they had microdosed cannabis, compared to about 8% of those who described their health as excellent.

It is not yet clear whether people are microdosing as a way to cope with mental health challenges or for other reasons. Since the study was cross-sectional, capturing data at a single point in time, the researchers could not determine whether microdosing influences mental health or if people with mental health concerns are simply more drawn to the practice.

The study also found that people microdosed psychedelics more often in places that have decriminalized possession. This suggests that changes in policy may influence both access to these substances and people’s willingness to report using them.

The Evidence Gap

Although many people report microdosing, the researchers note that scientific evidence of its effects remains limited. Researchers have conducted few placebo-controlled trials, and those studies have produced inconsistent results so far. Most people who microdose do not test their substances, which raises concerns about contamination and dosing mistakes, especially with unregulated psychedelics.

Senior author Eric Leas, PhD, MPH, an assistant professor at the UC San Diego Herbert Wertheim School of Public Health, pointed to a gap between public enthusiasm and clinical evidence. “There’s a lot of anecdotal enthusiasm around microdosing, especially for mental health,” Leas said. “But we still need rigorous studies to determine whether these perceived benefits are real, who might benefit and what the potential risks could be.”

These findings come at a time when cannabis legalization and psychedelic policy reforms are changing laws across the United States. As these changes continue, the researchers emphasize that understanding how and why people microdose will become increasingly important.

Austin Burgess is a writer and researcher with a background in sales, marketing, and data analytics. He holds an MBA, a Bachelor of Science in Business Administration, and a data analytics certification. His work focuses on breaking scientific developments, with an emphasis on emerging biology, cognitive neuroscience, and archaeological discoveries.

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“This Compound Can Selectively Dampen Escalated Social Conflict”: Fish ‘High’ on Key Ingredient in Magic Mushrooms Become Lazy and Less Aggressive


A team of Canadian researchers studying the possible anxiety-reducing effects of psilocybin, the psychoactive ingredient in so-called magic mushrooms, has revealed that the chemical compound makes an innately aggressive species of fish less aggressive and lazier compared to undrugged fish without reducing its overall social activities.

The research team behind the discovery said future research will be needed to confirm their findings, explore how the active ingredient in magic mushrooms alters neural signaling, identify the active serotonin pathways involved in these behavioral changes, and determine why certain behaviors are altered by exposure while others appear to remain unaffected.

Testing Magic Mushrooms to Evaluate Changes in Fish Aggressiveness

According to a statement announcing the research, over 200 mushroom species contain the active compound psilocybin. The majority of these species belong to the genus Psilocybe, including the well-known magic mushrooms popularized in the counterculture era for their psychoactive properties.

When this substance is ingested by mammals, it can bind to serotonin receptors that are involved in the regulation of behavior and emotions. Notably, these chemically induced changes can affect aggression, appetite, and overall mood. However, the researchers note, the effect of psilocybin on animals “remains largely undescribed.”

Since conducting experiments on human subjects poses significant challenges and limitations, the researchers examined whether these behavioral and mood changes also occur in fish. This led the team to choose the amphibious mangrove rivulus (Kryptolebias marmoratus), which they described as “innately aggressive,” especially when paired with another fish.

magic mushrooms psilocybin aggressive fish
A mangrove rivulus fish. Credit: Vassil, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons.

“Their aggressive behaviors are straightforward, and subtle changes can easily be detected,” the team explained. “Therefore, this model ensures all observed effects are caused by psilocybin treatment rather than genetic differences between fish.”

‘Dosed’ Fish Appear to Selectively Reduce Energetically Costly Behaviors

After selecting three genetically distinct laboratory-bred lines of mangrove rivulus, they exposed one to psilocybin, whereas the second line served as  “stimulus fish,” intended to trigger behaviors in the ‘drugged’ fish. The team said that the third selected line was used to “quantify whole-body concentrations and absorption of psilocybin” rather than for behavioral evaluation.

During the experiment’s first phase, fish from the first group were placed in a tank already containing the second line of ‘stimulus’ fish. Critically, the two groups were separated by an opaque cover placed over a fiberglass mesh barrier. The researchers said this arrangement allowed the fish to see and smell each other but prevented direct contact.

During this five-minute adjustment period, the team measured behavior to establish a baseline. When the five minutes expired, the barrier was removed, and the interaction between the two fish groups was closely monitored for signs of behavioral or mood changes.

Twenty-four hours after the first phase was completed, the team placed the fish from the first ‘focal’ group in a water tank containing dissolved psilocybin. The fish remained in the psilocybin-enriched tank for 20 minutes to ensure sufficient saturation, then were returned to the tank with the stimulus fish from the previous day’s experiments. Like before, the fish remained separated for five minutes by the opaque mesh barrier before it was removed.

Once again, the team monitored interactions between the two groups to determine whether the ‘drugged’ fish exhibited any behavioral changes. They also looked for potential clues to the fish’s mood. This included measuring the time the fish spent moving and their aggression levels, such as the frequency of swimming ‘bursts’ toward other fish.

According to the researchers, when they compared the fish in the first group’s activities before and after exposure to psilocybin, several changes were observed. Among the most prevalent was an overall reduction in activity after exposure to magic mushrooms’ key ingredient.

“Dosed fish (spent) less time moving than control fish when paired with a conspecific,” they explained, “and performed fewer swimming bursts compared to specimens that hadn’t received psilocybin treatment.”

The study’s senior author, Dr. Suzie Currie, a biologist at The University of British Columbia, defined swimming bursts as “high‑energy attack behaviors that represent an escalation of aggression towards the stimulus fish” but stop short of making physical contact.

“Other types of aggressive behaviors, like head‑on displays, are more about communication and social assessment and require very little energy,” Dr. Currie explained.

The study’s first author, Dayna Forsyth, a research associate and former MSc student at Acadia University in Nova Scotia, said the calming effect of psilocybin observed during their experiments appeared to “selectively reduce energetically costly, escalated behaviors” while other social display behaviors that require less energy remained largely unchanged.

“This suggests that this compound can selectively dampen escalated social conflict rather than shutting down behavior altogether,” Forsyth added.

Reducing Escalated Aggression Without Suppressing Social Interaction

When discussing the implications of their findings, Forsyth said their findings show that an acute, low dose of the active ingredient from magic mushrooms “significantly reduces activity and aggressive attack behavior during social interactions in adult mangrove rivulus fish.” The research added that the observed change was particularly significant, as the selected fish is a “naturally highly aggressive” species.

“These findings provide the first evidence that psilocybin can selectively reduce escalated aggression in a vertebrate model without suppressing social interaction,” added Currie.

When discussing the potential long-term impacts of their findings, the team said their work can provide “robust results” that can, in theory, ultimately be translated to humans. They also noted that their work could “help inform therapeutic research” by helping scientists further clarify which aspects of social behavior are most sensitive to psilocybin exposure.

Although the results were statistically significant, the researchers caution that their study faced several limitations that should be explored by future efforts. For example, they did not test any potential clinical treatments. They also noted that their findings “cannot be directly extrapolated” to humans exposed to psilocybin.

“The study also focused on single doses and short periods of exposure, and didn’t examine long-term effects, repeated dosing, or adaptation over time,” they added.

The team noted that future studies will be needed to determine whether the social changes observed after magic mushroom ingestion are sustained or transitory.

“Future studies can build on this work to explore how psilocybin alters neural signaling, which serotonin pathways are involved, and why some aspects of social behavior are affected while others are not,” Currie said, adding that “these are questions that are difficult or impossible to answer directly in humans.”

The study “The magic of mushrooms: Psilocybin influences behaviour in the mangrove rivulus fish, Kryptolebias marmoratus” was published in Frontiers in Behavioral Science.

Christopher Plain is a Science Fiction and Fantasy novelist and Head Science Writer at The Debrief. Follow and connect with him on X, learn about his books at plainfiction.com, or email him directly at christopher@thedebrief.org.

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More than 60% of the water in a wood frog’s body can freeze solid each winter: its heart stops, it stops breathing, and for more than 7 months it can lie essentially a frogsicle, before it thaws out in spring and simply hops away

Freezing solid is supposed to be the end. Ice forming inside a body generally stops the chemistry of life. For almost every animal on Earth, that is exactly how it works. The wood frog did not get the memo.

Each winter, Rana sylvatica lets a large share of the water in its body turn to ice, loses the mains signs of life we measure, and then, months later, restarts. The freezing is the famous part. The thawing is the part that should keep biologists awake.

What “frozen” actually means here

The common assumption is that freezing must mean slowing down, a deep chill that lowers the heart rate and breathing to a crawl. The wood frog does not slow down. It stops. When frozen, the frog shows no heartbeat, no breathing, no blood circulation, no muscle movement, and no detectable brain activity.

The proportion of ice is hard to believe. In a study published in Physiological Reviews, Kenneth and Janet Storey noted that around 65% of water in their bodies can be frozen as extracellular ice, with no physiological vital signs, before returning to normal life within hours of thawing. The ice forms outside the cells, in the spaces between them and around the organs, not inside the cells themselves. That distinction is most of the story.

Janet Storey, a research associate at the Institute of Biochemistry at Carleton University, has described the effect plainly. “They look like they’re totally dead, and then they’re not,” she told the Up Here. The frog looks dead because, by the ordinary measures, it is indistinguishable from dead. It is not.

It is tempting to reach for the phrase “clinically dead,” and the wording almost fits. “Clinical death refers to the medical state involving the complete and irreversible cessation of all body functions,” the cryobiologist Jon Costanzo of Miami University has explained. The word doing the work there is “irreversible.” A frozen wood frog reverses, spontaneously and completely, which is precisely why Costanzo has been careful that the frog only loosely qualifies, and why what its brain is doing during the freeze remains an open question.

How it survives

The trick is sugar. As explained by the folks at National Park Service, glucose keeps the the frogs blood from freezing. As they noted “Hibernating wood frogs can tolerate blood sugar levels 100 times higher than normal without the damage suffered by human diabetics when their blood sugar is only 2 to 10 times above normal”. 

Wild frogs even appear to rehearse the whole performance before committing to it. In Alaska, wood frogs go through repeated freeze-thaw cycles in early autumn before settling into the long freeze of winter, and those cycles seem to prime the system.

The reversal 

Restarting a stopped heart, rebooting a brain with no recorded activity, and clearing months of accumulated metabolic waste, all without permanent injury, is harder to account for than the freezing itself.

The field evidence is striking. Working with wild Alaskan frogs in their natural winter burrows, Larson and colleagues tracked 18 animals that stayed frozen for months at a stretch. The frogs survived being frozen for up to 218 days at minimum temperatures below minus 18 degrees Celsius, with every frog surviving. 

Recovery is fast once it begins. On thawing, the heart and brain restart spontaneously as the soil warms in spring, the contractions resuming on their own after months of silence. Why the restart works at all, after every vital sign has been absent for so long, is the question researchers find hardest to answer.

What the frog is quietly telling us

The wood frog is perhaps a working model for the long-running effort to freeze and bank human organs. A review by Al-Attar and Storey treats the frog’s natural freeze tolerance as a template for cryopreservation and biobanking. 

The gap that research is trying to close is large. As of her 2018 comments, Janet Storey noted that “so far there’s nobody that’s been able to freeze an entire organ and get it to survive and function when it comes back.” 

The stakes are concrete. Tens of thousands of people sit on the U.S. organ transplant waiting list at any given time, far more than the number of transplants performed each year. A way to bank organs for longer would likely change those numbers. 

The post More than 60% of the water in a wood frog’s body can freeze solid each winter: its heart stops, it stops breathing, and for more than 7 months it can lie essentially a frogsicle, before it thaws out in spring and simply hops away appeared first on Space Daily.

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New Book Argues Youth Mental Health Crisis Demands Healing for Both Parents and Children

A groundbreaking paradigm shift in youth mental healthcare urges a comprehensive approach that extends support beyond the individual child to include their parents and caregivers. Alix Hearn, a child psychotherapist affiliated with Cambridge University, presents a compelling argument in her forthcoming book, Places of Safety, for redefining how mental health services engage with children and young people. She emphasizes the importance of viewing children as integral parts of an ecological system—a complex network of family, community, and cultural relationships—that is often neglected in traditional clinical frameworks overwhelmed by demand.

Hearn’s thesis rests heavily on attachment theory, a psychological model that elucidates the foundational human need for secure, reliable relationships, primarily established during early childhood through parental caregiving. Her clinical insights suggest that mental health struggles in youth frequently reflect not only individual pathology but also intergenerational patterns of emotional processing and relational dynamics. Parents’ abilities to provide safety and support are, in themselves, shaped by their antecedent experiences, creating a cascade of concealed emotional legacies, or “ghostly attachments,” transmitted often without conscious awareness. This concept revives the notion that unresolved trauma and attachment disruption ripple forward across generations, influencing behavioral and emotional responses.

The current landscape of child mental health services tends to isolate the young person as a discrete entity requiring intervention. Hearn critiques this reductionist view, asserting that children often manifest symptoms that are less about their individual deficits and more about unprocessed relational tensions within the family unit. She advocates for a systemic clinical approach, wherein therapists engage with parents or caregivers concurrently, to uncover and address these deep-rooted emotional histories. This method challenges prevailing therapeutic models focused solely on the child and highlights the necessity of a dual-generation strategy in treatment protocols.

Clinical practice and referral patterns frequently reveal that youth exhibiting withdrawn or aggressive behaviors, or tendencies toward self-harm, may be reacting to deficits in emotional support stemming from attachment insecurities. Hearn’s research corroborates that such behaviors are often manifestations of unmet developmental needs as well as the intergenerational transmission of coping mechanisms influenced by the parents’ own upbringing. Her book delineates how these “unremembered hauntings” shape the psychobiological framework within which a child’s mental health trajectory unfolds.

A particularly poignant exploration in Places of Safety addresses the epigenetic and psychosocial ramifications of collective historical trauma. Hearn provides case studies where familial responses to atrocities like the Holocaust serve as paradigmatic examples of how mass trauma imprints, via both genetic and psychological channels, continue to influence descendants’ attachment patterns and emotional regulatory capacities. This intersection of psychodynamic and epigenetic research underscores how large-scale sociohistorical crises exert pervasive effects on family systems, affecting mental health outcomes in nuanced and enduring ways.

Research into epigenetics, the dynamic modulation of gene expression in response to environmental stressors, fortifies Hearn’s thesis about the biological embedding of trauma and anxiety within family lineages. The transgenerational transmission of stress-induced gene regulation changes presents new avenues for understanding the persistent impact of socio-political turmoil on child development. Hearn’s sensitivity to contemporary global conflicts, such as those in the Middle East and Ukraine, frames her argument within a broader context of ongoing crisis, where trauma is not merely historical but immediately relevant to populations exposed to violence and displacement.

Beyond individual and familial systems, Hearn situates the current youth mental health crisis within the wider framework of global environmental instability, proposing that ecological anxiety driven by climate change acts as a collective psychosocial stressor. Drawing on the findings of The Lancet Psychiatry Commission on Youth Mental Health, she asserts that the pervasive “polycrisis” of simultaneous global shocks erodes foundational feelings of safety and security. Adults, often unknowingly, transmit anxieties about the future to younger generations, exacerbating emotional dysregulation and mental health challenges in children and adolescents.

In a novel therapeutic proposition, Hearn introduces the concept of “green care,” advocating for an intentional reconnection with the natural environment as a source of emotional security and healing. The environment is conceived not merely as a backdrop but as an attachment figure with intrinsic therapeutic potential. Detachment from nature, she argues, compounds a fragmented sense of belonging and identity among youth, exacerbating feelings of alienation and division. This ecological perspective enriches traditional psychological models by integrating holistic considerations of place, community, and environment.

Hearn highlights the profound discrepancy between adult perceptions of resilience and the realities faced by contemporary youth. Generational misunderstandings, often encapsulated in sentiments like “in my day we just carried on,” fail to capture the context of collective anxiety catalyzed by uncertain futures and environmental degradation. She foregrounds a vital existential question: in a world perceived as “on fire,” what anchors remain for children to develop secure attachments and a robust sense of self?

Clinicians, educators, and policymakers stand at a crossroads, prompted to embrace an integrative system that simultaneously addresses children’s needs and the supporting emotional infrastructures of their families. Hearn’s clinical experience and numerous scholarly collaborations underline that effective mental health interventions must acknowledge and intervene in the relational ecology surrounding children. This perspective requires reevaluating service models, resource allocation, and therapeutic curricula to transcend child-centric interventions and encompass family systems and environmental contexts.

Places of Safety emerges as a timely and critically needed blueprint for reforming youth mental health care amidst a rapidly evolving socio-political and ecological landscape. Its fusion of attachment theory, clinical experience, epigenetics, and ecological psychology offers a multidimensional framework that could reshape how mental health professionals understand and treat young people’s emotional difficulties. As youth mental health referrals face unrelenting pressure, this systemic approach promises a more comprehensive, compassionate, and effective path forward.

The book’s London launch signals the beginning of what Hearn anticipates will be a broader conversation, catalyzing a “sea change” in the mental health field. By advocating for a nuanced recognition of the interconnectedness of child and adult mental health, familial legacy, and environmental factors, Hearn challenges entrenched paradigms and invites a collective reimagining of how society nurtures its youngest members in an unstable world.

Subject of Research: Youth mental health, attachment theory, intergenerational trauma, ecological psychology, epigenetics
Article Title: Revolutionary Insights on Youth Mental Health Call for Family-Centered Psychotherapy and Ecological Healing
News Publication Date: Not specified (book launch event on 2 June)
Web References:

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We talk about anxiety as if it starts in the mind — but for some people, the eyes may be the first place it shows up

The first sign was never a thought.

It was visual. Something in the way the room looked. The walls would seem slightly farther away than they had been a moment before. Colours stayed, shapes stayed, the furniture stayed in exactly the right places — and yet something about the scene lost a quality I can only describe as immediacy. The world was still there. It just stopped feeling available.

This would happen before I felt afraid. Before I could name what was coming. Before any thought had formed that I could call anxious. Something changed in the way I was receiving the world through my eyes, and only later — sometimes much later — would the rest of the experience catch up.

I spent years not knowing what to call this.

I tried “dizzy,” which wasn’t right. I tried “tired,” which was too soft. I tried “dissociating,” which felt too clinical for something that happened in quiet moments, not only in crises. What I was looking for was a word for the way the world could go slightly flat. Not dark. Not frightening in any obvious way. Just — less textured. Less arrived. As if someone had turned the resolution of reality down just slightly, and I was the only one in the room who noticed.

The world went flat before I had words for it

What I was experiencing had a name. Derealization — the sense that the external world has become unreal, distant, or visually altered — is a well-documented symptom that occurs frequently in anxiety and panic, and in the broader condition known as depersonalization-derealization disorder. It affects a surprising number of people, though most, like me, spend a long time describing it badly before they discover it has a name at all.

What I did not expect, once I found the name, was to realize how early in the anxiety sequence it was arriving for me.

Most descriptions of anxiety lead with thought. The worry, the spiral, the catastrophizing. The racing mind. And for many people that may be accurate — the cognitive element comes first, and the body follows. But for me, the sequence ran differently. The visual alteration came before the worry. My eyes created distance before my mind could explain why. By the time I was consciously afraid, I had already been looking at the world through a kind of filter for several minutes. Sometimes longer.

The world went flat before I had words for what was happening.

Once I recognized this, I started paying attention to it differently. Not as a malfunction, but as a signal. Something my system was doing before it had time to speak.

Before anxiety had language, it had a way of altering sight

The neuroscience here is not fully settled, but the broad shape of it makes sense.

The brain does not passively receive visual information and then decide what it means. It actively constructs perception, using prior experience, expectation, and internal state to shape what we experience as seeing. When the nervous system is in a state of hyperarousal — even before that state is consciously registered — the way the brain builds the visual world can shift. Attention narrows. Certain details flatten. The sense of depth and richness that makes the world feel real can diminish, because the system is already doing something else with its resources.

The amygdala, which processes emotional and threat-relevant stimuli, is thought to receive threat-relevant signals very rapidly — in some models, before the slower analytical pathways that give us conscious perception have fully resolved what we’re seeing. This means the body’s threat response can activate before the thinking mind has noticed anything. The alarm goes off, the nervous system reorganizes, and the first sign you have — if you are paying attention to your body rather than your thoughts — might be something as subtle as the way the room looks.

That was my experience. I didn’t first think anxiety. I saw it.

The first thing anxiety stole, reliably, was the texture of the world.

Learning to read the signal

For years, the visual shift frightened me in its own right. The unreality was unsettling before any worry arrived to explain it. There were moments when I genuinely questioned whether I was losing something — my grip on reality, my trust in my own perception, something I couldn’t name. The derealization felt like a symptom without a cause, which is one of the lonelier things you can experience.

It is also disorienting in a specific way: when perception itself becomes the thing you can’t trust, you lose the ground you’d normally stand on to figure out what is wrong. You can’t think your way out of a problem that is currently happening in your thinking. You can’t look clearly at something when it is your looking that has shifted.

What changed was noticing the pattern.

Not during the episode, but afterward. Tracing the sequence: where had I been, what had I been carrying before I noticed the flatness, what came before the flatness itself. And what I found, slowly, was that the visual shift was not random. It was a leading indicator. Something had already been building in my nervous system — a stress response, a low-grade overwhelm I hadn’t consciously registered — and my eyes were the first thing that showed it. Before my thoughts caught up. Before my chest tightened. Before I would have said, if anyone had asked, that anything was wrong.

My eyes were filtering the world before I knew I needed a filter.

Maybe it was never malfunction

I am careful about what I claim here. I am not saying anxiety lives in the eyes, or that this is how it works for everyone. What I am saying is something smaller and, to me, more useful: for some people, the first felt experience of anxiety may be visual. Perceptual. Something that shows up in how the world looks before it shows up in what the mind thinks.

And if that is true — even sometimes, even for some people — then it changes where you learn to look for the early signs.

I used to search for the anxious thought. The belief I could challenge, the worry I could reframe, the cognitive distortion I could name and dispute. These have their place. But I kept arriving at them too late, after the nervous system had already been organizing itself around something I hadn’t consciously noticed. I was looking for the fire after the smoke had already been there for a while.

Now I know to check in with what I’m seeing. Whether the room feels arrived. Whether the world has its texture. Whether reality is still emotionally available, or whether it has quietly started to step back — a little flatter, a little more distant, a little less like itself — without explanation.

Those were never signs that something was wrong with my eyes.

They were signs that something in me was trying to protect itself before I understood what from. The nervous system, doing what nervous systems do — adjusting the aperture, reducing the input, creating a small buffer between me and a world it had decided, for some reason, was temporarily too much.

That is not a disorder. That is a system trying to survive.

It just took me a long time to recognize the signal for what it was, instead of fearing it as one more thing that was wrong.

This article reflects personal experience and is for informational purposes only. It is not a substitute for professional mental health advice. If you are experiencing symptoms of derealization or anxiety, consider speaking with a qualified professional.

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Thought of the day from Stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius: “Each of us lives only now, this brief instant. The rest has been lived already, or is impossible to see.”

The kettle is doing its thing. Light is coming in sideways across the kichen table, the way it does early, catching the steam coming off the cup. Outside there’s a motorbike, then another, then the muffled start of the street waking up.

And I am not in any of it.

I am three emails ahead, rehearsing a sentence I’ll say later, or mulling over something that happened last week and cannot be changed. The coffee goes cold. The light moves on. I drink it lukewarm and barely taste it. This is the scene most mornings, if I am being honest.

A quick note before I go further: I’m not a psychologist or a therapist, and this is a piece of reading and reflection, not advice. The one study I lean on below is observational, which means it describes a pattern across a lot of people, not a rule about you or any single morning of your life.

The line that keeps pulling me back to that cold cup is from Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor who wrote a private notebook to himself that we now call Meditations. In Gregory Hays’s translation, Book 3.10, he writes: “Each of us lives only now, this brief instant. The rest has been lived already, or is impossible to see.” Just before it, he tells himself: “Forget everything else. Keep hold of this alone and remember it.”

Read it slowly and it’s almost a piece of accounting. The past is spent, gone, unrecoverable. The future is not yet here and most of it you’ll never see anyway. The only thing you actually have, the only ground you can stand on, is this instant. He isn’t being mystical about it. 

This is a philosophical claim about how to hold your attention, not a settled scientific fact about how consciousness works but as a way to frame a morning, I find it hard to argue with. The cold coffee was real. The email I was rehearsing wasn’t, not yet. I traded the thing that was happening for two things that weren’t.

I read Meditations properly a few years ago, during a stretch of failure and confusion when I was rooting around for something solid to hold. What struck me most wasn’t the advice. It was the continuity. Here is a man who ran an empire, and his private worries are my not unlike my worries. Reputation. Mortality. What other people think. Whether the work matters. Two thousand years, and the furniture of the human head has barely been rearranged.

Knowing the present is all you have, and actually living there, are two completely different skills. The mind has its own gravity, pulling backward and forward, almost never down into the now.

There’s one study I keep coming back to on this. In 2010, the Harvard psychologists Matthew Killingsworth and Daniel Gilbert built an iPhone app that pinged 2,250 volunteers at random moments and asked what they were doing, how they felt, and whether their minds were on the task in front of them. The volunteers reported their minds wandering 46.9 percent of the time. Nearly half of waking life, somewhere other than here. Killingsworth’s summary was that “our mental lives are pervaded, to a remarkable degree, by the nonpresent.”

This is one study, not settled consensus, and the effect it found was modest rather than enormous. What made it stick with me is what it suggested about mood. Killingsworth has said that how often our minds leave the present, and where they go, predicted happiness better than the activity people were actually doing. Drifting seems to drag mood down. The phrase the researchers used, which is a little too neat for a single study but lodges anyway, was “a wandering mind is an unhappy mind.”

I am bad at this. I have not solved anything. But a few small things have nudged me, on good days, closer to enjoying the cup of coffee and further from the imaginary email.

The first is novelty, and I learned it by accident. My first year living in Vietnam felt enormous. The city, the noise on the streets, food I’d never eaten, a language I couldn’t read, the person I was slowly turning into. In retrospect that year is longer and richer than most years since. Nothing was automatic, so nothing got skipped. The brain can’t autopilot through what it doesn’t recognize yet. I can’t move to a new country every year, but I can walk a route I don’t know, and it pulls me back into the present the way a comfortable routine never does.

The second is duller and more reliable: noticing one physical thing on purpose. The heat of the cup. The actual taste of the first mouthful. It sounds almost too small to count, and it isn’t a cure for a wandering mind. It’s just a handle. A way to land for a second before the gravity takes over again.

The third is lowering the bar. Marcus wasn’t writing a finished man’s manual. He was talking himself into it, the same exhortation over and over, because he kept failing at it too. That’s the part I find oddly comforting. The point was never to live perfectly in the present. It’s to come back, again, when you notice you’ve drifted.

If any of this is landing closer to home than it is interesting, and the pull away from the present feels less like a habit and more like something heavier, a qualified counsellor or therapist is worth talking to.

Now read this next: Psychology suggests people who browse social media but never post or comment aren’t passive — they’ve simply opted out of the performance while retaining access to the information, which is a sign of quiet self-awareness

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Scientists Discover Surprising Similarities Between Freud’s Ideas and Modern Neuroscience

Human Anatomy 3D Brain RenderingResearchers suggest that old psychoanalytic ideas and modern brain science may be describing the same mental processes from different angles. More than a century after Sigmund Freud developed his influential theories of the mind, some researchers believe modern neuroscience may be arriving at surprisingly similar conclusions. A new paper published in the neurocognitive journal Entropy [...]
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Scientists Challenge a 70-Year-Old Theory of Language With a Surprising Discovery

Man Speaking Language LettersA new study challenges the widely accepted idea that word meanings are organized around emotion. After analyzing billions of words, scientists found that language may be shaped by something more basic: the need for safety. Researchers at the University of Vermont have found a new way to understand language, challenging a major assumption in psychology, [...]
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Simple Family Routines May Be the Secret to a Smoother Start at School

Smiling SchoolgirlParents in rural, low-income households who maintained strong family routines reported fewer behavior problems and ADHD symptoms in their children. Starting elementary school is an important step for children, but the shift can be challenging. Some children experience separation anxiety, while others have difficulty adjusting to classroom rules and daily school structure. A Penn State-led [...]
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3 buttons that don’t actually do anything

Have you ever pressed a crosswalk button and wondered if it actually does anything? You might be onto something. 

Called placebo buttons, controls that don’t do anything exist everywhere. Sometimes it’s because of accidents of history; sometimes they’re installed specifically to trick people into feeling an illusion of control. Either way, they’re hard to notice. Here are a few buttons you press every day that might not actually work. 

Pedestrian buttons may or may not do anything

In New York City, an official told CNN that only around 100 of the 1,000 crosswalk buttons in that city actually do anything. The Boston Globe has reported that the buttons in and around downtown areas of that city aren’t functional. And in the UK, the BBC has reported that the buttons in downtown London are completely superfluous during the day when pedestrian traffic is high—the lights trigger on the same timed routine, regardless of any button presses. The buttons do, however, work in the evening, when pedestrian traffic slows down. 

Why is this? Timing. Modern traffic lights are designed to allow the flow of traffic to be consistent. The general idea is that cars driving at the speed limit should more-or-less hit green lights as they go. Regularly timed pedestrian crossings make this math a lot simpler in places with a lot of pedestrian traffic, so most cities opt for them in downtown areas. 

crosswalk button to turn on the green light with a background of people crossing the street;
Pushing the crosswalk button may or may not change the light, depending on the time of day. Image: Shutterstock MFajarH

The situation is different if you live in a small town, suburb, or anywhere else with infrequent pedestrian traffic. In such areas, pressing the button may be necessary to trigger the walk light. 

The problem: It’s not always clear whether the button you see triggers the walk light or not. If you press the button and the light changes, you’ll naturally assume pressing the button worked even if it’s the timer that triggers it. But if pressing the button is necessary, well, then the only way to find out involves waiting longer than necessary at a cross walk (which might be interesting, scientifically, but only if you’re not in a rush).

My personal solution: I just press the button. If it works, great, and if not I’ll never know. 

Elevator “close door” buttons don’t work immediately

Have you ever pressed the “close door” button on an elevator and noticed the door didn’t immediately close? There’s a reason for that, at least in the United States: the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA). 

This law, passed in 1990, set specific rules for elevators, including how long the door needs to stay open. The regulations state that elevator doors “shall remain fully open in response to a car call for 3 seconds minimum.” There’s another rule that adds more time based on how far the call button in the hallway is from the elevator entrance, assuming a walking speed of 1.5 feet per second. For example: If the button is 10 feet from the door, that means the door needs to stay open for 6.67 seconds. 

Using an Elevator: A person pressing the close door button in the elevator,
Sure, feel like you’re in control. Image: Shutterstock sommthink

What’s this have to do with the close door button? Well, in theory someone could press the button to close the door earlier than the code dictates is legally required. Some elevators are designed so that the close door button does nothing until enough time has passed, but in some cases the button is just disabled entirely for the sake of simplicity (generally because the door automatically closes after the required wait time). 

That’s why, in many situations, pressing the close door button on an elevator doesn’t do anything. That doesn’t stop a certain kind of guy from repeatedly mashing it, though.

Your office thermostat might be a lie

A 2003 article published by the Wall Street Journal revealed something many office workers already suspected: some office thermostats don’t actually do anything. The article includes a widely cited claim— from a single HVAC installer—that up to 90 percent of office thermostats are fake. That’s almost certainly not true, and the article itself notes that other experts say the number is below two percent. 

But what is certain is that at least some fake thermostats exist. Why? To reduce complaints. A 2022 article published by Propmodo, a real estate trade publication, quotes an HVAC installer who claims to have installed a fake thermostat after a number of complaints from office workers. “Our service calls disappeared, and to my knowledge, the system is still set up and working as it has since 1987,” said Vaughn Langless, an electrical inspector from Rochester, New York. 

It’s a good story, and points to a psychological reality: Being able to make choices about our environment is psychologically beneficial. A 1976 study by psychologists Judith Rodin and Ellen Langer gave some nursing home residents control over small things in their environment—which plants they want to care for, for example, or when to watch a movie. Another floor was told staff would make those choices. The residents able to make choices were more alert, active, and even died at a lower rate. There is decades of similar research, showing that control over your environment leads to real benefits. 

Placebo buttons are what happens when designers notice this psychological reality and try to get the benefit on the cheap. A working office thermostat would require either letting employees actually change the temperature (which costs money) or running a more responsive HVAC system. But a button that looks like it works costs basically nothing. That may be brilliant, or evil, or both—it’s all a matter of perspective. Regardless, placebo buttons lurk all around us. 

The post 3 buttons that don’t actually do anything appeared first on Popular Science.

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