On the Phenomenon of Moods (My Quantum Brain #1)
Four-part series; I can't believe I'm spilling this much tea online
When I am in a different mood, I feel like I am a different person.
The other day, I felt so stuck that I wanted to cry. By night, I was out with Dad, marveling at how precious it is to live, love, and even commiserate together. This shift happened often back at Duke, and I call it a change of mood.
But moods go much deeper than that.
Moods censor me.
Moods are what prevent me from saying what I really think. On separate occasions, I’ve stuttered, mumbled, or even lied when asked about what’s been bothering me. Perhaps it’s the shame of not living up to the image I want to project. For example, I struggle to talk about someone I have a grievance with which hasn’t been addressed directly with the person, because it undermines my desire to be a forthright person who speaks the truth in love. Or my reluctance to share my philosophical burdens on companionship/romance with people I’m attracted to, or religious burdens with those outside my faith, which reflect my aspirations to have everything processed and neatly organized, inducing an aversion to the truth that I really haven’t quite figured it all out yet.
Even while talking to you, I feel guilty. I know we trust each other, and you’re sharing so much with me. But in the grip of mood, I can’t even tell you I’m not ready to talk about it.
Moods alter me.
In different moods, my views can become completely unrecognizable.
I read a paper about how election polls can’t always be accurate because some respondents will not admit to themselves or others that they would ever vote for Trump ("social desirability bias”).
Unfortunately, that’s me.
If you’re a Democrat, I will never admit that reading his family’s biographies and accounts of his presidency has occasionally made me sympathetic to his decisions as a leader. I will never admit that sometimes, I find myself agreeing with what he did in his circumstances, or that there’s an anti-establishment streak in me that giggles when Elon Musk shuts down a government. But if you’re Republican (or a Singaporean pro-Trump evangelical, for that matter), I will similarly avoid discussing how much I am revolted by how he’s bullied good people, how he’s banned abortion, and how I think enforcing socially conservative policies is hypocritical.
It’s not that I’m hiding some Tyler Durden type shit–– it’s really not that deep. I’m often aware of my multiple possible positions and what the mood is doing. Most of the time, I just can’t bring myself to articulate things: to reveal the real reasons (on both sides) why I support or disapprove of such a divisive figure.
But moods can also deceive me.
Uh, story time?
Back in high school, there was a girl I liked—an incredibly inconvenient person for me to have feelings for (complicated shit, y’know: religion, love triangles, you know the drill with David). When I finally decided I had to tell her my true feelings, we called. And then, suddenly, I realized I didn’t have butterflies. In fact, I found her plain and uninteresting, so I couldn’t admit I liked her. Perhaps moods do run that deep, enough to suppress feelings I’d thought to be undeniable. (Spoiler: said feelings returned with a vengeance, and years on I even be sure I’m over them yet. Sigh.)
Whatever moods are, they sound pretty lame.
Moods are frustrating. Sometimes, they prevent me from sharing things with you; other times, they prevent me from being forthright with you. Most of the time, I’m afraid of damaging my friendships as a result of my being I am a moody person. I once wrote in a moment of angst:
I am a liar because my best attempt at truth always falls short. And all I can know is that I do not know and almost nobody gets there.
My hope for this series is to explore what exactly moods are, and the bright sides that come with them. So stay tuned for the next episode of Beyblade :)
