The Challenger Deep
By Kathryn Magendie | May 31, 2024 |
Pexels Image by Emiliano Arano
Jason Padgett’s brain opened a portal, and he stepped through it to a world of Mathematical/Geometrical artistic endeavors. And how he arrived in that strange and wondrous place was most unpleasantly violent ….
There are many wonders in our oceans. There are the surface areas where we swim, boat, fish, cruise, fight the waves, or give in to the waves. Diving deeper, we can explore the beauties of this under-the-surface world. But there are depths, dark and mysterious, that we do not know. Dive to the deepest murkiest depths and there are creatures there that have adapted to their environment in strange (to us) ways.
The deepest part of the ocean is called The Challenger Deep located in the Pacific Ocean. Almost 36,000 feet deep (as far as scientists know anyway). So much is unknown and unexplored. Much that may never be seen or understood.
We don’t like it when we do not understand something.
Our brains are like The Challenger Deep. So much we do not understand about the whys and hows of this organ—the most complex part of us. Weighing about 3 pounds, it is our intelligence, gives us our senses, controls our body movements, and controls our behaviors. Much of its mysteries can only be explored upon someone’s death, and by then it is too late to know just how it works because it is then dead, too. So we guess, and we study, and we may never, like The Challenger Deep, know all its mysteries.
When the brain is mostly working “as it should,” we may barely pay attention to it. We go about our day taking for granted that everything will work “as it should.” But when something goes wrong, we are on high alert: will this be forever? If it is forever, will it be any worse? How do we navigate life in this new normal? What is normal?
In the deepest parts of the ocean, creatures do not consider what the creatures above them are doing, or what they look like, or how they behave—if they are not food or a mate or a threat, they are not important. They do not consider abnormal. They likely do not think about what is next but concentrate on what is now: find food, find mate, find shelter. They go about their days one to the next uncaring about the others that live among and around and above them. But of course, they do not have the richness of days as we humans have, or maybe they do, in their own way, rejoice in just where and how and who they are. Do they worry and obsess? Likely not. They adapt.
Though, in writing this, I know there are differences between mammals, cephalopods, and fish, and that mammals and cephalopods may think more deeply than a fish. But I speak, yet again, in generalities or else this post will become an entire book.
We humans care about a lot. And some things we care about perhaps we should toss away—life would be easier and better, right?, if we did not care about every minutia? It is one thing to place expectations on our Selves—some that drive us forward to good and success and some that drive us to dark places—but to place these expectations onto others coming from our own perspectives, well, this is what often creates the turmoil of being human.
And, if we, or a loved one, has a brain gone rogue, we look to others, or our former selves, as comparison: why can’t I (or my loved one) be like I (they) was (were)? why am I (are they) struggling with what others find so regular-ol’-normal? why is this happening to me (my loved one)? We flounder in the depths, drowning in our sorrow, grief, anger, frustration, perplexity.
Life happens. Stuff happens. No one is immune to heartache or frustration. This is what living is: chaos with intervals of stillness; joy with intervals of sorrow; fullness with intervals of hunger.
Change can bring anxiety. Yet there are those who revel in it. Who make change. Who are excited by it. But even those who rush towards change can have limitations and biases toward change that is considered “intolerable;” things that make what is considered “normal” life uncomfortable.
In The Challenger Deep’s vast and unexplored depths there is silence and darkness and the unknown. In the challenger deep brain there is much unknown, but not so much the silence, as our brains can be loud. Not all darkness as our brains can offer up color and light, and for some it offers imagery galore, while for others imagery is fleeting.
Our brains can at times seem to work against us so that we wonder, “Why are you being such an asshole, Brain!”
When I write, as I am doing now, I cannot over-think it. I cannot plan it. I must only explore by putting my fingers on the keys and blinkity tink tank tic, the story or post emerges. I will have a thought of a character with some quirk and I want to follow them to see what they will do, how they navigate life with their quirk. I discover their world as they discover their world.
Then there is Jason Padgett, who became a number theorist with Acquired Savant Syndrome. Previously Jason was a happy go lucky fun-loving futon salesman. In 2002 after a night of karaoke, he left the bar, was savagely attacked, and hit on the back of the head. When he left the hospital, everything had changed. He saw the world differently: in a mathematical/geometrical artistic way. The parietal cortex was set on fire. He’s an artist, a mathematician. He wrote a book, “Struck by Genius,” because, well, that’s what happened. He has a slew of commercialized items and art for sale. He’s made a whole business out of this life-changing event.
Jason’s blow to the head opened his mind to deeper understandings. Of course, many blows to the back of the head turn out vastly worse: severe brain damage and/or death. Or for some, only a headache and nothing more.
Jason has had his struggles, especially right after the attack. His OCD and fears overwhelmed him. Likely he still struggles with many issues, but he also received a beautiful gift. Why give and take away, Brain? Yet he adapted and even created a successful career from it.
Perhaps the way I experience my environment is too a fascination.
In the 70s, I received a rather bad blow to the back of my head: is this when my brain process changed? I cannot tell you because I do not know when it began. I may have always processed in these ways and do not remember, since my memory crashes as a wave and then retreats, sucking many of the details back into the depths, and when the wave returns, it both deposits and drags back. Really, I never considered the way I process until much later in life.
I find it difficult to imagine scenes as they are a murky frustration that I give up and give in to. I cannot fully/wholly picture the details of rooms in my house where I’ve lived 20 years, or art on my wall; the images appear in pieces and parts, or nothing much at all—shove your face in a river after a storm and look around. But when I find things I can focus on, well there I am and there it is and here we go. I am often intelligent but try holding water in your cupped hands.
It makes writing plots, while not impossible, feel insurmountable. Yet, excitingly for me, writing is an exploration. Dive in and see what emerges from the deep. Not complaining about it and if I did, to what good would that be? When I see the altered eyes of a loved one and her struggles with dementia, I very much know what a complete asshole the brain can be; nope, not complaining.
I would certainly think Jason has been both celebrated and exploited.
And now I must take this to an ending, as I would babble on and meander off subject, lose focus, or simply trail off ….
In your writing life, what are the difficulties with your Challenger Deep, or is everything so perfectly clear and concise and organized for you?
Author, Content Editor at Edge of Arlington, and along with Angie Ledbetter, former Publishing Editor of The Rose & Thorn online journal.
Her short stories, essays, poetry, and photography have been published in print and online publications. Her novels are available in print and ebook. TENDER GRACES, Magendie’s first novel, was an Amazon Kindle Number 1 best-seller.
She lives in the Smoky Mountains in a little log home in the Cove at Killian Knob in Maggie Valley, Western North Carolina with her wonky-toothed little dog named Bear. Trees surround her. The mountains hug around her. Critters love her. Crows follow her around the Cove. Bears stare at her through her window. One day she’ll finish another novel.
Some or all of this is true.
Enjoyed where you went with the post today—thank you.
I approach it with respect while writing, considering it to be, yes, part of me but also a biological black box. I use all my senses to ensure I’m benefiting from everything it’s saying. I do not judge the words or phrases that come out of it. Sometimes I don’t even know what words or phrases they will be. Sometimes they’re not even words at the start and I have to feel my way through it, like playing the old game Eamon. When it’s not words, it’s a feeling, and even with words, it is a feeling. I trust it always has an answer.
Once someone(s) misinterpreted what I meant when I expressed not knowing which book I would finish or when. But I said it because the gift that is writing comes from this place. The left brain can finish a book, yes, but only when I’m confident the right brain has told the story it wants or won’t get tired by the very story it started to tell. Both brains can also work together, like a pair of twins shifting between who’s sneaking out for fun and who’s cleaning the garage. That is, I think, the combination that can produce the most books. When one twin has cleaned, the parents are happy, and the easy switching off can begin anew.
I do, however, think my best work will always be, as you say, from the Challenger Deep. Besides, who’d really want to let go of that wonder anyway?
Thank you for your post.
What a gorgeous reply, Susan! And makes perfect sense to me.
Thank you! I appreciated having an opportunity to consider more what happens in those moments. Hope to read your book!
And same, Susan!
I handwrite most everything before going onto the computer and wish I could compose directly on the computer. It’d be a heckuva lot faster… but I’m still in discovery mode. Perhaps it never ends. It’s paradoxical that even as I gaze out at the treetops, I’m becoming more aware of ideas, making connections. Thankful for this writing life and thank you for sharing your meanderings.
I am laughing because it occurs to me that since the second reply isn’t showing either maybe they are delayed, and if so, you will see that my very first reply was not very genius-eloquent at all. Well dang me. haha!
As an RN, I studied the brain, how complex it is, how like miracles our thoughts can be, and how precious is the functioning of the brain. It is interesting that Vijaya writes things down before using the computer. That was me when I first began to write, believed that I could be a story teller. But later I realized, I had to teach myself to BEGIN on the keyboard. I knew how to type, but even so, it took a while to make that transition. And our thoughts? We often are computing and creating as our hands write and use the keyboard. It is a fascinating context, how that works. That is not to say what comes onto the page will be saved! But yes, the brain is powerful and an organ we need to honor and protect.
I had the same process – was writing down things until I tired of that and couldn’t read half my stuff.
What an interesting career you have – rewarding, challenging – I envy that! :)
Greetings and thank you for this post. I’ve always enjoyed your writing. You have a unique way of expressing yourself and it comes out in the characters who grace your novels. No pun intended. I thrive on structure and order, though my mind can sometimes resemble the Challenger Deep. I’ve always had mentors and teachers who have instilled in me a “nose to the grindstone” approach to work. But, the creative side of my brain is messy and restless, so it relies on the ordered side of my brain to organize and channel the messiness into something that could be considered creative and interesting. Does that make sense? The ordered side of my brain resulted in a career in journalism, editing, and management that has served me well. But, the transition to fiction writing calls on us to adopt a different approach and mindset. Finishing a novel requires discipline and structure. In the initial discovery phase, we need to dive into the Challenger Deep and let go of the order. That comes later in the process. It’s always great to read your posts. I hope you are doing well.
Does that make sense? … PERFECT sense!
I was thinking about your book the other day and would love to read another.
Thank you. You were one of my earliest readers and i have always appreciated your support for my work. I have a second unpublished novel for which I am querying agents and I am working on a third. I appreciate your support.
Exciting! :D
“But when something goes wrong, we are on high alert: will this be forever? If it is forever, will it be any worse?”
I have one of those brains “gone rogue.” Chronic illness – ME/CFS – has been my ‘blow to the head.’
But rather than be different, I just got to be S L O W E R. So much so that I lost my career as a research physicist, but not enough to change, fundamentally, the way I think.
I was a plotter before – I am still a plotter, just a very slow one. And a writer now, a very slow one.
It HAS been interesting. Oddly enough, if, finally, current research helps (Long Covid is similar), there might be a path back some day. Maybe. If I’m very, very lucky.
And, like all writers, I somehow use it all.
I seem to be having trouble with replies showing up. So I will try something a third time. Boy will I be embarrassed if all these other replies later show up!
I hope the research opens up that path ….
It has showed up – once so far.
There are a LOT of people affected worldwide by Long Covid – we can’t afford to lose them from the workforce in millions, nor to support them properly as ill former workers.
Someone will get the Nobel Prize for the solution; me, after 34 years – I have limited expectations even if they find the cure, but the millions or more worldwide haven’t been sick that long. It takes so many years to learn to cope with the huge reduction in what you can do. And, of course, feeling crappy all the time.
I can’t remember when I last read such an engaging post. If I could use only one word, it would be lyrical. Thank you so much. My characters are always accessible to me, but their stories remain in The Challenger Deep until I read my crude attempts (called first drafts) to bring them to the surface. Then I get to go to work trying to make my communication of those stories worthy of the characters and their stories so other people can enjoy them too. Editing and rewriting is swimming/floating/struggling through the Deep toward the surface. Sometimes I almost get there. Thank you again.
As with some of the others above, my reply to you just disappeared into the depths of the sea – Let’s see if this second (now third) attempt works. But thank you for your kind words – made me smile.
And what would we do without our drafts, first second third fourth —
I love that the brain is still a “black box.” Everybody gets that the brain is the center, not just of thought and emotion, but of heartbeat. Circulation. Life. And yet we still have a primitive grasp of how it *works.* How is it that an American from, say, Chicago, can wake up one morning with a British accent? What the hell is that about? I imagine a lot of you saw or heard of that little kid on “America’s Got Talent” the other night. Two years old and doing long division. When I was two, I had learned with some effort to take off my clothes and throw them in the incinerator. Sure, both things could be considered problem-solving, but I think the math kid is probably going to do better as time goes by. I still struggle with long division.
(third attempt for your reply too!) Beautiful comment ….
I haven’t watched that show or at least not in a long time but … two years old! What and how will his life be? Your two-year-old self made me laugh. I have no clue what I was doing at 2. Not math -ha!