Brains Are Awesome Quotes

One final paragraph of advice: do not burn yourselves out. Be as I am - a reluctant enthusiast....a part-time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it’s still here. So get out there and hunt and fish and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, the lovely, mysterious, and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to the body, the body active and alive, and I promise you this much; I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies, over those desk-bound men and women with their hearts in a safe deposit box, and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators. I promise you this; You will outlive the bastards.

Ew. Someone put the dog out, "Rosalie murmured wrinkling her nose. Have you herd this one, Psycho? how do a blond's brain cells die?" She didn't say anything. Well?" I asked."Do you know the punch line or not?" She looked pointedly at the TV and ignored me. Has she heard it?" I asked Edward. No." He answered. Awesome. So you'll enjoy this, bloodsucker--a blond's brain cells die alone.

Few if any seemed to have grasped the Principle of Reality; new knowledge leads always to yet more awesome mysteries. Greater physiological knowledge of the brain makes the existence of the soul less possible yet more probable by the nature of the search.

Directly above them, framed in the doorway from the Brain Room, stood Albus Dumbledore, his wand aloft, his face white and furious. Harry felt a kind of electric charge surge through every particle of his body - they were saved.

Drop the fucking weapon, you fucking motherfucker or I'll fucking scramble your fucking brains. Hands up! Hands where I can fucking see them, you fucking cocksucker. You fucking breathe wrong, you fucking blink wrong, and I will fuck you up. Fucker." Jacobsen snarled it as he shoved Marcell to the ground. "On your fucking face, you fucking shit coward. Stream my lieutenant in the fucking back? Fuck you.

Okay, let's see if I got this straight. The butt is the new breast, and the lower back is the new ankle. Now if only we could figure out where the brain has moved.

We have about three hours of homework a night, and our evening study period is only two hours, so if you want to spend the break at half-past-nine not freaking out, you have to cram. I'm not sure that the picture of the wide-eyed zombie girl biting out the brains of senior douchebag James Page is part of Sam's homework, bit if it is, his physics teacher is awesome.

YOUR BRAIN IS YOUR BITCH

It never ceases to amaze me the precious time we spend chasing the squirrels around our brains, playing out our dramas, worrying about unwanted facial hair, seeking adoration, justifying our actions, complaining about slow Internet connections, dissecting the lives of idiots, when we are sitting in the middle of a full-blown miracle that is happening right here, right now. We're on a planet that somehow knows how to rotate on its axis and follow a defined path while it hurtles through space! Our hearts beat! We can see! We have love, laughter, language, living rooms, computers, compassion, cars, fire, fingernails, flowers, music, medicine, mountains, muffins!

Keefe closed the distance between them. And then... everything was new. The soft press of his lips against hers. The way their breath seemed to fall perfectly into sync as her heart and brain screamed FINALLY! Some tiny part of her had always wondered if kissing could really be as great as everyone claimed. But kissing Keefe was So. Much. Better. He was the one to finally pull away, leaning back to study her in the shimmering light. "You're okay, right? No regrets?" She grinned. "Absolutely none." His relieved smile was the sweetest thing she'd ever seen- but it faded a little as he leaned his forehead against hers. "I don't want to mess this up," he whispered. "Please don't let me mess this up." "I won't," she promised, tilting her chin up to steal another quick kiss.

In other words, stop judging yourself against shiny people. Avoid the shiny people. The shiny people are a lie. Or get to know them enough to realize they aren’t so shiny after all. Shiny people aren’t the enemy. Sometimes we’re the enemy when we listen to our malfunctioning brains that try to tell us that we’re alone in our self-doubt, or that it’s obvious to everyone that we don’t know what the shit we’re doing. Hell, there are probably people out there right now who consider us to be shiny people (bless their stupid, stupid hearts) and that’s pretty much proof that none of our brains can be trusted to accurately measure the value of anyone, much less ourselves. How can we be expected to properly judge ourselves? We know all of our worst secrets. We are biased, and overly critical, and occasionally filled with shame. So you’ll have to just trust me when I say that you are worthy, important, and necessary. And smart. You may ask how I know and I’ll tell you how. It’s because right now? YOU’RE READING. That’s what the sexy people do. Other, less awesome people might currently be in their front yards chasing down and punching squirrels, but not you. You’re quietly curled up with a book designed to make you a better, happier, more introspective person. You win. You are amazing.

We’ve found that magic happens when we use big whiteboards to solve problems. As humans, our short-term memory is not all that good, but our spatial memory is awesome. A sprint room, plastered with notes, diagrams, printouts, and more, takes advantage of that spatial memory. The room itself becomes a sort of shared brain for the team.

He things we think he's a double agent, working for them but secretly working for us. He doesn't know we know he's a triple agent, working for them but secretly working for us but really he's secretly working for them. Dexter, how's your brain?" "Hurting.

Dudes in suits and politicians didn't make sense to my 18-year-old brain. All I wanted to do was be awesome.

I want to talk about creating your life. There’s a quote I love, from the poet Mary Oliver, that goes: Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? I so clearly remember what it was like, being young and always in the grip of some big fat daydream. I wanted to be a writer always, but more than that, I wanted to have an extraordinary life. I’m sure I dreamed it a million different ways, and that plenty of them were ridiculous, but I think the daydreams were training for writing, and I also think they spurred me to pursue my dreams for real. Daydreaming, however awesome it is, is passive. It happens in your head. Learning to make dreams real is another matter, and I think it should be the work of your life. Everyone’s life, whatever their dream (unless their dream is to be an axe murderer or something.) It took me a while to finish a book. Too long. And you know, it doesn’t matter how good a writer you are unless you finish what you start! I think this is the hardest part for most people who want to write. I was in my mid-30s before I figured it out. The brain plays tricks. You can be convinced you’re following your dream, or that you’re going to start tomorrow, and years can pass like that. Years. The thing is, there will be pressure to adjust your expectations, always shrinking them, shrinking, shrinking, until they fit in your pocket like a folded slip of paper, and you know what happens to folded slips of paper in your pocket. They go through the wash and get ruined. Don’t ever put your dream in your pocket. If you have to put it somewhere, get one of those holsters for your belt, like my dad has for his phone, so you can whip it out at any moment. Hello there, dream. Also, don’t be realistic. The word “realistic” is poison. Who decides? And “backup plan” is code for, “Give up on your dreams,” and everyone I know who put any energy into a backup plan is now living that backup plan instead of their dream. Put all your energy into your dream. That’s the only way it will ever become real. The world at large has this attitude, “What makes you so special that you think you deserve an extraordinary life?” Personally, I think the passion for an extraordinary life, and the courage to pursue it, is what makes us special. And I don’t even think of it as an “extraordinary life” anymore so much as simple happiness. It’s rarer than it should be, and I believe it comes from creating a life that fits you perfectly, not taking what’s already there, but making your own from scratch. You can let life happen to you, or you can happen to life. It’s harder, but so much better.

The whole flock is helping to raise her, with Total insisting on French lessons and Nudge making sure she doesn't look like a cave girl (even though we pretty much live in caves). But it's only Fang who spends as much time with her as I do, Fang who patiently teaches the fascinating facts his photographic brain remembers from all those fat books I shunned in school. Fang, because he's her father.

Few if any seemed to have grasped the truest principle of reality: new knowledge leads always to yet more awesome mysteries. Greater physiological knowledge of the brain makes the existence of the soul less possible yet more probable by the nature of the search.

It argued a special genius; he was clearly a case of that. The spark of fire, the point of light, sat somewhere in his inward vagueness as a lamp before a shrine twinkles in the dark perspective of a church; and while youth and early middle-age, while the stiff American breeze of example and opportunity were blowing upon it hard, had made the chamber of his brain a strange workshop of fortune. This establishment, mysterious and almost anonymous, the windows of which, at hours of highest pressure, never seemed, for starers and wonderers, perceptibly to glow, must in fact have been during certain years the scene of an unprecedented, a miraculous white-heat, the receipt for producing which it was practically felt that the master of the forge could not have communicated even with the best intentions.

Sleep my friend and you will see That dream is my reality They keep me locked up in this cage Can't they see it's why my brain says Rage

Deep within every modern American female, whether she will admit it or not, lingers the image of an ideal man. It isn't necessarily photo quality, it rarely involves specific physical characteristics. No, this image is more like the promise of a feeling, a swept-off-your-feet, powerless-to-control-it, how-awesome-is-this-guy sentiment that she hopes someone special will someday inspire. Left to its own devices, the brain will keep this feeling dormant until truly warranted by a real-life flesh-and-blood person.

But as I stood across from Archer, I couldn't forget that I was completely, stupidly in love with the one person I could never have. The laughter died on my lips, and I dashed at my eyes with the back of my hand. "I need to get back," I said. "Right," he replied. He was still holding his sword in his right hand, and he twirled the hilt, the point sratching the wooden floor. "So this is it. We're done." "Yeah," I said, my voice cracking. I cleared my throat. "And I have to say, the world's first and last Eye-demon reconnaissance mission went pretty well." It was a struggle to meet his eyes, but I managed it. "Thank you." He shrugged, his dark gaze full of something I couldn't quite read. "We were a good team." "We were." In more ways than one, I thought. Which is why this sucked so bad. I stepped back. "Anyway, I should go. See ya,Cross." Then I laughed, only it sounded suspiciously like another sob. "Except I won't, will I So I guess I should say goodbye." I felt like I was about to shatter into a million tiny shards, like the mirrors I'd broken with Dad. "okay, well, best of luck with the whole Eye thing, then. Try not to kill anyone I know." I turned away, but he reached out and caught my wrist. I could feel my pulse hammering under his fingers. "Mercer, that day in the cellar..." He searched my face, and I could sense him struggling for what he wanted to say. Then finally, "I didn't kiss you back because I had to. I kissed you because I wanted to." His eyes dropped to my lips,and it was like the whole world had shrunk to just me and him and the shaft of light between us. "I still want to," he said hoarsely. He tugged my wrist and pulled me into his arms. My brain registered the sound of his sword clattering to he ground as his other hand came up to grab the back of my neck, but once his lips were on mine, everything else faded away. I clutched at his shoulders, raising up on my tiptoes, and kissed him with everything I had in me. As the kiss deepened, we held each other tighter, so I didn't know if the pounding heartbeat I felt was mine or his. How stupid,I thought dreamily, to have ever thought I could give this up. Not just the kissing, although, as Archer's hands cupped my face, I had to admit that part was pretty awesome. But all of it: joking with him and working beside him. Being with a guy who was my friend and could still make me feel like this.

When my grandpa died, I had this same fear. I love Grandpa so much. He was Mom's dad, and he was my favorite person in the whole world. He lived up north, between Grayling and the Mackinaw Bridge. He had, like, twenty acres. He had horses and dirt bike and all this awesome stuff. I'd go up there for weeks at a time during the summers, and he'd let me do whatever I wanted. We'd go hunting and fishing and four-wheeling, and I'd stay up till midnight every night. Then one day, he died. All of a sudden, just like that that. I cried for days. Dad kicked the shit out of me for crying, but I didn't care. I loved Grandpa, and he was gone. Then, like a month after he'd died, I had this panic attack. I couldn't remember what he looked like. I thought it meant I didn't love him, or that I'd forgotten about him. It was the only time Dad was anything like helpful. He told me you have to forget what they look like. Otherwise, you can't learn to live without them. Forgetting is your brain's way of telling you it's time to try and move on. Not forget who they were, just...keep living.

Our presence here, outside the domain of the home planet, was not rooted in an accident of nature, nor the capricious political whim of a technological civilization. It was rather an extension of the same universal process that evolved our molecules. And what I felt was an extraordinary personal connectedness with it. I experienced what has been described as an ecstasy of unity. I not only saw the connectedness, I.felt it and experienced it sentiently. I was overwhelmed with the sensation of physically and mentally extending out into the cosmos. The restraints and boundaries of flesh and bone fell away. I realized that this was a biological response of my brain attempting to reorganize and give meaning to information about the wonderful and awesome processes I was privileged to view from this vantage point.

There are lots of times you just have to remember to take brain pictures. These are the moments you absolutely need to experience life, not through a camera or a screen, but directly through your eyeballs. Taking these brain pictures will help you later on in your journey.

I felt like there should have been rainbows and rose petals in their wake or something. Ugh.That was catty. Jenna deserved rainbows and rose petals, I reminded myself as I flopped back on my bed, Dad's book bumping painfully against my sternum. After everything she'd been through, Jenna had earned an eternity of nothing but good stuff. So why did seeing her with Vix make me want to brain myself with Demonologies: A History? I looked at the nightstand again and sighed. Then I opened the heavy book and tried to make myself read. For the next few hours I made a valiant attempt to get through Chapter One. For a book that was supposedly about fallen angels running around and creating havoc with their super-awesome dark "magycks," it was awfully boring, and all the weird spellings definitely didn't help.

You can be: Cool Awesome Funny Ignorant Cold ... But in the end you always gonna hurt somebody.

It never ceases to amaze me the precious time we spend chasing the squirrels around our brains, playing out our dramas, worrying about unwanted facial hair, seeking adoration, justifying our actions, complaining about slow Internet connections, dissecting the lives of idiots, when we are sitting in the middle of a full-blown miracle that is happening right here, right now.

new knowledge leads always to yet more awesome mysteries. Greater physiological knowledge of the brain makes the existence of the soul less possible yet more probable by the nature of the search.

And I kind of come all over him. Which really wasn’t the plan. But it comes out of nowhere, like an awesome sneeze. White light in my brain. Bam. A fucking orgasm, somehow dragged out my fucking finger.

Reality, he wrote, “has to be funneled through the reducing valve of the brain and nervous system. What comes out at the other end is a measly trickle of the kind of consciousness which will help us to stay alive on the surface of this particular planet.” Mescaline and LSD, he theorized, inhibited the systems in the brain designed to shut out impractical stimulation, so humans could keep coloring within the lines and go about the business of survival without being distracted by the astounding awesomeness of the universe—or as Huxley put it, “the glory, the infinite value and meaningfulness of naked existence, of the given, unconceptualized event.” Huxley

If she was possessed by anything other than faulty brain chemistry and/or DNA, I like to imagine her as being possessed by the vast, awesome and awful monster that is popular culture. Possessed by the collective of ideas!)

Because we can talk and talk and talk and we’ll never figure out why I’m screwed up. It’s just the way my brain works. Or doesn’t work. Sometimes I just start feeling numb, and then after that it gets painful, and I don’t know why.

One universally common trait in ultra successful people (including the ones with ADHD!) is the ability to consistently take action in a specific direction. This has three components: 1)       Direction 2)     SMART goals 3)      Consistency

Hey a rant. Haven't done one of those in a while. S'good to stretch out the Longevitus Ranticus section of the brain once in a while, otherwise you just become passive and might even- god forbid- lose the ability to stretch it in the first place.

For years I’ve studied the ancients’ claims of man’s awesome mental power, and now science is showing us that accessing that power is an actual physical process. Our brains, if used correctly, can call forth powers that are quite literally superhuman.

Few if any seemed to have grasped the truest principle of reality: new knowledge leads always to yet more awesome mysteries. Greater physiological knowledge of the brain makes the existence of the soul less possible yet more probable by the nature of the search. Do

Few if any seemed to have grasped the truest principle of reality: new knowledge leads always to yet more awesome mysteries. Greater physiological knowledge of the brain makes the existence of the soul less possible yet more probable by the nature of the search. Do you see?

This isn't the first time I've used this, and the test subject showed no signs of impaired cognitive ability." "Who was the test subject?" asked Aurora. "I test everything out on myself before taking it into the field." She stared at him. "You zapped your own brain?" "And it didn't do me any harm apart from the dizziness and the vomiting spells and the weirdly persistent ringing in my ears. Also the blackouts and the mood swings and the creeping paranoia. Apart from that, zero side effects, if you don't count the numb fingertips. Which I don't.

I sigh. Because love is all around me. And I’m Ms. Lonely. And then my gaze is moving . . . I don’t have to scan the room to find Logan, I know just where he is—it’s as if my brain has a 24/7 GPS on him. But the crazy, awesome, amazing thing that gets my heart pounding so loud it drowns out the sound of the music? When I look at Logan St. James across the room, he’s not searching the crowd for threats. He’s not looking in front of him, so he’s ready for whatever may come. Instead, when I indulge in my daily Logan stare-fest . . . he’s staring right back at me.

I shut off the alarm on my phone and snuggle into bed, wishing I could shut off my brain as easily as I turned off the alarm. Wouldn’t that be awesome? To be able to slide something on a screen to shut off any thoughts you no longer wish to have. I’d pay good money for that ability right now.

It is impossible to get what you want out of life through indiscriminate action.  This is where some honest self-assessment combined with SMART goals comes in, both of which will serve to inspire motivation upon demand, give you a direction to direct your energy towards, and translate impulsivity into creativity.

So, you admit you’re an animal killer.” She gaped. Did he just say that? Did he actually . . . “Go for it, Addie!” Tay yelled. She glanced up. There was the ball plummeting at a fierce velocity, triggering a burst of adrenaline. And there was Kris, the words still on his lips. Her fingers rolled into a fist. She threw her arm back and made contact, executing a follow-through to ensure that the sucker landed—smack!—square in the face. “Whoa!” Ed yelled as Kris went backward, hands over his nose, from which streamed a line of bright-red blood. “Awesome!” Tay slapped her on the back. “You knocked him out cold. We won!” Addie lifted the net and went over to where Kris was sitting in the mud, blood on his shirt. “Is that enough closure for you?” he asked, wiping blood off his chin. She breathed heavily, trying to think what she thought, and was delighted to realize that, actually, it had helped to knock the stuffing out of him. “Yeah. That’ll work. See you tomorrow, at noon.” She turned and marched off. “I’m going back to the lab.

Studies that look at what happens when people have nothing to think about or let their minds wander show that non-awkward people tend to keep their social brain running at all times, even when there is no social activity. By comparison, awkward people do not seem to keep their social brain running at all times and might need to be reminded to turn the ignition on for their social brain.

Compounding this is the fact that the brain’s prefrontal cortex—the large part of the forebrain that lets us plan, think logically, and get work done—has a built-in “novelty bias.” Whenever we switch between tasks, it rewards us with dopamine—that amazing pleasure chemical that rushes through our brain whenever we devour a medium-sized pizza, accomplish something awesome, or have a drink or two after work.

This to live by, from the inimitable Edward Abbey: "One final paragraph of advice: [...] It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it’s still here. So get out there and hunt and fish and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, the lovely, mysterious, and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to the body, the body active and alive, and I promise you this much; I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies, over those desk-bound men and women with their hearts in a safe deposit box, and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators. I promise you this; You will outlive the bastards.

Do you ever think about it? About nothingness. I do, I think about it all the time. Because of course it’s nothingness that awaits us. Of course it is. If it weren’t why would our hearts keep pumping any longer than they had to? Why wouldn’t we all emerge into the world pure and innocent, and then before we had a chance to get in any trouble, before we had a chance to take our first oily shit, just immediately shut down our systems and head straight to the hereafter? If there were a better life after death, why bother getting fitter for survival’s sake? Why would evolution even be a thing? Why fight for something second best? If death was really awesome, in a life or death situation, our bodies wouldn’t muscle up with epinephrine and cortisol. Our brains would hit us up instead with sloppy, sleepy happy love. Hannibal Lecter would be our Mickey Mouse. No, there’s fuckall to look forward to. Our bodies understand this. The real problem is, it’s unbearable to know this. So we cope.

Hence, the eighth principle: whenever possible, we should manage our thinking by creating cognitively congenial situations. We often regard the brain as an organ of awesome and almost unfathomable power. But we’re also apt to treat it with high-handed imperiousness, expecting it to do our bidding as if it were a docile servant. Pay attention to this, we tell it; remember that; buckle down now and get the job done. Alas, we often find that the brain is an unreliable and even impertinent attendant: fickle in its focus, porous in its memory, and inconstant in its efforts. The problem lies in our attempt to command it. We’ll elicit improved performance from the brain when we approach it with the aim not of issuing orders but of creating situations that draw out the desired result.

I kind of conned you into believing you were falling in love with a healthy person,” he said. I shrugged. “I’d have done the same to you.” “No, you wouldn’t’ve, but we can’t all be as awesome as you.” He kissed me, then grimaced. “Does it hurt?” I asked. “No. Just.” He stared at the ceiling for a long time before saying, “I like this world. I like drinking champagne. I like not smoking. I like the sound of Dutch people speaking Dutch. And now…I don’t even get a battle. I don’t get a fight.” “You get to battle cancer,” I said. “That is your battle. And you’ll keep fighting,” I told him. I hated it when people tried to build me up to prepare for battle, but I did it to him, anyway. “You’ll…you’ll…live your best life today. This is your war now.” I despised myself for the cheesy sentiment, but what else did I have? “Some war,” he said dismissively. “What am I at war with? My cancer. And what is my cancer? My cancer is me. The tumors are made of me. They’re made of me as surely as my brain and my heart are made of me. It is a civil war, Hazel Grace, with a predetermined winner.” “Gus,” I said. I couldn’t say anything else. He was too smart for the kinds of solace I could offer. “Okay,” he said. But it wasn’t. After a moment, he said, “If you go to the Rijksmuseum, which I really wanted to do—but who are we kidding, neither of us can walk through a museum. But anyway, I looked at the collection online before we left. If you were to go, and hopefully someday you will, you would see a lot of paintings of dead people. You’d see Jesus on the cross, and you’d see a dude getting stabbed in the neck, and you’d see people dying at sea and in battle and a parade of martyrs. But Not. One. Single. Cancer. Kid. Nobody biting it from the plague or smallpox or yellow fever or whatever, because there is no glory in illness. There is no meaning to it. There is no honor in

What’re you thinking about?” she asked, arching back against him and making shivers run down his spine. “You,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her neck. “How much better my life is with you in it.” A long moment passed when they simply lay together in the quiet of her bedroom, skin to skin, his heart pumping against her back and his lips resting lazily on her shoulder. “I’m falling in love with you too,” she finally said quietly with her back to him. Her words ricocheted in his brain like too much awesome to bear. He didn’t expect them, didn’t anticipate them, and his heart—which had quietly longed for the words for days—didn’t know how to believe it was possible that a creature as lovely as Savannah could fall for a creature as broken as him. “Say it again,” he whispered, closing his burning eyes so that all that existed was her voice in his ears. She rolled back, and he moved slightly so that she could lie on her back beside him. He opened his eyes to look at her, and with her messy hair and fat lip, she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. “I’m falling in love with you, Asher.” Without breaking eye contact with her, he reached out to push her hair gently off her forehead. “You take my breath away.

Skills Unlocked: How to Build Heroic Character Strengths If you want to make a change for the better or achieve a tough goal, don’t worry about motivation. Instead, focus on increasing your self-efficacy: confidence in your ability to solve your own problems and achieve your goals. The fastest and most reliable way to increase your self-efficacy is to learn how to play a new game. Any kind of game will do, because all games require you to learn new skills and tackle tough goals. The level of dopamine in your brain influences your ability to build self-efficacy. The more you have, the more determined you feel, and the less likely you are to give up. You’ll learn faster, too—because high dopamine levels improve your attention and help you process feedback more effectively. Keep in mind that video games have been shown to boost dopamine levels as much as intravenous amphetamines. Whenever you want to boost your dopamine levels, play a game—or make a prediction. Predictions prime your brain to pay closer attention and to anticipate a reward. (Playing “worst-case scenario bingo” is an excellent way to combine these two techniques!) You can also build self-efficacy vicariously by watching an avatar that looks like you accomplish feats in a virtual world. Whenever possible, customize video game avatars to look like you. Every time your avatar does something awesome, you’ll get a vicarious boost to your willpower and determination. Remember, self-efficacy doesn’t just help you. It can inspire you to help others. The more powerful you feel, the more likely you are to rise to the heroic occasion. So the next time you feel superpowerful, take a moment to ask yourself how you can use your powers for good.

the report lost its novelty: it was there in front of you twenty minutes ago and it was there again five seconds ago. Soon your brain became habituated to seeing the report sitting there, a few inches from your face.2 So it started ignoring it and focusing its attention on other things, primarily anything that was new or different—whether external (a loud noise outside your office) or internal (a memory or future plan that just popped into your head). In short, our attention systems seem to have been built for scanning and detection, for reacting to the unexpected, for keeping up with what’s changing around us, and for finding what’s new—in other words, for zeroing in on distractions.

WALLY AMOS ONCE said, “If you’re going through hell, don’t stop to take pictures!” But that’s exactly what we do, isn’t it? We maintain a mental catalog of every detail of what has happened. When the situation is over, we show off our mental pictures by telling the story over and over, embellishing the worst details. It creates pain in the brain and drama in life. We hate it, but we do it, unconsciously. When we hold on to and mentally relieve painful past experiences, we create enemies. There is always someone to be leery of; someone or something to watch out for; what we fail to realize is that the kind of mental darkness in the back of our minds creates an “enemy in me.” Within you there is an awesome power, a divine intelligence, that is accessible and available, wherever you are. It is a guiding light. Unfortunately, this light can’t shine when we keep ourselves surrounded in dark memories. When a photographer takes film into a darkroom, the negative images are exposed to light. The light creates a new image. Only when we expose the negativeness in our brain to light, can we create a new picture in our lives.

If we think of trauma as emotions trapped in the body, this is how we metabolize them out. This can be done in all kinds of safe ways: with a therapist, with an awesome loved one, in a support group, or even by yourself in a journal.

Easy. You’ll say, ‘Wow, that’s the hottest Wanderling I’ve ever seen! Who knew a tree could have awesome hair?’ And then you’ll all sit under my stunning leaves and write poems about my general amazingness.” Sophie shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re trying to joke about this.” “Well, believe it, Miss F. I can joke about anything!” He nudged her with his elbow, but she refused to smile. And she hated her brain for suddenly picturing his Wanderling. But she could see it so clearly now. The tree would have yellow spiky leaves and ice blue flowers and pale bark—and it would be lopsided somehow, mirroring his crooked smirk. “The thought of you dying will never be funny,” she whispered, wishing her eyes weren’t burning.

Dr. Hallowell describes people with ADHD as having a Ferrari engine in a race car brain with bicycle brakes.

Not making it on time to an appointment because your brain has compromised time-management function is an actual limitation, not a character flaw.

Many people are afraid to teach because they don’t think they know enough. I hope I’ve put the lie to that. But also consider this: work in brain science has shown that nothing is better for maintaining your memory and critical thinking skills as you age than continuous learning. And remember, there’s no better way to learn than to teach. This is not to mention the threat of obsolescence. As the pace of technological change has quickened, the pace of change throughout all of work life has been cranked up, and those who don’t constantly work out on the cognitive treadmill find themselves lapped by the new young things right out of college. Finally,

as the K computer and built in Japan, this awesome machine used 1.4 million GB of RAM to carry out its most accurate simulation. In fact, believe it or not, the time it takes this supercomputer to model a second of brain activity you could sit down and watch an episode of

Do you ever think about it, about nothingness? I do, I think about it all the time. Because of course it's nothingness that awaits us. *Of course* it is. If it weren't, why would our hearts keep pumping any longer than they had to? Why wouldn't we all emerge into the world, pure and innocent, and then, before we had a chance to get into any trouble - before we even had a chance to take our first, oily shit - just immediately shut down our systems and head straight to the hereafter? If there were a better life after death, why bother getting fitter for survival's sake? Why would evolution even be a thing? Why fight for something second best? If death was *really* awesome, in a life-or-death situation, our bodies wouldn't muscle up with epinephrine and cortisol, our brains would hit us up instead with sloppy sleepy happy love. Hannibal Lecter would be our Mickey Mouse. No. There's fuck-all to look forward to. Our bodies understand this. The real problem is, it's unbearable to *know* this.

What makes us?? (Think Little) Is it our look??? Is it our emotions??? Is it our thoughts??? What makes us think that when we wake up, we are the same??? What makes us to think that when we teleport we will be the same?

You get used to the brain being squeezed. At nighttime in the darkness of your emptiness, it seems to swell back up and gives you some peace. In the darkness even the pain is not so bad. A bruise heals. (Time is the treatment.) But it’s your mind that’s tortured. Your thoughts are in turmoil and despair. Feelings of awesome revenge and destruction manifest themselves.

Do you ever think about it, about nothingness? I do, I think about it all the time. Because of course it's nothingness that awaits us. *Of course* it is. If it weren't, why would our hearts keep pumping any longer than they had to? Why wouldn't we all emerge into the world, pure and innocent, and then, before we had a chance to get into any trouble - before we even had a chance to take out first, oily shit - just immediately shut down our systems and head straight to the hereafter? If there were a better life after death, why bother getting fitter for survival's sake? Why would evolution even be a thing? Why fight for something second best? If death was *really* awesome, in a life-or-death situation, our bodies wouldn't muscle up with epinephrine and cortisol, our brains would hit us up instead with sloppy sleepy happy love. Hannibal Lecter would be our Mickey Mouse. No. There's fuck-all to look forward to. Our bodies understand this. The real problem is, it's unbearable to *know* this.

With your brain you will be smart, with your heart you will be wise but with both of them you'll be something Awesome for Other peoples

Our subconscious mind is like a little kid who doesn’t know any better and, not coincidentally, receives most of its information when we’re little kids and don’t know any better (because our frontal lobes, the conscious part of our brains, hasn’t fully formed yet).

Success isn't a result of spontaneous combustion. You must set yourself on fire.” – Arnold H. Glasow

It is impossible to get what you want out of life through indiscriminate action.

This is the power of the internal alignment that results from having direction and setting goals.[1] At the time my goal-setting skills were in their infancy, i.e. I was not consistent and did not track them. So imagine the power of direction, goals, AND consistency.

Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him…. —Psalm 37:7 (NIV) Here are two of my favorite things: salads and multitasking. So combining them is like a cosmic explosion of awesomeness—until this happened. I was sitting at one of the neighborhood restaurants, eating a bowlful of spinach, grilled chicken, raw beets, toasted Parmesan, and spicy lime dressing. Meanwhile, my brain was working on overdrive, running through to-do lists for the rest of the day and thinking of witty observations to post on Twitter. My fingers were pecking at my phone, checking e-mail. I was getting things done; I was happy. And then it hit me: I couldn’t taste my salad. Or rather, I hadn’t tasted it for several minutes. I hadn’t noticed the crunchy umami flavor of the toasted Parmesan. I hadn’t sensed the tangy spice of the dressing on my tongue. I was not experiencing one iota of pleasure from this salad. I’ve heard about slowing down and living in the moment, but I had always assumed this sort of advice came from inefficient people, the nonmultitaskers of the world. Sitting there, eating my salad, I realized, though, that if I didn’t notice the gifts God was offering me in that moment, I was not merely opening myself up to stress and being overwhelmed, I was forgoing the pleasures that moment had to offer. So I turned off my phone and, as best I could, my brain as well, looked at my colorful salad, and thanked God for its delicious explosion of flavor. God, help me to slow down and to appreciate what this moment— each moment—has to offer. —Joshua Sundquist Digging Deeper: Eccl 5:18; Jn 1:16; Phil 2:13

This beautiful morning is reminding me of a saying: “Sun for the mind, moon for the soul.” It is really amazing to see how Universe conspires in our favor? Sunshine to boost our brains for the day, moonlight to soothe our souls at night… Talk about a 24/7 support system! Sweetheart, this Universe, in all its cosmic glory, is basically your own personal cheerleader. Every single thing around you is actually designed to help you to be what you came here to be. Darling listen – the only pressure you have is to be your awesome selves & make the most of what you’ve got, everyday. The rest is practically cosmic room service

SDS,’ said Nisha grandly, ‘stands for Stomach Drop Sensation. It’s the magic. You know, the warm glow you get deep down in your gut that means someone’s just right for you. It comes from your heart and your body and your brain all at the same time. It’s awesome and scary, like a force of nature – like magnetism or gravity, or something.

SELF-CONTROL Children with ADHD sometimes have difficulty controlling their feelings and actions. That is called self-control. Remember how at the beginning of the book we talked a little bit about how the brain works? Kids with ADHD have brains that work differently from those of kids without ADHD. This can be wonderful, because it gives you your awesome imagination. It also probably gives you the most incredible ideas at the most random times! But it can make things difficult, too, because it can also make it hard to control your feelings and actions.

The mind in itself is a simply vast system, an overwhelming system. In this limited physical world of ours we need, in order to contain and control the mind, to limit rather than expand its capacities. Far from producing the mind, the brain is drastically filtering the mind, so that only a tiny portion of its real power is ever expressed. The mind is too much for the spacetime universe of matter. “God” is too much for the universe. The Creator is different from and separate from his creation, and has awesomely more power.

Through chemistry we can unravel and comprehend the once inscrutable mysteries of the natural world. We can understand the green of a leaf and the red of a rose, the fragrance of a herb and new-mown hay. We can understand, in a halting but increasing way, the intricate and complex reticulation of processes in the natural world that constitute the awesome and multifaceted property we know as life. We are beginning, even more haltingly, to understand the chemical processes in our brains that enable us to perceive, wonder, and understand.

One thing seems certain: a huge step forward was also an enormous step back. As Lynn Margulis and Dorion Sagan point out in their brilliant book Microcosmos, multicelled organisms lost the rapid-fire external information exchange, quick-paced inventiveness, and global data sharing of bacteria. With their newly developed nervous systems and brains, multicellular creatures made awesome contributions to the elaboration of cell-to-cell communication. And with the elaborate facilities in their nuclei, they giant-stepped the powers of genetic memory. But their data was now stuck inside the body. Most of it would take a billion years to get back out again.

Not only is breathing meditative and good for calming stress, but it improves brain and immune system function, cleanses the body, and purifies our minds.

We have to constantly remind ourselves that our brains may be skewing the unknown toward the negative, so we don’t miss out on the potentially awesome rewards on the other side.

After 10 months of venomous sneering from the entire Republican Brain Trust—every political consultant, pollster, and Beltway insider, Fox News National Review, talk radio hosts Mark Levin and Glenn Beck—the New York Times reported that “Republicans have ruefully acknowledged that they came to this dire pass in no small part because of their own passivity. Their own “passivity.” This is how people brag about how admirable they are by pretending to apologize: "We screwed up; we were too nice." What they’re really saying is that they didn’t screw up at all. They're just super people.

It never ceases to amaze me the precious time we spend chasing the squirrels around our brains, playing out our dramas, worrying about unwanted facial hair, seeking adoration, justifying our actions, complaining about slow Internet connections, dissecting the lives of idiots, when we are sitting in the middle of a full-blown miracle that is happening right here, right now. We’re on a planet that somehow knows how to rotate on its axis and follow a defined path while it hurtles through space! Our hearts beat! We can see! We have love, laughter, language, living rooms, computers, compassion, cars, fire, fingernails, flowers, music, medicine, mountains, muffins! We live in a limitless Universe overflowing with miracles! The fact that we aren’t stumbling around in an inconsolable state of sobbing awe is appalling. The Universe must be like, what more do I have to do to wake these bitches up? Make water, their most precious resource, rain down from the sky?

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Giving up that lifestyle threatened his identity too much. The Party Guy was all he knew how to be. To give that up would be like committing psychological hara-kiri. We all have values for ourselves. We protect these values. We try to live up to them and we justify them and maintain them. Even if we don’t mean to, that’s how our brain is wired. As noted before, we’re unfairly biased toward what we already know, what we believe to be certain. If I believe I’m a nice guy, I’ll avoid situations that could potentially contradict that belief. If I believe I’m an awesome cook, I’ll seek out opportunities to prove that to myself over and over again. The belief always takes precedence. Until we change how we view ourselves, what we believe we are and are not, we cannot overcome our avoidance and anxiety. We cannot change. In this way, “knowing yourself” or “finding yourself” can be dangerous. It can cement you into a strict role and saddle you with unnecessary expectations. It can close you off to inner potential and outer opportunities. I say don’t find yourself. I say never know who you are. Because that’s what keeps you striving and discovering. And it forces you to remain humble in your judgments and accepting of the differences in others.

This truth is not understood by the U.S. media, or by the pundits, whose ridiculous optimism (or equally ridiculous carping) invariably misses the essential thing itself. Given in a nutshell Groupthink reigns supreme in the U.S. intelligence community where plausible liberals - their brains ground like coffee and percolated through the strainer of the Ivy League - repeatedly find the analytical parade and get in front of it. Instead of penetrating the mind of a distant enemy, they grasp the anxiety of their political overseers, intuiting what is wanted, spitting up a facsimile thereof, and sliding up the career ladder awesomely enabled, impregnably ignorant and numb at heart. Giving them their due, they are innocently unaware of how hopelessly smug and comfortably muddled they've become. Consequently, says Bodansky, there emerged an institutional culture - much like the State Department's culture - that taints and tilts analysis, refusing to confront the possibility of lack of knowledge or errors of judgment.

It never ceases to amaze me the precious time we spend chasing the squirrels around our brains, playing out our dramas, worrying about unwanted facial hair, seeking adoration, justifying our actions, complaining about slow Internet connections, dissecting the lives of idiots, when we are sitting in the middle of a full-blown miracle that is happening right here, right now. We’re on a planet that somehow knows how to rotate on its axis and follow a defined path while it hurtles through space! Our hearts beat! We can see! We have love, laughter, language, living rooms, computers, compassion, cars, fire, fingernails, flowers, music, medicine, mountains, muffins! We live in a limitless Universe overflowing with miracles!

We relive our worst moments over and over and over instead of letting them go, we pick at the emotional scabs and refuse to let the healing happen and the pain subside. We won’t rest until we’ve made sure someone else feels as badly as they’ve just made us feel. If I have to suffer my entire life I will make sure you see how you’ve wronged me! We cling to the resentments that take up our brain space, waste our time, spin us out, keep us angry and depressed and very often make us physically sick and sometimes even kill us because . . . um, why?

Yes, your brain is truly an awesome machine, no doubt – a natural resource inside your skull right now.

Three-thousand-year-old gossip.” “What about Aphrodite’s husband?” “Well, you know,” she said. “Hephaestus. The blacksmith. He was crippled when he was a baby, thrown off Mount Olympus by Zeus. So he isn’t exactly handsome. Clever with his hands, and all, but Aphrodite isn’t into brains and talent, you know?” “She likes bikers.” “Whatever.” “Hephaestus knows?” “Oh sure,” Annabeth said. “He caught them together once. I mean, literally caught them, in a golden net, and invited all the gods to come and laugh at them. Hephaestus is always trying to embarrass them. That’s why they meet in out-of-the-way places, like…” She stopped, looking straight ahead. “Like that.” In front of us was an empty pool that would’ve been awesome for skateboarding. It was at least fifty yards across and shaped like a bowl. Around the rim, a dozen bronze statues of Cupid stood guard with wings spread and bows ready to fire. On the opposite side from us, a tunnel opened up, probably where the water flowed into when the pool was full. The sign above it read, THRILL RIDE O’ LOVE: THIS IS NOT YOUR PARENTS’ TUNNEL OF LOVE! Grover crept toward the edge. “Guys, look.” Marooned at the bottom of the pool was a pink-and-white two-seater boat with a canopy

While we sat at the bar, Dave told me the most important advice about talking to women I had ever received, and that was to be as relaxed as possible and not fear rejection. Dave then began hooking up with some girl who looked like a hybrid of Rosie O’Donnell and Miss Piggy, leaving me alone to ponder his words.” “When I was in 8th grade, there was this girl named Sandra who I used to ride the school bus with. Sandra was about 5’2, 120 lbs, and looked like the Hamburglar. She was the prettiest girl in my class.” “In my mind I was the life of the party and felt as though I could do no wrong when it came to interacting with the opposite sex. That was until Marissa caught me red handed hooking up with some girl who looked like a combination of John Madden and Andre the Giant, tapping me on the shoulder and kicking me square in the nuts.” “I was starting to feel bad about how I treated women. Oh wait, no I wasn’t. The girls at Binghamton were nothing more than a bunch of dumb sluts that just wanted to get drunk and suck dick, and besides, they were all going to make a lot more money than me in the future. So I may as well catch brains while these bitches were dumb enough to blow me.” “Out of all the people I could’ve stumbled into blackout drunk, why did it have to be THE MOOSE? As son as she saw me her 300 lb frame waddled over, and she jammed her tongue down my throat, devouring me as though I were a Big Mac. This was embarrassing. Here I was making out with some girl who looked like Eric Cartman in a dress, and everybody was watching. My life was effectively over.” “After annihilating Ruben’s toilet, I looked over my shoulder for some much-needed toilet paper, when to my shock and dismay there was not a single sheet of paper in sight. There’s no way in hell I was rejoining the party covered in poop and I would have wiped my ass with anything. That’s when I noticed his New York Yankees bath towel.” “I spent the rest of my week off getting completely shitfaced with Chris, and that’s when I realized I might be developing a drinking problem. At Bar None, hooking up with some girl who looked like the Loch Ness Monster; this shit had to stop. Alcohol was turning me into a drunken mess, and I vowed right then and there to quit drinking and start smoking more weed immediately.” “I got a new roommate. His name was Erick and he was an ex-marine. Erick and I didn’t know each other, but he knew Kevin, and he also knew that I didn’t shower and that last semester I left a used condom on the floor for two weeks without throwing it away. Eric therefore did not want to live with me.” “Believe it or not, I got another job working with the disabled. See, Manny was nice enough to hook me up with a position as a job coach at the Lavelle School for the Blind. The kid’s name was Fred and he was blind with cerebral palsy. Fred loved dogs and I loved smoking week. Bad combination, and I was fired with 3 days left in the program after allowing Fred to run across the street into oncoming traffic, because I had smoked a bowl an hour earlier. Manny and I never spoke again.” “My life was a dream and a nightmare rolled into one. Here I was living this carefree existence, getting drunk, boning bitches, and playing Sega Genesis in between. Oh wait, what am I talking about? My life was awesome. It’s the rest of my life that’s going to suck.

Sometimes, we knock it out of the park. Other times, we can’t even get our jerseys on. This can be confounding for people observing ADHDers, because they see what we can do and then wonder why we don’t just, you know, do it. You didn’t forget to unload the dishes yesterday. How come you forgot today? But like people who have other types of neurodivergent brains—such as people with autism spectrum disorder or dyslexia—those of us with ADHD are not in control of how our brain differences manifest. It’s simply how we are wired. Unfortunately, much of the world doesn’t recognize that, and this lack of understanding can make people with ADHD feel . . . well, bad.

Rogers 1. Heart Splinters 2. Anger and His Shell 3. The Millionth New Plan 4. Good Morning, Confidence 5. Diagnosis Inconclusive 6. Mom Has a Problem 7. Tyler Has a Problem 8. Tyler Is My Brother 9. A Bad Kid 10. Jigsaw Brains 11. Golden, Glittery Gwendolyn 12. Diagnosis Conclusive 13. Letter Friends 14. A Good Kid in the Making 15. Similar Genetic Makeup 16. Extreme Side Effects 17. SuperGwendolyn 18. Gwendolyn on Pointlessness 19. Diagnosis Re-Inconclusive 20. The No Plan Plan 21. The Worst Possible Thing 22. The First Crack 23. Cross-Outs 24. Hettie’s List 25. Awesome Things Author Letter

Dedication Fifty-Four Things Wrong with Gwendolyn Rogers 1. Heart Splinters 2. Anger and His Shell 3. The Millionth New Plan 4. Good Morning, Confidence 5. Diagnosis Inconclusive 6. Mom Has a Problem 7. Tyler Has a Problem 8. Tyler Is My Brother 9. A Bad Kid 10. Jigsaw Brains 11. Golden, Glittery Gwendolyn 12. Diagnosis Conclusive 13. Letter Friends 14. A Good Kid in the Making 15. Similar Genetic Makeup 16. Extreme Side Effects 17. SuperGwendolyn 18. Gwendolyn on Pointlessness 19. Diagnosis Re-Inconclusive 20. The No Plan Plan 21. The Worst Possible Thing 22. The First Crack 23. Cross-Outs 24. Hettie’s List 25. Awesome Things Author Letter