Chatter The voice in our head, why it matters, and how to harness it

Review by Booklist Review

We all have a dialogue running continuously through our minds. Sometimes it helps us reason out our problems and find solutions; other times, it short circuits our thought processes. Kross, an experimental psychologist at the University of Michigan, sifts through psychological experiments, studies, and personal experiences to explain the science behind our inner chatter and how to tame it. One way is to look at problems from a distance, creating the difference between trying to solve your own problems and offering advice to a friend. Techniques like journaling, imagining the future, and calling yourself by name or even "you" can help. Talking to others can make things easier as long as you don't dwell on events, and even a ritual or lucky charm can provide a useful diversion. Kross observes, too, that ordering your surroundings, stepping out into nature, and looking at a photograph of a loved one can break the chatter cycle. Kross recaps his concrete tips in a "tools" section that will reinforce his sound advice, making this a practical, useful guide to quieting one's inner noise.

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Kross, the director of the University of Michigan's Emotion & Self Control Laboratory, debuts with an eye-opening look at managing "the silent conversations people have with themselves." He begins with an anecdote from 2011: after Kross received a threatening letter, he spent sleepless nights armed with a baseball bat to protect his family and irrationally blamed himself for causing the situation. Kross eventually calmed down, but his experience inspired the writing of this book in order to share his findings on how to "keep silent, internal conversations from harming mental health." Using other anecdotes, such as that of Rick Ankiel, whose pitching career with the St. Louis Cardinals was derailed by overwhelming anxiety, Kross walks readers through a wide variety of internal conversations, such as helpful "linked" thought patterns that focus on a goal versus "unlinked" negative thought spirals. Kross profiles LeBron James, Fred Rogers, and Malala Yousafzai, among others, and articulates their strategies for dealing with negative self-talk, such as using rituals (like mantras or daily moments of reflection) to reduce harmful mental chatter. Kross also provides mind-calming tips, such as imagining one's self-talk as advising a friend and reframing one's experience as a challenge. Readers dealing with issues of self-talk would do well to pick up Kross's stimulating foray into popular psychology. (Jan.)

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Review by Library Journal Review

The psychological concept of "self-talk" has been formally studied since the mid-20th century, although much more attention has been paid to it, and a number of books published on it, in the last decade. In this debut, psychologist Kross (Emotional & Self Control Lab, Univ. of Michigan) uses numerous examples and research to show that while positive self-talk (great job!") can be good for us, negative self-talk ("chatter") can lead to a frightening, downward spiral that can "harm our bodies, damage our social lives, and derail our careers." He then provides practical and relatively simple tools a person can implement to "harness the voice in our head," including using distanced self-talk, imagining advising a friend, broadening our perspective, reframing our experience as a challenge, and writing expressively. Helpfully, Kross also includes tools for providing and receiving chatter support, and tools that involve the environment (creating order in one's environment, increasing exposure to green spaces, and seeking out awe-inspiring experiences). His accessible writing will draw in casual readers of psychology and self-help books, and experts seeking to learn how to channel their inner thoughts. VERDICT A well-reasoned, well-researched guide for those prone to negative self-talk and those who support them.--Marcia G. Welsh, formerly with Dartmouth Coll. Lib., Hanover, NH

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

A professor of psychology examines the most crucial conversation: with ourselves. In this deft debut, Kross, director of the University of Michigan's Emotion & Self Control Laboratory, helps readers better understand what it means to be human. We all talk to ourselves every day, and even the calmest characters among us do so at a blistering pace. What experimental psychologists and neuroscientists refers to as "chatter" is the part of this one-person tête-à-tête that falls into a pattern of thinking, common to the human condition, in which reflection becomes a burden. Since we aren't going to stop talking to ourselves--and, frankly, we don't want to; the voices in our heads have valuable things to say--it's important we use our introspection effectively: "Chatter underlies a variety of mental illnesses," notes the author, who artfully describes how we talk to ourselves, why those conversations are helpful, and the triggers that can get us into trouble. He shows readers meaningful ways to reframe the discussion, when to seek assistance, and how to better support friends and family. The potential of a mind constructively channeled is no small thing, but it's not all about being perpetually present. "The power of the mind to heal itself is, indeed, magical (in the awe-inspiring, not supernatural, sense)." Even if you have all the tools, which the author provides, "it's critical that you build your own toolbox." Throughout this fascinating narrative, fluidly written and packed with insight, Kross is consistently concise, practical, and well organized. Although an academic with impressive credentials, the author speaks to all students of life, grounding the text with illuminating vignettes pulled from the lives of public figures as well as his own. In the end, he shows us how we might have better chats with ourselves, ones that make us happier, healthier, and more productive people. A book that will truly change minds. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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Chapter One Why We Talk to Ourselves The sidewalks of New York City are superhighways of anonymity. During the day, millions of intent pedestrians stride along the pavement, their faces like masks that betray nothing. The same expressions pervade the parallel world beneath the streets--the subway. People read, look at their phones, and stare off into the great invisible nowhere, their faces disconnected from whatever is going on in their minds. Of course, the unreadable faces of eight million New Yorkers belie the teeming world on the other side of that blank wall they've learned to put up: a hidden "thoughtscape" of rich and active internal conversations, frequently awash with chatter. After all, the inhabitants of New York are nearly as famous for their neuroses as they are for their gruffness. (As a native, I say this with love.) Imagine, then, what we might learn if we could burrow past their masks to eavesdrop on their inner voices. As it happens, that is exactly what the British anthropologist Andrew Irving did over the course of fourteen months beginning in 2010--listened in on the minds of just over a hundred New Yorkers. While Irving hoped to gain a glimpse into the raw verbal life of the human mind--or rather an audio sample of it--the origin of his study actually had to do with his interest in how we deal with the awareness of death. A professor at the University of Manchester, he had done earlier fieldwork in Africa analyzing the vocalized inner monologues of people diagnosed with HIV/AIDS. Unsurprisingly, their thoughts roiled with the anxiety, uncertainty, and emotional pain produced by their diagnoses. Now Irving wanted to compare these findings with a group of people who surely had their woes but weren't necessarily in aggrieved states to begin with. To carry this out, he simply (and bravely!) approached New Yorkers on the street and in parks and cafés, explained his study, and asked if they would be willing to speak their thoughts aloud into a recording device while he filmed them at a distance. Some days, a handful of people said yes; other days, only one. It was to be expected that most New Yorkers would be too busy or skeptical to agree. Eventually, Irving gathered his one hundred "streams of internally represented speech," as he described them, in recordings ranging from fifteen minutes to an hour and a half. The recordings obviously don't provide an all-access backstage pass to the mind, because an element of performance might have come into play for some participants. Even so, they offer an uncommonly candid window into the conversations people have with themselves as they navigate their daily lives. As was only natural, prosaic concerns occupied space in the minds of everyone in Irving's study. Many people commented on what they observed on the streets--other pedestrians, drivers, and traffic, for example--as well as on things they needed to do. But existing alongside these unremarkable musings were monologues negotiating a host of personal wounds, distresses, and worries. The narrations often landed on negative content with utterly no transition, like a gaping pothole appearing suddenly on the unspooling road of thought. Take, for example, a woman in Irving's study named Meredith whose inner conversation pivoted sharply from everyday concerns to matters of literal life and death. "I wonder if there's a Staples around here," Meredith said, before shifting, like an abrupt lane change, to a friend's recent cancer diagnosis. "You know, I thought she was going to tell me that her cat died." She crossed the street, then said, "I was prepared to cry about her cat, and then I'm trying not to cry about her. I mean New York without Joan is just . . . I can't even imagine it." She started crying. "She'll probably be fine, though. I love that line about having a 20 percent chance of being cured. And how a friend of hers said, 'Would you go on a plane that had a 20 percent chance of crashing?' No, of course not. It was hard to get through, though. She does put up quite a wall of words." Meredith seemed to be working through bad news rather than drowning in it. Thoughts about unpleasant emotions aren't necessarily chatter, and this is a case in point. She didn't start spiraling. A few minutes later, after crossing another street, her verbal stream circled back to her task at hand: "Now, is there a Staples down there? I think there is." While Meredith processed her fear about losing a beloved friend, a man named Tony fixated on another kind of grief: the loss of closeness in a relationship, and perhaps even the relationship itself. Carrying a messenger bag down a sidewalk scattered with pedestrians, he began a self-referential riff of thoughts: "Walk away . . . Look, suck it up. Or move on. Just walk away. I understand the thing about not telling everybody. But I'm not everybody. You two are having a goddamn baby. A phone call would have been good." The sense of exclusion he felt obviously cut him deeply. He seemed to be poised on a fulcrum of sorts, between a problem in search of a solution and pain that could lead to unproductive wallowing. "Clear, totally clear. Move forward," Tony then said. He used language not just to give voice to his emotions but also to search for how best to handle the situation. "The thing is," he went on, "it could be an out. When they told me they were having a baby, I felt a bit out. I felt a bit pushed out. But now maybe it's an escape hatch. I was pissed before but, must admit, not so pissed anymore. Now it could work to my advantage." He released a soft, bitter laugh, then sighed. "I am certain that this is an out . . . I am looking at this positively now . . . I was pissed before. I felt like you two were a family . . . and you two are a family now. And I have an out . . . Walk tall!" Then there was Laura. Laura sat in a coffee shop in a restless mood. She was waiting to hear from her boyfriend, who had gone to Boston. The problem was, he was supposed to be back to help her move to a new apartment. She had been waiting for a phone call since the day before. Convinced that her boyfriend had been in a fatal accident of some sort, the night before she sat in front of her computer for four hours, every minute refreshing a keyword search of the words "bus crash." Yet, as she reminded herself, the eddy of her compulsive negative worrying wasn't just about a possible bus crash involving her boyfriend. She was in an open relationship with him, even though this wasn't something she ever desired, and it was turning out to be very hard. "It's supposed to be open for sexual freedom," she told herself, "but it's something that I never really wanted for myself . . . I don't know where he is . . . He could be anywhere. He could be with another girl." While Meredith processed upsetting news with relative equanimity (crying at a friend's cancer diagnosis is normal) and Tony calmly coached himself to move on, Laura was stuck with repeating negative thoughts. She didn't know how to proceed. At the same time, her internal monologue dipped back in time, with reflections about the decisions that took her relationship to its current state. For her the past was very present, as was the case for Meredith and Tony. Their unique situations led them to process their experiences differently, but they were all reckoning with things that had already occurred. At the same time, their monologues also projected into the future with questions about what would happen or what they should do. This pattern of hopscotching through time and space in their inner conversations highlights something we have all noticed about our own mind: It is an avid time traveler. While memory lane can lead us down chatter lane, there's nothing inherently harmful about returning to the near and distant past or imagining the future. The ability to engage in mental time travel is an exceedingly valuable feature of the human mind. It allows us to make sense of our experiences in ways that other animals can't, not to mention make plans and prepare for contingencies in the future. Just as we talk with friends about things we have done and things we will do or would like to do, we talk to ourselves about these same things. Other volunteers in Irving's experiment also demonstrated preoccupations that jumped around time, braiding together in the patter of the inner voice. For example, while walking across a bridge, an older woman recalled crossing the same bridge with her father as a girl just as a man threw himself off and committed suicide. It was an indelible memory, in part because her father was a professional photographer and snapped a picture of the moment, which ended up in a citywide newspaper. Meanwhile, a man in his mid-thirties crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and thought about all the human labor it took to build it, also telling himself that he would succeed at a new job he was about to start. Another woman, waiting for a late blind date in Washington Square Park, recalled a past boyfriend who cheated on her, which ended up sparking a reverie about her desires for connection and spiritual transcendence. Other participants talked about economic hardships that might await them, while the anxieties of others centered on a looming event from a decade earlier: 9/11. Excerpted from Chatter: The Voice in Our Head, Why It Matters, and How to Harness It by Ethan Kross All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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