The Laughable Lizard of Oz

I gave a little talk last night about the lizard that dwells in your brain, and it was quite a hit ~ the attendees were joking about their lizards for the rest of the evening, so I thought I would share it here. (Twitter version of this post: Laughing at your lizard can change your life.)

I’ve mentioned Oz before, and chances are I’ll be writing about him from time to time. He can be quite a loud mouth and loves to be heard.

Ozzie represents something neuroscientists call our reptilian brain. Essentially, there is a neural structure wrapped around our brain stem that has evolved from reptilian brains, hence the concept of a lizard living in your mind. This neural structure is responsible for keeping us safe, warning us of danger, and is famous for triggering our fight-or-flight response.

In other words, our brains did not evolve to help us feel warm and fuzzy.  They evolved to keep us alive. And one of the keys for survival of early humans was to belong to a group, hence our preoccupation today with comparing ourselves to other people, fitting in, and constantly measuring up. All that confidence-boosting stuff.

Staying alive is a pretty worthwhile goal, so what’s the problem with letting our lizards run the show? Well, our lives aren’t fraught with the same danger that our ancestors faced. We live in times of relative prosperity and abundance.  These days we don’t really worry about being eaten alive by a mountain lion or dying of exposure in the desert. Instead, we spend of a lot of time worried about things that never actually happen. Which leads to the stress and anxiety (and massive stuckness) causing many of the ails of the western world…heart disease, depression, addiction, oh my.

I learned a few keys to making friends with my lizard (to avoid unconsciously allowing him to run/ruin my life) from Martha Beck and Russ Harris:

Step one

The first step toward making peace with this cuddly reptile is to recognize it.  Simply being aware that your brain is designed to engage in constant fear-mongering can actually provide some comfort. 

The lizard part of our brain is particularly obsessed with two categories of fear: lack and attack.  And it’s perpetually broadcasting lack and attack alerts, even when, and this is the big key, there is really nothing to be afraid of in the present moment.

Lack: There is never enough! Enough money, love, security, time! Also, you will never be enough ~ good enough, thin enough, rich enough.  Oh, and no one ever loved you and no one ever will!  

Attack: They are all out to get you, all of them, your colleagues, your in-laws, your boss. You should be very wary of anyone different from you. The best defense is a strong offense!

Step two

Know thy enemy reptile.  Your lizard probably has a favorite soundtrack that it tends to play over and over like a broken record.  Identifying these tunes, and consciously noting “there goes that lizard again” creates space for peace, and can help you get some perspective.  

Some of the possible tracks on your lizard’s playlist:

• You can’t trust anyone but yourself. (And, hmmm, maybe not even yourself.)
• If I’m not perfect, no one will love me. 
• If I’m too perfect, no one will like me. (Lizards aren’t so much for the logic thing.)
• I’ll never dig my way out of debt, I’m just unlucky with money.

My lizard is a lacktastic fiend. One of his favorites whimpers is that I’m lacking in any and all specialness. Like, I’m not quite anything enough. I was never the sweetest one, or the funniest one, or the loudest one, or the prettiest one. I have this well-rounded, chameleon, girl-next-door thing. Boring. At least that’s Ozzie’s perspective.

When I’m present and connected, I can see how many opportunities have come my way for exactly this reason. Instead of seeing this quality as a state of lack, I feel grateful that I’m able to relate to all kinds of different people. And more importantly, it’s something I love to do.

Once you get a handle on your lizard’s favorite tunes, it will be easier to spot them rather than blindly identifying with them and letting it scare the bejesus out of you. Which leads me to …

Step three

Give this cuddly, cold-blooded creature a name. That way as he chimes in throughout your day, you can toss him a metaphorical grape, smile at him like you would when indulging the antics of a silly child, and stop his fear-mongering in its tracks.

You may have guessed that Ozzie’s named for the wonderful wizard of Oz. Because like that somewhat pathetic wizard, our lizard fears are mostly smoke and mirrors. And you probably remember how Dorothy & friends’ fear melted away when the wizard was exposed as a small, timid man holding the puppet strings and scaring people with special effects. Once you see your own fears for what they are, broadcast messages to warn you of dangers that most of us will never face, some of your fear will melt away, too.

I’m certainly not suggesting that fear never has a purpose.  It absolutely can, and when it spikes we want to notice it and peer closely to try to understand its message. But believing your lizard’s constant whining, and identifying with ingratiating tunes like “I’m just an unlucky fool” or “Everyone things I’m a loser” certainly won’t steer you anywhere near your right life.

I was shopping with my mom in Portland a few weeks ago and mentioned I was looking for a visual or tangible representation of my own inner lizard. I pictured something pretty or sturdy, like a bookend or a necklace pendant. Then for my birthday, my mom surprised me with this ridiculous, hand-knit, finger-puppet lizard, which I think plays the role perfectly. It’s irreverent and silly, and I control it rather than the other way around.