As I’ve worked through this book, reflecting on all the experiences that have brought me to this point, I’ve been trying to identify when it all changed. I know that there was a moment, around the age of seventeen, when I started to feel human for the first time. Not all the time, and often only for a fraction of a second. But as someone who had always felt like an outcast, it was transformative. Suddenly there seemed to be more colour, the haze in my head would lift and the world of confusion surrounding me would briefly start to make sense. All the experiments I had trialled, all the quasi-algorithms I had developed for myself – suddenly they started to work. The pieces began to fit together. I was in phase.
But when I think back on this, I can’t remember when the first of these moments was; and I don’t know exactly what triggered it. Like a plant flowering in the springtime, my sense of being human was something I could only see and enjoy after the fact. I knew it when I felt it. I just hadn’t realized that I was getting there, or at what speed.
I’m still not ‘there’, and I think I probably never will be. Part of me will always be on my own island, and I’m happy with that. (If you own an island, why would you sell, right?) But what I’ve learned is that it’s possible to change yourself: not to deny or erase your true self, but to improve – getting better at the complex business of being human, in the way we plan our lives, manage our days, balance our emotions and nurture our relationships.
I’ve also learned (I think) what it takes to do this. And, in a word, that’s patience.
This is perhaps the biggest of my many contradictions. My ADHD brain is one of the least patient beings in existence. But as a person, and especially as a scientist, I can be painstakingly patient. I know from experience that good things don’t happen quickly, experiments never succeed the first time, and it’s only by failing and using what you’ve learned that you can make progress.
Of course this hasn’t come easily and is something I still struggle with. It’s taken a lot of hysteria, emotional outbursts and procrastination to get to the point where I can not only see the value of patience but also sometimes even embody it. I’ve worked for this; and it’s been worth it.
The greatest correlation of all between science and living is that they are both in equal parts frustrating and rewarding for those who persevere. There is nothing in my life that thrills me like a breakthrough in the lab: that moment when a door finally opens towards the solution you have been seeking. It’s the novelty of discovery, however small, that means I love my work so much. Any scientist will tell you the same.
As this book has detailed, I have taken this same approach into working out how to live and function better as a human. And I think everyone can benefit from a little of the same. There are things we would all like to improve in our lives – to feel more human connection, to sharpen our ambitions or improve the way we pursue them.
This is possible, but it’s not easy. The mind and body are like an athlete that needs to be trained to improve perception, memory, processing and empathy. It’s a progression you can’t expect or demand to yield quick results, any more than you would in the gym. These are some of the most fundamental things about us as people, and you won’t transform them overnight. But if you want to, and you’re willing to show an athlete’s commitment, it’s all eminently possible. The concepts and techniques I’ve outlined are essentially disciplines: they can be useful, but only if they are trained and embraced continuously over time. It’s attritional, just like science. Like everyone else, I am the product of my failed experiments: proudly so.
Growing as a person is incredibly frustrating, because we put in all this work, and for a time – maybe a long time – nothing happens. At this point it’s easy to lose heart and give up. But the real reward lies in persevering, pushing past the uncertainty and self-doubt until one day change has crept up on you. We don’t get to plan how or when this happens. We can only put in the work, and trust in the process.
So don’t despair at the next unrealized plan, unfulfilled goal or failed relationship. Learn from them. Try something different the next time. Experiment into how to do things your way. Accept the very human inevitability that getting better at living is a slow and gradual process. And, whatever happens, don’t demonize the things that make you different. Embrace them, like I have, as your innate superpowers.
It’s going to go wrong before it goes right. To get worse before it gets better. That’s OK – in fact, it’s essential. Relish your failed experiments. Have fun working it out on your own. And don’t apologize for being yourself. I never have, and I don’t intend to start now.