Being Neutral

A popular Game of Thrones quote is “Winter is coming”.

That’s pretty much all I know about this franchise, but it relates to me more than ever when I rephrase it to “The boards are coming”. As a 11th-grade student, hunching over a notebook and trying to focus is an everyday routine. As an AS-level Economics student, it is practically (and painfully) ingrained in my fingers that I must write pages and pages.

As I dived into various economics essay questions, some 8 markers approached me casually, and others looked down upon me from their 12 mark pedestal. Here was my first mistake—I let them approach me instead of approaching them myself.

Then I came across this question:

“Assess whether a government should always aim to balance its budget rather than have a budget surplus or a budget deficit.”

12 marks. This was going to be a drag.

I began the question with what a balanced budget was and why it was important. Then I shifted gears to talk about a budget deficit, and a separate paragraph began. I noticed that my mood had significantly shifted, just like the budget I was describing.

Strange. A budget deficit means that the government spending exceeds its revenue. I drew a parallel to my energy being spent more than the energy coming in. Budget deficits go hand-in-hand with low consumer confidence, and this one’s was rapidly deteriorating. I kept nervously double-checking what I had written.

Now I was to talk about a budget surplus — tax revenue gushes in and exceeds the government spending. At this point, my brain was ecstatic. As was the economic growth I had described. I pictured myself in an economic boom, inhaling that beautiful aggregate demand, almost choking in that demand-pull inflation. My hand probably felt like it was on a rollercoaster.

I reached the end of my essay, the evaluation point, where I made the decision. I ended on a neutral note, knowing that I should have started and continued that way.

Let’s properly define what ‘being neutral’ is. In this case, approaching a problem with a pragmatic mind and calculated reasoning, instead of a burst of emotion, possibly triggered by dopamine, or overthinking. This burst of emotion can be a flood of negative thoughts that make the task seem like a mountain of a molehill. It can also come under the friendly guise of motivation, a shot of the “You can do it!” “Go! Go! Go!” energy. This addictive feeling won’t last forever, which is why I couldn’t rely on it in the long run.

When facing a problem, I think that being neutral requires two stages to get past.

Enter metacognition—the awareness or understanding of your own thought processes. Essentially, it's thinking about what you're thinking.

If you think this is beyond you, the joke’s on you because you do it every day, for instance, deciding whether your breakfast will clash with your lunch. The first step to being neutral is to notice how you feel. When I saw that problem, it felt as if I had put a wall between my brain and my logic, and let my emotions take hold.

Part two involves me drawing some meanings from ‘stoicism’. This concept talks about enduring hardships without being emotional or complaining. Let’s tweak this one to ‘being neutral’. We need not use the word ‘endure’ as that immediately tells our brain to ‘buckle up for a bumpy ride’. Instead, the second half of stoicism, not being emotional and not crying about it, is probably key to being neutral.

In the past, when I did get negative thoughts, countering them with positive affirmation had little effect, as my brain probably deemed them fake, or I stopped focusing on my tasks altogether. It would be more effective to eliminate the thoughts instead of countering them.

At the end of the day, all we want is our mind to be empty so that it can focus on the task and not be too crowded.

And how does one politely shove out the uninvited visitors in their brains? I personally like to meditate. Not the serious, solemn kind. Just two minutes of silence, sitting on the floor, eyes closed, maybe straighten your back. The last time I did this, I pictured opening the door and thanking all my thoughts for coming, and politely led their way out. And then I closed the door to find an empty, hollow home. Perfect.

The feeling of being at an all-time low while writing is dangerous, as you begin to believe there may never be a high. The high is dangerous as well; at one point, you start to think you can never fall.

I guess it’s better to stand on your two feet and look at all the winters that come in the same way. The nice, Christmassy ones, and the more hostile ones as well.

Winter is coming. Let it come.