The Placebo Effect

I have pondered the concept of placebos lately. I know what you're thinking,  that statement sounds like one of those commercials to save money: "My cell phone bill was so high I had to find new ways to save money, so I stopped taking my life-saving drug and decided to try a placebo instead." Fear not good people, my placebo musings have nothing to do with such tomfoolery. Rather, the topic came up in this fantastic interview with Dan Ariely, professor of Psychology and Behavioral Economics at Duke University. (If you have the time, I highly suggest watching the interview).

Throughout his research, Ariely focuses on placebos as they relate to pain management. After suffering a tragic accident as a teenager that left seventy percent of his body burned, Ariely became all-too acquainted with pain and the medication used to suppress the suffering it causes. He also witnessed, however, that when patients who had reached their maximum daily morphine allowance were given saline under the pretense of an additional painkiller they experienced relief. Most of us abhor pain and do everything possible to maintain our distance, afraid a slip in vigilance will bring us to groveling to its feet. But, as Ariely demonstrates, this sensation so often considered to be all-consuming can be overcome by mental manipulation. On the same day I watched Ariely's interview, I encountered someone who applied Ariely's principle in a beautifully simplistic manner.

Last week I saw an advertisement for an open mic night that would take place at a small coffee shop in Lincoln, Nebraska. The idea of open mic nights appeals to me on so many levels. First, there is the coffee, I hardly think I need to insert a link to the Wikipedia page on "Addiction" for people to understand this allure. Second, these nights are usually filled with starving artists who will jump at any chance to get their music out there so each musician conveys a sense of passion you just cannot find at large venues. Third, and most importantly, each act is only allotted 10-15 minutes. This arrangement not only guarantees my short attention span will be kept as busy as a gerbil on a running wheel but also provides an eclectic assortment for my undecided musical palate.

Of all the performers that night, an old chap named Jim made an indelible impression. His hand-made guitar was a foreign design to me, small and seemingly carved from a single piece of wood with a rounded back. He explained to the audience he was hard of hearing and the rounded back allowed him to feel the vibrations of the notes which he used to sing the correct pitch. The guitar was the only flashy aspect about him. His soft, worn jeans seemed to meld around the stool he sat on, held up by his black suspenders that laid taught over his thick, grey t-shirt. Only a fringe of white hair hemmed his head, and a silver-white beard covered his face. His apprehensive eyes gazed out at the crowd, but there were visible crow's feet at the corners, the kind that develop from years and years of warm smiling. As he sang a bluegrass rendition of  Kristofferson's "Me and Bobby McGee" he told the audience how rewarding it had been to live in a bygone era when hitchhiking was safe and provided an opportunity to connect with people from all over the country. It made me sad to realize society will never be safe enough for that culture to re-emerge. Because my table sat directly in front of the stage, his eyes would briefly meet mine from time to time and he gave me an acknowledging nod, or maybe he was just nodding in time to the song.

The old man's fifteen minutes were quickly gone and the coffee house manager thanked him for his contributions to the evening's entertainment. He slowly exited off the stage, stepping carefully off the stage in a way the made me think of my grandfather. The man gingerly eased his home-made guitar into its matching case and I stopped watching him as he began rummaging in his pockets looking for something. When I glanced back over at him he was walking towards me, his hand slightly outstretched in front of him delicately grasping a crumpled paper towel.

"Hello.", I said as he reached my seat.
"Hello. My name's Jim and I just wanted to thank you for coming tonight. I make these.", he said as he lightly tossed the paper towel onto the table. Thin pieces of wood sprang out of the paper, different woods of varying shapes.

"They're bookmarks", he smiled and I picked one up. I noticed that each had a dove cut out of one end. I asked him if it was some kind of trademark symbol.

Enter placebo effect...

"I realize that people usually find what they go looking for. If you want to be angry, you'll find a way. If you want to rise to the top of society no matter the price, you'll find a way for that too. But I pass these out because I hope the dove will remind people to look for peace in life, even when they think there may not be any. Peace means something different to everyone, but if you search with a desire to uncover it, I think you'll find it."

Ariely witnessed people overcome pain because they wanted to, because they searched with an intent to find. If we are capable of finding relief over physical pain, perhaps we can find peace, joy, and gratitude even when it seems impossible. All it takes is a glimpse from one person to exploit it's existence to others. Reach out to those around you, especially the strangers you meet for only a second day to day. Be that peace yourself, create it so those who are looking will find it too. Who knows, one day you're the placebo effect, the next day, the cure.

Be kind to one another friends. Sending loving and positive vibes your way; PURA VIDA!