My journey with neuroscience began over 40 years ago when, as a young medical student, I encountered a human brain for the first time. The person to whom it once belonged had graciously donated it to science, providing invaluable learning for many young physicians, including myself. Yet it wasn’t until many years later that my true understanding of the brain—and my life’s mission—began to emerge.
Like most earnest, truth-seeking physician scientists, I set out to understand the human body. In part, this was driven by an alluring curiosity to find out who I really was.
Studying the brain was one of many steps to understanding who I was. Despite its meager weight (it only comprises about 2% of our total body weight), it was by far the most complex and intriguing of organs, with an enormously disproportionate role in our overall well-being. Appreciating its enormous power, I came to see my brain as the center of my being, affording it an importance greater than the rest of my body. So, I concluded, I must be my brain.
Imagine my surprise when, many years later as I delved deeper into the study of neuroscience, I discovered a more profound truth: We are neither our bodies nor our brains.
This realization has since become the cornerstone of my Neurocentric Coaching philosophy—a philosophy that has transformed my life and the lives of many others.
Let me explain.
At birth, we are useless. Perfect, but useless. No other species is as weak and vulnerable at birth as the newborn human being.
To survive, we are intensely reliant on both our parents and our brain. We gladly (and appropriately) afford them supreme authority over our lives. We enslave ourselves to them.
At birth, we begin our journey of awareness by recognizing our parents, particularly our mothers. They protect and nourish us. Actually, having been formed within their bodies and being so physically close to them in the beginning, we first identify ourselves as being a part of them.
But soon we identify another being: ourselves. We notice our little hands and feet. We observe that we move independently from our mother. We quickly realize that we are, in fact, separate entities. We learn that we are our own being, defined by and identified with our own body.
Later, we begin to hear voices in our head. We become aware that we are receiving signals from our brain. “Do this” or “do that,” it says to us. “Wail loudly, and they will feed you,” it urges us. We may look around to see who is instructing us in this manner, but nobody is there. The voice is coming from within our own body, so it must be us speaking.
When we grow up, we are taught about our magnificent brain. “Ah,” we proclaim, “I was right! That was my voice after all, and it is coming from inside my brain. So, I am more than my body. I am my brain.” Not surprisingly, I felt well justified when my experiences as a young medical student seemed to validate this early belief.
But there are two dangerous design limitations hidden within this familiar journey. Both are crucial elements of nature’s survival plan, and both come back to haunt us later in life.
First, enslavement to our brain means that we believe every single word it utters. Second, we are tricked into identifying with the voices in our head: our thoughts, feelings, and fears. Together, these two factors reinforce the fundamental premise that we are our minds.
Later in my life, I became a student of the brain, starting with my own. I listened carefully to what it was telling me. I analyzed my thoughts, feelings, and fears.
Suddenly, my research ground to an unexpected halt as I contemplated a question I hadn’t considered before: Who was the one listening to the voices? If I was my brain and my brain was speaking, who was listening? Who was the one observing, reporting, even studying the discussion? A discussion necessarily has two parties. If I was the one speaking (because, until that moment, I had regarded myself to be my brain), who was the other party?
I couldn’t be both. I couldn’t be both the speaker and the listener.
Two things helped me to answer this question.
First, I reasoned, if I could change my thoughts, or feelings, or fears, then I must be separate from my brain.
Second, I realized that enslavement requires both a master and a slave. At that time in my life, I felt particularly trapped by my thoughts, feelings, and fears. That meant I had become the slave. I was doing exactly what my brain was telling me to do. If it said, “Worry,” I worried. If it said, “Rejoice,” I rejoiced. But who was this “I”? That must be me, the real me. I am the one who is enslaved to my brain, and that means I cannot be my brain.
And so, on that day, I realized that I was definitively not my brain. I was, in fact, an essence deep inside that we are yet to identify.
Understanding that we are separate from our brains is the first step toward mastering our lives. By observing our brains as remarkable yet distinct organs, we can start to listen to our thoughts, feelings, and fears without being enslaved by them. Reclaiming authority over our brains allows us to dramatically enhance our lives.
Today, I understand our brains to be magnificent tools, designed not only for survival but, if we choose, for thriving. This is, perhaps, the most liberating truth I know.
I continue to find joy and fulfillment in systematically advancing my consciousness, peace, and happiness by deepening my mastery over my mind. I invite you to join me in this journey. By understanding and applying these fundamental concepts, you too can overcome life’s struggles and unlock its greatest riches.
Consider your own experiences. Have you ever felt overwhelmed by your thoughts or emotions, unable to find peace or direction? This is your brain at work, doing what it is trained to do—ensuring your survival. But what if you could step back, observe your brain’s activity, and choose your responses with clarity and intention?
Start by acknowledging that you are not your thoughts. Practice mindfulness, allowing yourself to observe your mental activity without judgment. This simple yet powerful practice can create a profound shift in how you relate to your inner world.
Next, cultivate self-compassion. Understand that your brain is doing its best to protect you, even when it generates negative or fearful thoughts. By treating yourself with kindness, you create a supportive environment for growth and healing.
Finally, set intentions for your life that go beyond mere survival. What do you truly want to achieve? What brings you joy and fulfillment? By aligning your actions with your deeper values and desires, you harness the full potential of your brain—your most powerful tool—to create a life of purpose and abundance.
As I reflect on my journey, I am deeply grateful to the individual who donated his brain to science so many years ago. His selfless contribution provided my first practical exposure to the human brain, an experience that shaped my future in profound ways. I wish I had understood then, as I do now, that the brain I was examining was a separate entity from the human being who had offered up the organ. This understanding deepens my respect for the complexity and beauty of our existence.
I hope that, by embracing these insights, you will find the same joy and peace that I have discovered. Remember, the journey to personal mastery begins with the realization that you are not your brain but the master of it. May you then access life’s greatest riches, all of which lie within you.
