Damn You, AutoCorrect


It’s called “predictive text.” Based on your past texting vocabulary and also on a quirky little algorithm that thinks it knows what you’re going to say next, autocorrect comes up with not-so-helpful suggestions.

Our brains sometimes work like that, too. We’ve worn a neural groove so deep with our painful thought or fear that no matter what we are doing, saying, or hearing, we fill in the blanks with some serious ick.

Our boss says, “We need to talk.”

And the autocorrect in our brains fills in “I’m going to fire you.”

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gray rocks, maggie mcreynolds blog

Mental Hygiene: Do You Have Rocks in Your Head?

So there’s this rock.

It’s a huge, heavy rock. It’s gray, and I hate gray. It’s a stupid shape. It is the ugliest rock I have ever seen, and it ruins everything.

People laugh at the rock, and at me for having it. Whenever I get near it, I stub my toe on it. Sometimes, I lie down, laboriously roll the rock over on top of me, and then wail, “Help, help, I’m trapped under this big, ugly rock!”

What in the world am I talking about?

I’m talking about circumstances. I’m talking about all the things in your life that, for one reason or another, you don’t have one jot of control over—at least at the present moment. Might be your spouse. Might be your boss. Might be your health, or your child’s learning disability, or your 10-year-old car with the dent in the fender.

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