‘The idea that the environment shapes brain development is a very straightforward one, even if the details are immeasurably complex. Think of a kernel of wheat. No matter how genetically sound a seed may be, factors such as sunlight, soil quality and irrigation must act on it properly if it is to germinate and grow into a healthy adult plant. Two identical seeds, cultivated under opposing conditions, would yield two different plants: one tall, robust and fertile; the other stunted, wilted and unproductive. The second plant is not diseased: it only lacked the conditions required to reach its full potential. Moreover, if it does develop some sort of plant ailment in the course of its life, it would be easy to see how a deprived environment contributed to its weakness and susceptibility. The same principles apply to the human brain.
The three dominant brain systems in addiction — the opioid attachment-reward system, the dopamine-based incentive-motivation apparatus and the self-regulation areas of the prefrontal cortex — are all exquisitely fine-tuned by the environment. To various degrees, in all addicted persons these systems are out of kilter. The same is true, we will see, of the fourth brain-body system implicated in addiction: the stress-response mechanism.’
***
Convertible (MEC, 2019)
He’s just arrived, drove all the way up here from Toronto. Took him a couple of days; he’d been calling along the way to let us know of his progress. The top is down and I’m sure that baby blue Buick convertible has caught the eye of all the men and women in this small northern town I’ve come to know as home. After a strong, warm handshake with our right hands and synchronistic shoulder grab with our left, the closest we’d ever get to a hug, I had him go back into his car so I could snap a photo with my Brownie camera.
“Hurry up,” he says through teeth clenched into a tight smile, “I’ve got to whiz so bad my back teeth are floating.”
“Ha! There you go,” I say, quickly capturing the moment. “That should do the trick. Beer?”
“You bet! I’m positively parched! But first …”
“First door on the right once you’re inside.”
“Thanks, man,” he says breathlessly as he breaks into a tight, controlled run past me, up the three cement steps and into the small white house. He tosses his keys to me as he goes past, “Take ‘er for a spin!”
We’d been great friends through school, but where I’d settled down into my forestry job and married a girl from town, he’d stayed in the city and was making the big bucks now. The city was what he knew, and he was comfortable there – yet, he’d driven all that way to come and see me. Oh, and to show off his new car, I supposed. I winced inwardly, embarrassed at myself for thinking ill of his good fortune.
I flipped the keys around my fingers. I’d always dreamed of owning a convertible one day, but with one thing and another, first Marina and then the kids, well, it turned out that starting a family was more important to me than a two seater at this stage of the game. And, where would we put the dog?
I walked over to the car and ran my hand along it’s gleaming fin, still warm to the touch from the miles and the sunshine, right up to its headlights. The wind screen and hood were coated in bug guts – I went back over to the house and unraveled the hose. Wally wasn’t just a good friend, we’d known each other since grade school. He was like the brother I never had. I cranked the rusty faucet on and brought the dribbling hose over to the car, soaking it down. The sooner we start working on those bug guts, the quicker and easier they’ll come off.
I had thought I’d resent seeing him, that I’d be wishing I hadn’t come here to work and to live, but I realized that no, I was happy here. Settled. The joy of the birth of our daughter was just so much greater than having any kind of car or however else men measure success. It felt cheap to me to have even considered comparing my family and our lives together to a new car – even if the car was a baby blue Buick convertible.
Wally returned from the house, a beer in each hand, and offered me one. We tipped the bottles together – clink! – and took a long, thirst quenching drink, the beads of perspiration on the dark bottles dampening our palms.
“Good to see you, Wally.”
“And you, Jim. This almost didn’t happen – had a close encounter with a moose along the way. Grateful to be here.”
…
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