My Existential Crisis Came Lightly Scented

The psychology behind transitional objects in adulthood and the joy of Dr. Pepper Lip Smacker lip balm

Hi! We’re Boots & the Brain. Alan is the neuroscienc-y stuff (“Brain”) and Sarah is the real life stuff (“Boots”). We like each other a lot and talk to each other a lot and that’s why our substack has back and forth. Without further ado, here’s a piece by Sarah…

I recently went on vacation but—before you picture a sun-soaked beach and an umbrella laden drink—it wasn’t that kind of vacation. My mom wanted to go to the Arctic and I didn’t think it was a good idea for an 85-year-old to travel to polar bear country on her own. You don’t need to outrun the polar bear. You don’t need to outrun your friends. You just need to walk slightly faster than that (fabulous) older woman hobbling over there with the arctic blue nail polish.

Alan: For clarification (not judging) did you go because: 1) you were planning on kneecapping another octogenarian while your mum beats a retreat? 2) you could out walk your mum? 3) you wanted to see someone eaten by a polar bear?

I was excited about the trip. I yearned to get away from the world and the news and go somewhere remote and peaceful. I imagined snow-covered peaks and vast fields of ice. I longed for the goosebumps of the existential awe one feels when witnessing a certain kind of deadly beauty. There’s something oddly comforting about being reminded of one’s own insignificance in the grandeur of the universe—maybe then I can stop being annoyed by people watching TikTok videos out loud in public.

Alan: …also watch bears disembowel the elderly…

But what did I think about when standing on the ice floes? While I was preparing myself for the touch of the profound? Dr. Pepper Lip Smacker lip balm.

I’ve been wearing Dr. Pepper Lip Smacker lip balm (DPLSLB) since I was a kid. Over the years, it’s been a staple in Christmas stockings, a random add at drug stores, a purposeful foray to Target. Its subtle rosy color and cola-adjacent scent accompanied me on dates, at work, during late night study marathons, and medical school rounds. Countless little tubes float around in my car, the bottom of my backpack, in makeup bags, and junk drawers.

Back to the Arctic.

The Arctic looked just like all those sepia photos of explorers surrounded by ice and huskies. To be honest, I felt completely overwhelmed by its enormous bleakness—the bitter cold, the merciless wind, black waters (probably populated with shrieking eels), and unrelenting ice. Not to mention, after my father’s passing last year, I was keenly aware of my mother’s immunocompromised fragility and questionable sanity of purposefully embarking on a floating petri dish with an insurmountable amount of ice between the boat and a hospital. (A very special thank you and shout out to the amazing ship physician, Dr. Katie.)

Alan: …and Sartrean bears…

Because of the dry air, I was reapplying DPLSLB every 2.7 seconds. That little tube sat strangely comforting in my parka pocket. I found myself wanting to write a substack about it (yes, about lip balm) when obviously I should be writing an essay on psychiatry or psychology or neuroscience through an Arctic lens. What in the world was going on?

Sometimes, unimportant things take on new significance if we’re in a heightened state. For example, for a brief period of time, I worked at a hospice. The hallways were lined with ho-hum institutionally bland art—that every day someone bought. I’ve never seen art sold so fast. The reason was simple: When people, wracked with emotion, trudged down the hallway day-after-day to say good bye to their most loved person or every afternoon sat hunched on the bench in the corridor trying to pull themselves together before attempting to drive home alone, their gaze rested on the picture on the wall. That cresting ocean wave with a setting sun behind it? Suddenly profound. Those two lovey parrots cuddling on a branch? Speaks to the soul. The dilapidated red barn in a green field? Catharsis.

Alan: A blank canvas that reminds you of polar bears in a snow storm? Goosebumps.

The same can be true for pieces of clothing. An unremarkable sweater can take on a new comforting meaning if it accompanied you through a car accident, a funeral, or a hospital stay. Who doesn’t have a tatty old t-shirt that you don’t wear but think X when your hand knocks across it in the back of the closet when you’re looking for a lost shoe?

When objects take on greater meaning or provide emotional comfort, they’re called attachment or transitional objects. For kids, it’s the blanket or teddy bear that’s carried around everywhere. For adults, I’d like to think it’s more nuanced, but it isn’t. The attachment object provides psychological comfort and support during periods of stress or transition and it’s generally (but not always) a healthy, effective strategy for dealing with change.

So, I think this is what happened with my DPLSLB. While I had my existential moments with the ice and pondered death and life and love and more death, I had a little Dr. Pepper-scented tube of comfort in my back pocket letting me know everything would be okay.

I’m the Boots on the ground half of Boots and the Brain and so the action part is this: Do you have any transitional objects in your life? A no-nothing object that anyone else would overlook but means a lot to you? Take a moment to recognize the emotion and meaning behind it. Then congratulate yourself for embracing a healthy way of coping and making it through.

Over to Alan for some neuroscience behind existential angst, comfort, transitional objects, or whatever it is he’d like to talk about…

Alan:
One of the most compelling theories of the brain is Karl Friston’s Free Energy Principle (FEP; https://www.nature.com/articles/nrn2787). Simply, our brain is a prediction engine with the goal of making the best predictions while minimizing the energy needed to do this. As Sarah referred to in her prior substack on entropy, we battle entropy in an effort to minimize our prediction error. So, yes, new experiences such as the first day of school, entering the Arctic circle, or kneecapping the elderly, will make it harder to predict the immediate and long-term ramifications of events. Friston’s FEP (or the Bayesian brain hypothesis) centers on our constant efforts to minimize surprise and uncertainty.

Interaction with familiar objects can help minimize our prediction error and provide a vital respite from these unpredictable experiences. Smoking/vaping, DPLSLB-ing, staring at a treasured item, taking deep breaths, even cutting can all be manifestations of engaging in activities to reduce predictive error. Some of these have negative repercussions (smoking/vaping, cutting), but all are attempts to reduce prediction error. One can extend this logic to obsessive compulsive behavior where repetitive engagement or predictable behavior increases when prediction error in the environment becomes less tolerable. So, as DPLSLB provides Sarah an important reprieve in the face of polar bears and ice-caps it’s not just making her feel better but also making Karl Friston smile a little because it’s just as he would predict.

Afterword:
By the way, I used up all my beloved DPLSLB in the Arctic and, when I got home, I embarked on a mission to replenish supplies. I hit Target, Rite Aid, CVS— all solid DPLSLB suppliers without luck. My desperation to find it drove me to Amazon where I learned it had been discontinued (!). My search brought up a ton of reviews by countless fellow grieving DPLSLB fans fruitlessly searching for a suitable replacement. It appeared that DPLSLB had been quietly enjoying cult status all these years and I was now the newest member of a community bound by a shared lip balm plight. Given its soft glossiness, subtle tint, and whiff of nostalgia, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that DPLSLB was a transitional object for the masses.

Rest in peace Bonne Bell Dr. Pepper Lip Smacker lip balm. You saw me through the good times and the bad. A balm for the lips…and for the soul.

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