After all these years I still remember some of my school teachers, a few for happy reasons, others less-positively. In this last respect there was, for instance, an English master who regularly responded to bad behaviour in the back row of his classroom with an energetically-lobbed blackboard eraser.
The jury was out on whether or not he was a good shot, as the chalky missile invariably thudded into the wall rather than the pupil, but I rather suspect this was fully intended – a kind of shock and awe approach rather than downright physical violence.
I suppose the fact that I now spend a great deal of my days writing may be testament to the fact that he obviously did me some good, but it may have simply been because I tended to avoid sitting in the back row.
Fortunately other teachers made their mark for less combative reasons. One who taught Geography, for instance, was a genius at making the subject interesting and compelling, especially when it came to physical geography. To this day, I’m always on the look-out for a good terminal moraine when I’m on a train journey.
He had one little technique that I especially admired, which was that at the end of each well-paced lesson he’d provide his class with a short teaser about what would be coming next time we met. I’m sure he believed that this way we’d be keenly anticipating the next instalment of the curriculum. He was right.
It’s always good to have things to look forward to, but there are sure to be less-positive times in life when, unless you plan things yourself, it can seem as if the future is pretty devoid of goals and anticipation. And that’s never more so than when your mood is low.
At times like this you’re unlikely to be planning anything ambitious, but it’s definitely worth trying to set yourself some modest goals. Get through the morning and treat yourself to something tasty and healthy at lunchtime. Make it through the afternoon, then read a chapter of a good book, do a crossword puzzle, walk round the block or make a phone call.
You owe it to yourself to have one or two simple things to look forward to, even if you need to create them out of nothing.
With my work on the new fragrance/sleep/guided visualisation idea progressing really well, I’m becoming more and more fascinated by our largely ignored, but hugely powerful, sense of smell.
As a matter of fact, I’ve taken to asking people what their favourite smell is, and with the encouragement of a Stanford psychologist I’m actually about to ask you, too.
So far I’ve had almost as many answers as the number of people I’ve asked.
When you give individuals a completely free choice, the responses can be incredibly specific.
A case in point was a couple I recently met for the first time.
The smell of diesel when there’s a lot of moisture in the air.
Like I said, people can often be highly particular about their olfactory preferences.
I wondered what would happen, though, if I asked you and our other readers to choose three favourite smells from a list of environmental aromas that a sample of the population have said they’re drawn to.
This past Monday morning, I decided to stir up my routine a little.
Rather than starting the car at 7 AM to drive to Stanford as usual, I took a walk downtown to get coffee.
It was bright and sunny, still a little cool, but one of those mornings that can feel delightfully heavy with promise.
So, rather than driving through stop/start traffic listening to the radio, it was just me and my feet, with time to think, space to notice what I passed.
And given our recent focus on the rich potential of tapping into our sense of smell as a way to lift emotional well-being, it probably won’t surprise you to learn that what struck me most was the amazing range and depth of fragrances.
Bushes and shrubs were in full bloom, breathing out the most gorgeous bouquets.
I stopped, I inhaled, and I felt pretty good actually.
And so now I’d love you to share this treat for the senses and the soul. When the weather next permits it, why not head outdoors for your own scent safari?
Depending on your circumstances, it could be anything from a full-on hike to a wander around the garden, but here are seven suggestions to help you make the very most of your mini expedition.
One quick public health warning first, though. Be aware of any allergies you may have, of course, and don’t place yourself at risk.
1. Take your time. Consider this an investment in your emotional well-being, so don’t rush things.
2. Breathe deeply. Give fragrances a chance to get right to the back of your nose.
3. Get closer to smells. You know that thing where dogs get their noses right into the centre of the action? Well they have a point. A wine expert does a similar thing with their nose and a glass.
4. Put a label on it. Rather than simply thinking about whether you like a smell or not, ponder hard about what different smells remind you of.
5. Gather homework. If something botanical takes your fancy but you don’t know what a flower or shrub is, take a picture with your phone, then look online to identify it when you get home.
6. Share your experience. When you’ve stopped to embrace an aroma, someone might pass you and smile or speak. If they do, engage a little. You might even make a new friend.
7. Activate your smell compass. Believe it or not, your two nostrils give you a kind of 3-D smell-power, enabling you to pinpoint where odours are coming from. If you can’t get right to the source, at least have a go at determining its approximate location (e.g. coffee from someone’s house, newly-cut grass from a back garden, etc.)
Different times of day will deliver different smells, of course, so this is a great excuse to try the exercise out more than once.
And if you do experiment with it, I think you’ll be happy you did.
Please don’t be put off. This is a longer post than usual.
There’s some truly fascinating, touching material here, all contributed by Moodnudges readers.
In my current work, I’m focused on the promising potential of fragrances experienced during sleep to lift emotional well-being, via memory.
Last week I therefore asked for experiences of memories triggered by scents. The response has been gratifying.
In case you don’t have time to read the whole thing (although I believe you’ll be thankful if you do), a couple of overall reflections are that: (a) many of these associations date back to childhood; (b) sometimes the fragrances involved are highly specific; and (c) not everyone’s smell-induced memories are positive ones, in fact some are disturbing.
A huge thank you to each and every person who made this important and really very moving anthology possible.
It’s not so surprising that some products designed specifically to smell good, end up triggering evocative memories.
Margo: The one smell that has the strongest memory-evoking effect on me is Eau de Cologne (nr 4711).
My grandmother’s dressing closet in the bedroom smelled like this. Especially when I opened the drawer with handkerchiefs and a beautiful hand mirror and brush inside. I still have these items 😉 I must have been about 8 or 9 years old. It gives me a good feeling! It reminds me of her love for me as a granddaughter and a feeling of belonging and being accepted (while I write this down I tear up; I loved her so much!)
Lisa: Coconut oil. I grew up in Southern California in the 60s. We oiled our bodies with “suntan lotion” with SPF of probably zero or 2. Coconut oil brings me back to the beach in the old days.
Also vanilla. I just love, love the smell of vanilla. I don’t even have a sweet tooth. It doesn’t take me anywhere. It just makes me smile.
Georgeanna: The interesting paradox for me is that my rational mind can’t call up this kind of memory. It is HUGELY evocative when it happens, but it happens by chance, not design, because I can’t tell what smell is necessarily going to take me to a particular place until it happens. For example, a random bar of soap purchased at the local supermarket suddenly rocketed me back to my days living in Japan, where the soap in the shower must have smelled the same way. I couldn’t take my nose away and I couldn’t use the soap to wash… I just keep it in my closet to use as ‘transportation’ back to those memories. But I never would have imagined it could happen until it did. Nor would I know what to use to try to reconstruct memories, or which ones might be powerful. It seems to happen by surprise to me, and more by lucky happenstance than by design.
Alison: The fragrance? Detchema perfume by Revillon, Paris. Launched in 1953. No longer really available other than in highly expensive (£200 plus [$260+]) speciality parfumiers.
What it reminds me of. My late mum – she wore it all the time. I remember being loved and cuddled and cared for, occasionally chastised.
How it makes me feel. It makes me very sad – she died 15 years ago, and I miss her dreadfully. But it does make me think of happy times and a very fortunate childhood.
Emily: One particularly weird but strong memory I get from a smell is Hollister perfume. When I was around 13/14, every girl I knew was obsessed with those big spray bottles of Hollister perfume, it was such a big social status item, and recently I found the last dregs of a bottle in my old room. It immediately brought back that feeling of long summers spent at the parks in my town with my childhood friends, laughing and making up dance routines and eating those 50p mix bags of sweets from the shop. It’s so lovely to have that experience of being transported back to such a specific time in my life.
Kate: The fragrance? Patchouli oil.
What it reminds me of. My first girlfriend.
How it makes me feel. Makes my heart beat faster if I smell it now, and memories flood back. Best explained by a rush as if transporting me back to the heady days of long ago.
Mary: The power of smell is so deep seated!
A really powerful one for me is Imperial Leather soap, which takes me back to my gran’s bathroom and thus being a little girl of about six years old and in a place where I’m safe – if a bit cold. No central heating there!
Likewise the smell of warm grass cuttings takes me to the bottom of our garden and making dens down there near the compost heap. Happy, summer holidays sort of feeling.
(My favourite smell is of behind lurcher ears. Warm, dusty, cuddly dog. Bliss.)
Angela: The smell that I find most evocative is blossom ‘flavoured’ talc / perfume / hand cream. It took me by surprise when I smelt it last year – I burst into tears, in the middle of a department store! 🙂 It reminds me of my nan who died when I was about 12 as she always used apple blossom talc and there was always a big tub of it on her dressing table.
The moment I re-smelt that fragrance, I was transported back to being small and the sound of her voice, whisked back to her flat (where I spent many happy childhood days), and flooded with many happy memories I thought I’d forgotten. I didn’t remember her favourite blend of talc until I smelt it again – definitely a forgotten smell memory!
Whilst it made me cry, they were happy tears as it was lovely to feel her close to me again, and a delightful reminder of happy days. It was also great to be reminded of the smell that made me think of her.
I did buy some of the hand cream that made me cry, much to the bemusement of the shop assistant!
Jon: One reflection was very specific about a particular aspect of motherhood.
Jenny: For me, the strongest memory-evoking smell is the aroma of a newborn baby’s head (the crown). It only lasts a few weeks. Reminds me of giving birth to my three kids and the joy this brings when I can smell it again. It also triggers a surge of dopamine for new mums (…if only I could bottle that smell!??)
Jon: You might think of smoke as having an unpleasant smell, but that’s definitely not true of all types of smoke.
Anona: My Great grandfather (Gran) always smoked a particular tobacco. I do not know what it was called, but I remember the smell. He died in 1966 and in the late 1980s I went into an antique shop in Bedford, which had let the first floor to a lady selling lace-making items. I walked in the first time, and was immediately back in my great grandparents’ home. It was the same smell from the antique dealer’s pipe. It made me feel at home and excited!
My father was in the Army and I always felt rootless, as my parents had 21 homes in 20 years. We always went to visit Dad’s grandparents when we were in the UK and this is the smell that I always associate with them. My great grandmother (Nan) would always give us ham sandwiches and angel cake. Now whenever I see angel cake I always smile, think of Nan, and remember her sitting in her chair. She died 6 months short of her 100th birthday.
As you can see, these memories take me back to my family being together and just – smile. (My parents are also dead now, so there is just my brother and I left.)
Danielle: Your piece instantly made me think of my strongest smell/memory connection – the smell of a wood-burning fire (which I affectionately call “snow smell”.) This is because the smell reminds me of many very enjoyable family holidays in the Australian Snowy Mountains as a child. I grew up (and still live) in Sydney, Australia, and my house had electric heating, so the wood fire smell for me is strongly connected to our skiing trips. It always makes me smile and think of our beautiful alpine region.
Jean: This was an easy question for me. The answer is peat smoke. I was born in Ireland and although we moved to England when I was four, we spent every summer holiday back at my Nan’s house. She had a peat-fuelled cooking range, so every time I smell peat smoke I’m back in her kitchen, and I remember all the happy times we had on those holidays.
Perhaps that’s why I’m so fond of Islay single malt whisky!
Jon: Nature’s own smells stir up strong memories for many.
Anne: My very strong memory is around spring blossom. When I was a child we had both almond and cherry blossom trees in our garden. I used to love both the look of the trees and their lovely perfume. Recently I was out running by the canal and I closed my eyes for a second and took in the beautiful pungent smell of the spring blossom trees which immediately had a soporific effect on me.
Vanesa: For me hawthorn blossom evokes memories of childhood – long days spent out on my bike with friends playing at the local park.
This scent gives me a feeling of the freedom of being a child, a time when ‘perfect’ days were infinitely possible.
Jackie: I think my favourite is the smell of lilac, it takes me back to being a teenager as a neighbour had a tree. I had freedom in our garden and watching my Dad gardening was a joy for me as he was my safety parent. Miss those days.
Tracy: A very distinct smell for me is oil of spike lavender. Evokes memories of my youth. I had an adorable little pony and used this oil on his face on hot long summer days to keep the flies away from his eyes. I was young, happy, and carefree – happy days.
Lizzie: The fragrance? The honey smell of heather in flower under warm sun. Reminds me of holidaying with my own children on Exmoor and the smell reminding me then of happy summer holidays in my own childhood. How it makes me feel – happy and free.
James: The fragrance? Mint. Reminds me of my Nan’s garden. A lovely reminder of a very happy childhood.
Christine: The fragrant and subtle scent of freesias reminds me of happy times with my mother. She always said ‘flowers are for the living,’ when planning her death when terminally ill with cancer, so didn’t want flowers being wasted on her when she was dead. We compromised and just had a single bouquet of freesias on her coffin which was later taken to a hospice and, instead, family and friends gave donations which went to Marie Curie Cancer Care.
I now always have at least one bunch of freesias in my apartment, and when I catch the scent in the air I imagine her smiling.
I have a very keen sense of smell which is powerful for me both positively and negatively.
Siobhan: As soon as I read your email the one scent that sprang to mind was orange blossom, which not only has several associations for me but is my absolute favourite scent.
I grew up in South Africa and we had family friends who lived on a farm with, among other crops, acres of orange trees. I am transported back to a dark warm evening as a small child standing on the veranda with my mother saying ‘Come and smell the orange blossom.’ The next day we wandered in the sunshine among the trees and my mother explained how flowers and pollination worked.
I’m now a garden designer.
Years later my father bought me a little bottle of orange blossom scent. I don’t know why he did but I treasured it.
So the scent of orange blossom triggers happy childhood memories but also makes me wistful for long ago times and places, and of my late parents.
Although the scent is evocative of these things it is also to me a sort of distillation of beauty and something quite rarefied. Like some music. Don’t know if any of this makes sense. It’s hard to put into words.
Andrew: The fragrance? The smell of freshly grazed grass on a pony’s or horse’s breath as it befriends one by exchanging breath.
It reminds me of the loyal equine friends I have had, especially from my childhood. Makes me feel content, calm, peaceful, privileged.
Glenda: The fragrance? New cut grass/lawn. It reminds me of my father. Good memories.
Jenny: The smell? Real Christmas trees. Reminds me of my childhood Christmases, which were always magical, even though many aspects of my childhood were very unhappy. Makes me feel happy and hopeful.
Carol: New-mown grass reminds me of spring coming in childhood in suburban London – my father cutting the grass – happy smell & ‘Oh, it’s really here again’ thoughts.
Jon: One salutary lesson for me is that not all smell/memory associations are positive ones. To respect the contributors, I’ve identified them simply by the initial letter of their first name.
B: The smell? Plumerias. Reminds me of my childhood, especially during summertime. It does remind me of how beautiful it is, helping friends picking these flowers for the whole month of May, every day, for everyday offering in church. What does that make me feel? Sadness, also with loneliness that I was not included in that process. Seems like the only ones included were the rich, and or with beauty, and not meant for some ugly duckling like me.
Wow, this is not what I expected.
L: The smell of furniture/floor polish with an undertone of strong tea leaves reminds me of boarding school, where the polished wooden floors of the main corridors were swept with slightly damp tea leaves to gather up the dust more efficiently. It makes me feel lonely and fearful.
Actually, accessing this memory, I realise that this probably explains why I retch and want to cry when I’m using furniture polish…
G: The smell is brown alcohol – rye whiskey or scotch. My parents smelled like that, especially associated with unpleasant times with them – made me feel a little queasy and a little scared, later angry. I drank rye and ginger once after high school and got awfully sick – never again – sometimes vodka or wine, until I realized that all alcohol triggers headaches for me.
G: I have a background of abuse and need to stay in the present day. I do use essential oils, strong-smelling ones to stay grounded, but I wouldn’t use smells to evoke memories as I experience currently flashbacks, body memories which can be debilitating.
For me, the particular smell is tobacco, which makes me feel terrified, helpless and powerless.
Sorry if this is hard-hitting. Just wanted to add my experience.
C: Ginger tea = morning sickness = the mid-90s and a general feeling of instability.
Jon: A particular type of weather received one mention.
Judi: The supercharged scent of ozone after a rolling thunderstorm transports me to summer storms of my childhood growing up in Arizona. While thunderstorms are quite the rare occurrence here in San Francisco, those few times we do get them are magical. I’ll spend hours on end, watching the flashes light up the sky, listening to the hard rain dance upon the roof, and drink in the crisp aroma of the freshly washed air. Something I wish I could experience it more often than just once or twice every few years.
Jon: Cooking and baking smells often have strong memory associations.
Anne: The smell of hot sausage rolls have the strongest memory-evoking effect on me.
It reminds me of Christmas Eve when I was a kid in the 70s. I would come home from buying presents with my pocket money (Hi Karate or Brut for the men, Yardley or hankies with roses on for the women). When I walked in, all you could smell was hot sausage rolls my Mam would be baking. To me the smell was Christmas/family/safety/love/warmth. Having these memories triggered makes me feel emotional, makes me feel close to my brilliant Mam and Dad who are no longer here. Yes, sausage rolls make me cry! (In a nice way.)
Jan: I have a very fond memory of childhood visits to my Nan, and associate the smell of a paraffin heater with those visits. Paraffin is not a commonly used source of heating in homes now, but I do occasionally come across it in greenhouses, keeping out the frost. Since my days as a child I have only once come across the combination of smells that takes me back completely to my Nan’s house. I suppose it’s a lost smell now, the smell of the paraffin heater and cooked bacon. That to me is the smell I would wake up to when I was staying at my Nan and Grandad’s house and I associate all the feelings of being a young child, happy in the family home with it. Would this be uniquely British?
On an excitement scale from zero to ten, I’m about an eleven right now.
It’s all because my work in mood-nudging has taken a fascinating turn.
If you have a good memory you may recall that earlier this year I started looking into the use of guided imagery as a way to lift emotional well-being.
In fact, lots of Moodnudgers experimented with some prototype recordings.
Since then, things have excitingly evolved to incorporate aromatherapy, specifically aromatherapy that automatically delivers a fragrance to you as you sleep.
Just before you drop off, this same fragrance surrounds you as you listen to a relaxing guided imagery recording.
It’s a fascinating combination. What seems to happen is that the repeated fragrance during your sleep helps to embed the positive suggestions you hear before you fall asleep.
And it all happens subconsciously. Work by psychologists in Germany showed that a similar schedule of night-time scent delivery boosted participants’ memories, and it was these findings that prompted me to wonder if a similar procedure might magnify the effects of guided imagery.
If you stop to think about it, I’m sure you’ve encountered the extraordinary connection between your memory and your sense of smell.
Maybe you’ve caught a whiff of some aroma or scent that’s instantly transported you back to a time or person in your past?
That’s because your olfactory system is directly connected to your brain.
Over the past couple of months, our small but inspired team has begun building prototype programmed aromatherapy devices (heck, we do live in Silicon Valley) that we’re already experimenting with.
Like I said, it’s early days, but our first results have already been truly encouraging.
If it’s OK with you, I’d love to keep you in the loop as things develop.
This new focus does feel truly promising and inspiring.
Just imagine being able to boost your mood in your sleep.
For the past couple of months, it’s felt best that I should work away at learning more about how to help people create “mind pictures,” allowing myself to make mistakes, then improvements, without exposing the world to my embarrassing attempts.
I can tell you, there have been more than a few of those.
My learning process has partly involved listening to experts’ recordings, then re-writing and re-recording some of them.
It’s turned out to be a great way to acquire knowledge from some highly talented practitioners.
An amusing side note: when I recorded an experimental piece designed to help with sleep, it took herculean efforts to get it edited, as it kept making me want to drop off.
Although I’ve come a long way, there’s still further to go. But I do feel somewhat comfortable about sharing a recent recording.
In the mid-1960s, then British Prime Minister Harold Wilson declared “a week is a long time in politics.”
With what’s currently happening on both sides of the Atlantic at the moment, that’s never been truer.
In fact you may even want to revise “week” down to “day.”
Don’t fret, however.
We’ve always kept Moodnudges a politics-free zone, and that’s not about to change.
I simply recalled Harold Wilson’s remark when I realised that to my considerable unease I haven’t written a Moodnudge since November 7th, and five weeks is an uncomfortably long time in emotional well-being.
First, therefore, an apology.
I’ve been religiously writing, and you’ve perhaps been religiously reading, my posts for a pretty long time.
Since this is the first time I’ve gone off the radar for such a lengthy period, I definitely should have had the courtesy to let you know that I was okay.
Rest assured, I am quite fine and definitely firing on all cylinders.
In fact, after our fascinating experiment with guided imagery back on November 7th, I’ve been doing a great deal of new work.
Just to remind us both, back then I invited readers to answer a brief questionnaire, then to listen to one of several tailored audio recordings of me delivering a session of guided imagery, designed to lift spirits.
Almost 250 readers tried it out, and dozens provided insightful feedback on the Moodnudges blog, which was overwhelmingly encouraging.
Karen said, “Amazing.”
Sue commented, “Fantastic. More please.”
Ingrid added, “Definitely like to do this on an ongoing basis.”
Marie spurred me on – “Glad you are coming up with new things.”
And Sonia quite frankly left me pretty flabbergasted by saying it had left her “with a feeling of relief (she had) not experienced since 2008.”
Since this seemed an uncommonly decisive vote of confidence (!) I decided to draw breath to properly consider where I should go next.
I saw that when I wrote and recorded the experimental guided imagery over a month ago, I’d done so as a somewhat naive beginner.
Before carrying on, therefore, I wanted to learn as much as possible about this fascinating area.
A psychologist friend here in California pointed me in an intriguing direction, leading me to spend some amazing hours among the miles of shelving in the Stanford University library exploring possible connections between guided imagery and hypnosis.
It’s really, really, interesting.
You’ll be relieved to hear that I certainly don’t plan to become the next Paul McKenna, but I do think there’s much to learn from the power of suggestion which lies close to the heart of hypnosis.
I’m still not 100% clear what will happen next, but it seems to me that I should work on creating some new guided imagery sessions with the benefit of being more enlightened via my ongoing informal Stanford education.
These recordings will probably see the light of day early in 2019, but I’ll definitely keep in contact between now and then.
Who knows where the political world will be by then, though?
More positively, my very best to you at this rather odd time.