My clients have taught me an ingenious hack for problem-solving. They use it for engineering purposes. I try to teach them how it can be valuable for relationship and life issues as well.
In my Silicon Valley practice, many of my clients are engineers working on the most challenging and cutting-edge technologies in the world. While it’s not fair or accurate to apply generalizations to every individual, in many cases, their left brain, which controls logic and reasoning, is ultra-developed. But that means their right brain, which processes feelings and social skills, may have been deprioritized.
You can google pictures of tennis players whose racket arm can be extraordinarily more muscular than their nondominant hand. Another example is that pro cyclists can have an upper body that looks almost atrophied, especially in contrast to their massively large legs. Engineers can exhibit a similar disparity in development, but it’s harder to notice because it’s not visible. On a cognitive level, they’ve spent their lives dedicated to metaphorically “pumping iron” with one group of muscles, while perhaps neglecting the other.
It’s not a criticism or condemnation to point this out. In fact, to their immense credit, engineers are usually the first to acknowledge their need for growth in these areas. It’s often why they’ve come to therapy in the first place. Just like the pro cyclist or tennis player, engineers have admirably developed themselves to excel at a task, and it’s often served them very well. But many reach a point in life when their priority switches to wholeness.
Because of their unfamiliarity with therapy, they often don’t know what to expect. For the most part, TV and the movies provide a very flawed and inaccurate picture of what therapy is. (One exception, in my opinion, is HBO’s In Treatment, which, although it has some issues of its own, is outstanding in many ways.)
Once we get a few weeks into our sessions, I’ve had multiple engineer clients say something to the effect of, “Oh, I get therapy now. I talk about my problems and I see them in a different light. It’s just like rubber ducking.”
At first, I wasn’t familiar with this at all. They explained to me that when they encounter an engineering problem they can’t solve, one technique is to grab a rubber duck and describe the problem to it out loud in as much exacting detail as possible. Often, this process can lead to insights and solutions they haven’t yet considered.
This makes sense when we think about how the brain works neurologically. As human beings, a huge amount of our brain matter is dedicated to language. When we speak our thoughts out loud, we suddenly activate all these additional processing centers, like switching on additional CPUs to address the problem at hand.
Research has shown that a very similar process happens with therapy. When we verbalize our feelings, our analytical brain has to reach into our animal brain and pull out data to be processed and articulated. The very act of doing this can defuse some of the emotional power of those feelings. Therefore, to some degree, even sitting in front of a mirror for an hour and talking out loud about our feelings would be therapeutic (although still no substitute for professional therapy when it’s needed).
So it turns out Ernie from Sesame Street was onto something. Rubber duckies do have enchanting qualities that can enhance our lives. In fact, I prominently display one in my office, and it often leads to a very productive conversation when a client asks about it. The next time you face a problem that seems unsolvable, whether it’s a practical challenge or an emotional conundrum, you might want to consult the oracle of the rubber duck and heed the wisdom that’s actually coming from somewhere inside of you.