You Can’t Change Without Breaking The Loop - Dr Rick Hanson

Hanson explains that humans uniquely possess the neural substrates for mental time travel—systematically envisioning futures and replaying pasts—which was a huge evolutionary advantage. However, this hardware easily entraps us because there is an anticipatory reward embedded in the ruminator: if we just solve the problem, a reward will come. But cycling the track is costly, sensitizes the brain to stress (cortisol sensitizes the amygdala), reinforces negative patterns, and rarely yields a payoff. The three‑step protocol is designed to use the very same hardware for its proper purpose. Going wide breaks the narrow absorption on the story by bringing in the full somatic and contextual landscape. Feeling below the surface addresses the underlying emotions that the rumination is keeping at bay, such as feelings of failure, defeat, or younger unmet needs. The final step—drawing a takeaway—transforms the rumination into a completed problem‑solving episode. This turns a loop into a release.

Hanson draws on Zen and early Buddhist traditions that emphasize 'don't know mind' or 'beginner's mind' as a central practice. He tells of a deep practitioner friend whose core practice was 'living with absolutely no expectations,' which he finds extraordinarily powerful. He explains that the brain is so desperate for content that in sensory deprivation people hallucinate; not knowing goes against this fundamental pull. For Hanson personally, applying don't know mind to interpersonal hurts—telling himself 'all that, and don't know'—immediately loosens the grip of rumination. It feels like unpacking, expansive and free. He contrasts this with the typical pattern of planting a stake in the ground ('this is what I think happened'), which then creates resistance and a dog-on-a-pole dynamic. Not knowing eliminates the stake and allows free flow.

Hanson distinguishes between memories that can fully release and those (trauma cores) where the goal is better regulation and contextualization. He shares two vivid personal stories. As a 10‑year‑old terrified of a monster under the bed, he finally 'screwed up his courage' and leaned over, inviting the monster to 'eat my face.' There was nothing there, but the act of entering the fear was necessary. As a young adult, during a psychedelic experience in Joshua Tree, he repeatedly saw devouring, witchy, feminine faces. Eventually, he 'dove into the face' instead of fleeing, and realized those images were disowned parts of himself—wild, non‑rational, opposite his logical, 'nice boy' Spock‑like persona. Integrating that part ended his lifelong nightmares. He emphasizes the nobility of stepping into pain and the importance of mundane victories in facing what seems small but has huge internal weight.

Hanson shares that he got into rock climbing in his early 20s partly to overcome a felt sense of being an unathletic, cowardly male—his father, a cowboy, never threw a ball with him. Rock climbing gave him a deep embodied experience of being an 'okay dude.' Later, when facing a pompous, domineering man or feeling scared about entering a group, he would deliberately pause and recall the felt sense of climbing—pulling over an overhang, being determined, problem‑solving his way up a crack—for a few seconds. That somatic activation would mobilize a sense of strength and courage that he could then bring into the social situation. He emphasizes that it's critical to tune into the body memory, not just the visual image. The same principle can be applied to any domain where someone has proven courage to themselves.

Hanson notes that many therapy sessions where people remain somber, inert, and numb yield no lasting learning, regardless of insight. Playfulness, by contrast, makes the learning stick. He shares a personal example: in his late 20s, he openly pursued a woman who was in a relationship with a higher‑status man in his personal growth community. He did it with full playfulness, writing notes, telling the boyfriend, and accepting the outcome without crushing attachment. Because he approached it as a playful 'improbable goal,' he was able to take the risk without being devastated by rejection. He contrasts the current culture of phoniness, where people 'speedrun authenticity' and fabricate relatability, with the deep longing for real, congruent, playful engagement. The jester’s privilege—the medieval fool who could speak truth to power—embodies this principle: humor stops the mind and opens a space for new possibility, just as poetry does.

Hanson draws on Professor Mueller of UC Berkeley, whose theory posits that space‑time is a four‑dimensional bubble. Space is expanding, and time is the other dimension of that expansion. Hence, the next moment arises because the universe is literally expanding temporally. This shifts the perception from ‘everything is ending’ to ‘we are always at the leading edge of creation.’ Hanson uses this to counter the dread that can accompany deep mindfulness of impermanence. He suggests that if we are not attached to what is happening, the fact that things are endlessly changing is not a problem, especially because there is an equally endless arising. The real issue is attachment, not change itself. He connects this to the need to feel ‘buoyed’ by the ongoing rightness that already exists—our body, friends, goodness in the heart—rather than only noticing what is ending.

Chris Williamson introduced the notion of ‘thinking in superpositions’ – borrowed from a phrase an author used, which he misinterpreted and repurposed. The concept is that the brain, uncomfortable with not knowing, tends to collapse a superposition of possible futures into a single catastrophic movie, because a known catastrophe feels safer than uncertainty. Hanson resonated strongly with this, seeing it as a cognitive extension of ‘don't know mind’. He noted that the brain is an expectation generator that freaks when it doesn't know, and that tolerating the superposition—not knowing what the future or the past means—dissolves the congealed rumination. He finds this playful and liberating, especially for people who have been rewarded for being in control and being right.

Hanson founded the Global Compassion Coalition with friends and colleagues a couple of years ago. The premise is that to tackle big systemic problems, we need ever‑larger collectives, collaborations, and alliances driven by compassion—a response to suffering that wants to do something about it. The coalition is free to join and functions as a moral stance, crossing many differences and divisions while fostering at least one common ground: people are hurting needlessly. Hanson sees this as a way to grow strong enough to push for overdue systemic change, and he also notes there are personal benefits for members along the way.