Riding the Elevator in My Own Mind

I’ve spent years studying the brain—reading research papers late into the night, talking with neuroscientists, and running my own experiments with light and sound stimulation. Along the way, I learned many fascinating things. But one discovery surprised me for how simple, almost obvious, it felt once it clicked. It was the realization that our mental health, creativity, and adaptability aren’t about being in some single “ideal” brain state. They’re about how easily we can move between many states—how well our mind’s “elevator” works.
That metaphor came to me one afternoon while I was trying to explain Brain Signal Variability—BSV for short—to a friend who didn’t know anything about neuroscience. I found myself saying: “Imagine your brain as a 20-story building.” Each floor, I explained, represents a different level of mental flexibility and adaptability. The lower floors are more predictable and patterned, the higher floors more dynamic and expansive. And you—your consciousness—are like the elevator operator, riding up and down all day, responding to what’s happening inside and outside of you.
Once I framed it like that, I couldn’t stop exploring the analogy.

The Basement Floors

If we start at the bottom—Floors 1 to 5—the view is quieter, but it’s not a bad place at all. Down here, brain activity is highly patterned and predictable. Scientists would call this “low BSV.” These floors are great for strengthening habits, reinforcing learned skills, and sharpening pattern recognition. The brain conserves energy here, focusing on efficiency and repetition.
Think about learning a musical scale, practicing a sports move, or drilling a new language’s basic vocabulary—repetition is key, and these floors are the perfect training ground. There’s a comforting rhythm to them. The elevator moves slowly, yes, but that stability can be exactly what’s needed when you’re consolidating knowledge or resting from higher-intensity thinking.
The catch is staying here too long. If life demands flexibility and quick adaptation, lingering in the basement can make it hard to respond. That’s when the benefits of these floors fade, and mental rigidity starts to set in. Like a gym for the mind, they’re best used for focused training—then it’s time to move on.

The Middle Levels

From Floors 6 to 14, things open up. This is where the brain is stable, focused, and emotionally balanced. BSV here is moderate—you can shift attention, manage emotions, and handle daily life with competence. I think of these as the “office floors” of the brain’s building: everything works, the lighting’s good, and the elevator runs smoothly.
It’s comfortable here. Most of our work, conversations, and problem-solving happen in this zone. You can get things done without burning out, and the brain can shift between tasks with relative ease. Still, as I learned, these floors aren’t the whole story. They’re perfect for sustained productivity and clear thinking, but when a situation calls for sudden leaps in perspective or a complete rethink, you need to be able to reach higher.

The Command Deck

That higher place is Floor 15—my favorite floor to talk about.
In my studies, I came across the concept of “criticality” in complex systems. In the brain, this is the sweet spot between too much stability and too much chaos. At Floor 15, BSV is high enough to allow for rapid, flexible changes, but not so high that thoughts scatter into noise. This is where the brain becomes its most adaptive, its most alive.
I call it the “command deck.” Here, learning happens faster. Insights arrive unexpectedly. Emotional patterns can reorganize into healthier shapes. I’ve felt this when a tough problem suddenly untangles itself in my mind, or when a conversation sparks a whole new way of seeing something.
Scientists have found that systems at criticality process information most efficiently and recover most quickly from disruption. On this floor, my mental “elevator” is tuned perfectly—I can see the stability of the middle floors below me and the exploratory openness of the penthouse levels above. It’s the ideal launching point for transformation.

The Penthouse Floors

Above Floor 15 are the penthouses—Floors 16 to 20—where the brain’s variability is at its highest. This is the realm of deep meditation, creative immersion, and altered states. The lighting here shifts and refracts, as if the very air carries ideas. Thoughts can become symbolic, nonlinear, and sometimes profoundly moving.
I’ve visited these floors in moments of pure inspiration, in meditative states where time seemed to dissolve, and even in those half-dream spaces before sleep where ideas take unexpected shapes. They’re exhilarating—but they’re not designed for long stays without grounding. Without integration, the very openness that fuels creativity can become disorienting.
The penthouses are powerful, but best when visited intentionally—whether to solve a creative problem, explore a meditative insight, or see the world from a radically new angle.

The Elevator Itself

The most important thing I’ve learned is that the real measure of brain health isn’t which floor you’re on—it’s how easily you can move between them. That’s the true hallmark of resilience.
A healthy brain can rise to the penthouses when novelty and creativity are needed, return to the middle floors for steady work, and descend to the lower floors when it’s time to reinforce skills or rest. Trouble comes when the elevator gets stuck—in depression or burnout, trapped on the lower floors; in certain hyperactive states, bouncing around the upper levels without control.
This mobility depends on Brain Signal Variability. I think of BSV as the building’s electrical and energy system. On the lower floors, energy is steady and economical. In the middle, it’s regulated and efficient. At Floor 15, it’s at dynamic equilibrium. At the top, it’s expansive and unpredictable. A truly adaptive brain manages that energy across all levels—visiting each as needed, rather than clinging to one.

Why This Changed My Perspective

For much of the last century, people thought of brain states as fixed categories: alpha waves for relaxation, beta for focus, and so on. But that model always felt too rigid to me. Brain Signal Variability offered a richer, more dynamic perspective—one that matched both what I saw in research and what I experienced in my own life.
BSV shows us that brain health isn’t about parking in one ideal state, but about having the range and skill to shift fluidly across many. It’s the interplay between stability and flexibility, between repetition and surprise, that keeps the mind alive.
When I started thinking about my own mind as a building, I realized I’d been spending too much time on the middle floors—competent and steady, but rarely making the leap to the command deck. I’d also been neglecting the lower floors for their unique strengths in patterning and skill reinforcement, and avoiding the penthouses for fear of getting lost in their openness.
Once I began deliberately visiting more floors—through meditation, creative challenges, and conscious downtime—I found I could adapt more easily. My mind felt like a whole building again, rather than just a few familiar rooms.

The Lesson I Keep Coming Back To

Now, when I talk to people about the brain, I share this mental skyscraper analogy. I tell them not to obsess over finding one “perfect” floor. Instead, take care of your elevator. Keep it moving. Use the lower floors to consolidate learning, the middle for stability and productivity, the command deck for transformation, and the penthouses for inspiration.
For me, that’s the real secret: adaptability. It’s not about being endlessly positive or permanently calm—it’s about having the full range. And it’s about recognizing that the best of human thinking, creativity, and emotional growth often happens right where stability meets surprise—on that beautiful command deck at Floor 15.
That’s where the view is widest. That’s where the building comes alive. And that’s where I try to spend as much time as I can—elevator ready, doors open, ready to ride wherever the day takes me.