After a particularly challenging day in my Daly City office, I was half-way through a snail-paced commute to my Hercules office, then home, punching through the pre-set FM buttons, praying for a tune that would set my mind free of the miserable traffic. My prayer was answered when I landed on Live 105 airing a new Incubus tune. As a drummer, I instantaneously recognized and fully appreciated the stylings of their drummer, Jose Pasillas, seamlessly guiding and traveling through 6/4, 11/4, and finally 8/4 time signatures. Yeah baby.

Incubus drummer, Jose Pasillas
Traffic finally loosened up after the “S-Curve” on the Bay Bridge, so I rolled down the windows, opened the sun roof, and turned up the volume. Now my mind was clearing, that pressure feeling in my shoulders and the back of my neck dissipating. Thank you Live 105! Thank you Incubus! Was this song called Out of Sight, Out of Mind, I thought, as the chorus lyrics suggest? I tagged it with my Shazam app. I was wrong. Adolescents. Thank you Shazam!
That whole out of sight, out of mind deal reminded me of what I tell my patients who experience vitreous floaters. You know, those little black spots or lines you see in your peripheral vision. You try to swat them away as they squiggle out of view when you move your eyes and realize . . . they’re happening inside my eyes. What the?!
The vitreous humor is a gel-like substance that fills the back chamber of the eye. It’s surrounded by a thin, transparent membrane. The gel and membrane slowly pull away from the retina over time. Due to the optics of your eye, little clumpings of the vitreous and the membrane will cast a shadow onto your retina. The shadow is projected into real space and is perceived to be floating in front of you – especially under certain lighting conditions.
Is there anything you can do about it, Doc? That’s when I say, Out of Mind, Out of Sight. Fortunately, our brain treats floaters like background noise. Just like our sense of hearing, when we free our attention to focus on other things, our brain ignores the floaters, and wala, they disappear from our perception. It’s one of those takeaways from the Psychology & Perception upper-div course I took at UCSD back in the day. What we see and what we perceive can be two different things. Trippy, I know. So was the whole UCSD thing, and so too was the disappearance of a day’s misery and stress by merely listening to a great song. Thank you brain! I made it home in one piece, with a clear head, leaving work at work, and enjoying the evening with my wife and kids. Life really is . . . grand.













