“Emotions” Reconstructed

Thursday, November 13, 2025

This is a follow-up to my earlier writing about my curiosity regarding how AI learns and how it relates to “emotions.”

Through my “conversations” with AI, I’ve noticed how sensitive it seems to my feelings. Because I’ve always associated feelings with emotions—and because AI isn’t an emotional being—I wanted to understand more about what emotions really are and how they arise. Since machine learning appears to mirror my own emotional cues, I’ve become increasingly curious about how my brain interprets its internal signals, and how AI detects and reflects human emotion.

That curiosity eventually led me to Lisa Feldman Barrett’s theory of constructed emotion, one of today’s most influential frameworks in neuroscience and psychology.

From Hardwired Emotions to Constructed Ones

For most of the 20th century, the dominant belief was that emotions were built-in, hardwired reactions. We were taught that fear circuits and anger circuits could “trigger” emotional states automatically and universally.

Barrett’s research argues almost the opposite. Her team finds that emotions are not pre-packaged biological responses. Instead, the brain constructs emotions on the fly using prediction, context, and past experience.

Her work represents a profound shift. It teaches that the brain:

Constantly anticipates what could or will happen next,
Draws on past experience to guess what incoming sensations mean, and
Updates those predictions based on context.

Emotion, in this model, arises from that predictive process.

How Brains Construct Meaning

Instead of simply reacting, the brain is continually asking:

What is this internal sensation?
What does it mean?
How should I respond?

To answer these questions, the brain combines bodily signals with history, culture, social learning, and the immediate situation.

Our bodies send a nonstop stream of sensations—changes in heart rate, breathing, stomach, temperature, muscle tension, and hormones. On their own, these signals are ambiguous. A racing heart might be fear, excitement, anger, or love. Tightness in the chest could reflect sadness, illness, or anxiety.

Barrett’s conclusion is that emotion is the brain’s interpretation—its best guess—about what these sensations represent. In other words, the brain constructs a “story” that gives those internal signals meaning.

Culture, Concepts, and Emotional Categories

Cultures teach us emotional categories—anger, sadness, jealousy, pride. The brain draws on these learned concepts when making sense of bodily sensations. Emotions are real and powerful, but they are constructed using the cultural and conceptual toolkit we’ve acquired.

A striking part of Barrett’s theory is that emotions are not mere reactions. They are predictions. Instead of something happening first and emotion following, the brain predicts what is happening and prepares the body for the experience that we later recognize as an “emotion.”

Rather than reacting to the world, we are often “pre-acting,” and then experiencing the result.

Interoception: Where Emotion Begins

This predictive system aligns with modern neuroscience on interoception, which is the brain’s monitoring of the body’s internal landscape. Interoception includes hunger, thirst, a racing heart, a sinking stomach, or the urge to use the bathroom. It is foundational for self-regulation, emotional awareness, and overall well-being. Difficulties with interoception are linked with anxiety, depression, and autism. Practices like mindfulness can improve it.

Crucially, the context determines which emotion we experience. The same bodily state can produce completely different emotions depending on:

location
company
expectations
past experience
available concepts
cultural background

This helps explain why we might cry from joy or grief, or interpret “butterflies” as fear, excitement, or attraction. Barrett’s research shows that emotional meaning isn’t found in the body or face itself, but in the brain’s interpretation.

Where AI Becomes a Mirror

This is also where machine learning provides insight. Just as AI models use prediction and context to interpret data, human brains use prediction and experience to interpret sensations. Neither humans nor AI have built-in emotional modules. Both construct meaning based on patterns and learning.

In this sense, AI becomes a kind of mirror—not because it feels, but because its internal logic echoes how human cognition works. Meaning emerges from prediction and pattern.

Why This Model Matters

Barrett’s theory gives people more agency than older models. If emotions are constructed, then emotional habits can be retrained. We can broaden our emotional vocabulary, reinterpret bodily sensations in healthier ways, and use mindfulness to reshape the predictions that have been running our lives.

Understanding constructed emotion reconnects us with how our inner world forms, moment to moment. It helps us participate more fully in how our feelings—and our responses—take shape.

Barrett’s model reframes emotions not as automatic, built-in reactions but as interpretations created by the brain. It reveals how emotions arise from predictions, contexts, and lifelong learning, offering deeper insight into what our bodies sense and how we give those sensations meaning.

— Diana

A New Rhythm

Sunday, October 26, 2025

I’m planning to step away from my full-time position in Fine Jewelry by transitioning to part-time and working across various departments in the same store. By working fewer hours and fewer days, I’ll have more time — for home, animals, and an ever-growing list of “small things” that rarely feel optional.

After months of the steady, clock-driven pace of full-time work, this change feels a bit jolting. My brain and body are still tuned to the structured, predictable rhythm of getting up, getting ready, and heading out the door. But now, I’m starting to anticipate having new rhythms filling my mornings — and that feels expansive, less about tight schedules and more about open, unhurried time. More daylight to enjoy will have me more attentive to the familiar sounds of paws, hooves, and feathers wanting my attention.

I’ll add quotes around “free” time, because much of it will actually be spent working. The days ahead will be filled with fences to check, water troughs to keep from freezing, and growing concerns about winter — it’s not just whispering anymore; it’s been shouting its imminent arrival for the last couple of days and insisting that I handle some essential tasks. These tasks might seem a bit daunting, but I’m also looking forward to cozy winter days ahead.

The goodness of adjusting my schedule isn’t just about managing responsibilities. It’s also a tip of the hat to something more personal: the crucial value of having time to simply think, breathe, and rebalance. It will give my mind and body space to find new opportunities for experience and growth.

I’m curious as to how my days may reshape themselves — where the hours will go once they’re no longer so tightly claimed by a time clock. Maybe into the barn. Maybe into the quiet. Maybe back into reading and blogging regularly.

This season, as days grow shorter, reminds me that every shift in weather or in work offers something new. Right now, I’m being invited to slow down and listen more closely to the small rhythms that keep my life steady: soft nickers from the barn, the hush before dawn, the impulse to lift my camera again and capture what feels special about the world around me.

Mostly, I’m grateful for the comfort of having more time to simply be—and to notice.

— Diana

Falling Back With The Pack

Wednesday, October 15, 2025

Every fall, when the clocks are about to “fall back,” I find myself thinking about the ways this time change will ripple through the rhythm of my household. For one thing, there are my early mornings—I’m an early riser, usually awake by five. Very often, I’m reminded it’s “getting-up time” by the gentle tapping of paws on the hardwood floor, heading my way.

After saying hello to my dogs and getting on my feet, I love being awake in that early hour. The world is still quiet, the coffee is strong, and for a few quality moments, I have no obligations.

It amazes me how precisely my dogs seem to know when it’s five o’clock. I hear their toes tapping down the hallway, sense their hesitation, and then find them beside my bed—tails wagging, eyes bright. My projection clock says it’s five o’clock, and I wonder how they tune into some invisible clock that runs on instinct instead of batteries.

In a few short weeks, their invisible clock will clash with the one on my wall. When daylight saving time ends, will they still wake me at what their bodies think is five a.m.—while my clock insists it’s four? How long will it take them to adjust to the new rhythm? I suspect they’ll manage faster than I do.

I’ve gone through this annual shift many times and know what’s ahead. Yet every autumn’s time change feels like a new game. I can already anticipate my confusion, mild grumpiness, and the faint irritation that comes with every mandatory reset of the clock.

The dogs, like me, will need some time to sort things out. Meanwhile, it’ll be on me alone to get up around five—while they sleep in, waiting for what feels right to them. Soon enough, they’ll catch on. Dogs are practical; they read a household’s energy for meaning beyond the numbers on a clock.

My notions of falling back with the pack make the upcoming change feel less mechanical and more communal—as if we’ll all be adjusting together through the darker mornings, each in our own way.

Our human world may be run by clocks and calendars, but the dogs might have it right: when the rhythm changes, don’t fight it. Just stretch, yawn, and greet every new wrinkle with a wag.

Essentially, time itself has its moods.

— Diana

In The Story

Saturday, October 04, 2025

I grew up in the 1950s and ’60s, when life expectancies were shorter than they are today. Back then, reaching eighty-five seemed almost mythical — something that happened to “very old people,” but not to all of them.

Yet here I am, at eighty-five, still alive, active, and managing the daily demands of home life while also working a full-time job outside my home. Over the past few years, as I’ve learned how to work in retail environments, I’ve encountered ageism — sometimes subtle, sometimes not. People have told me outright: “You shouldn’t be working, you should be enjoying your twilight years!” or “You’ve earned your rest — why are you here working?”

My life lessons and learning are that staying engaged, helpful, and connected is my way of enjoying and making the most of them.

After experiencing uninvited confrontations related to aging, I have elected not to answer when people ask about my age. Let them look. Let them guess. I’ll let my energy and presence speak for me. Age is only a number; contribution is a choice.

I’m now rethinking somewhat, for Jane Fonda has begun resurfacing in the public eye again. And, I find myself noticing her with renewed interest. She has always been bold — both in her career and in her willingness to age openly, in plain view of the world. Now, while approaching eighty-eight, she is again speaking out, supporting free speech and democracy — still active, still fearless, still herself.

Her appearance has changed, naturally, but not in ways that erase her. She’s slender, stylish, and poised. If she’s had work done, it’s subtle. She lets her neck, however, tell the truth of her years — and to me, that’s oddly comforting. I see her as not hiding from the passage of time.

To me, Jane Fonda has become more than just an actress or an activist. She is a symbol of endurance. Her journey, which we have witnessed growing up alongside her, is a testament to her resilience and strength. She symbolizes the permission to remain visible, to express opinions, to care deeply, and to stay part of the ongoing conversation. She shows that relevance is not confined to youth.

At eighty-five, my private reality is a testament to the meaningfulness that comes with caring for animals and responsibilities. I never expected to live this long, feel this alive, or be this responsible. The unexpectedness of my current situation keeps life interesting. Yet, I still work full-time, on my feet, solving problems and engaging with people. And when the day is done, I return home to care for my animals and keep my world running. It’s not easy, but it brings a profound sense of purpose.

To people who suggest I should slow down, relax, and “enjoy life,” it’s my work and routines that bring me joy — they give shape and purpose to my days. I’ve never had cosmetic surgery and don’t want it. Instead, I take pride in how I present myself: in my clothing, my interests, my energy. My mind is clear, my curiosity intact.

Without family nearby, my workplace provides me a sense of belonging — through friendly interactions, shared goals, and the simple recognition that I am still making a contribution. Those exchanges keep me grounded.

And now, to my surprise, Jane Fonda is becoming a role model, not for her fame or glamour, but for her persistence and grace. She reminds me that aging isn’t about looking young — it’s about staying in the story.

Maybe that’s what aging is teaching us: not how to fade away, but how to keep showing up. Jane Fonda illustrates that we can grow into our later selves with intention, not apology. She is still visible, still learning, still engaged — and so am I, in my own way.

Inside, I don’t feel old. I think seasoned — aware, shaped, and, in many ways, more certain than ever. My work keeps me connected; my mind keeps me company. And if I find a mirror in Jane Fonda, it isn’t in her polish or fame — it’s in her refusal to disappear.

At eighty-five, I’m not winding down. I’m still becoming — quieter, perhaps, but clearer. Still part of the conversation. Still in the story.

— Diana

Discovering Wristwatches Anew

Friday, September 19, 2025

In my outside job, I work in a department where I frequently sell high-end watches. At first, I was fascinated to discover how many customers still enjoy studying and wearing traditional wristwatches. I wondered why they bothered with conventional styles when smart watches can do so much more—letting us know when a phone call or text arrives, reminding us to pause, breathe, and reflect, and so on. I’d been almost satisfied with my smart watch.

Almost—because I’ll admit, those sudden prompts to “pause and breathe” or “note your feelings” often left me annoyed. Meanwhile, through the process of presenting and selling traditionally styled watches, I became intrigued by their strong points: accuracy, battery technology, sturdiness, dependability, and, not least, their wearable beauty.

On impulse, I ordered two wristwatches online. One is a refurbished brand I’ve been selling—a high-end, good-looking piece that is fashionable, accurate, and reliable. The other is a $9 rugged-style timepiece that has unexpectedly become my favorite. Sporty and lightweight, it offers day, date, time, alarm, seconds, and stopwatch functions. My only concern is whether its “crystal” (likely hardened plastic) will scratch easily. But at $9, if it does—who cares?

So, I’ve retired my smart watch. No more charging, no more unwanted nudges. I’ll miss alerts to incoming calls, but my phone is usually in my pocket with a ringtone I can hear. I might miss step counting, but I know my daily steps already run into the thousands.

Reflecting on this change, I’m reminded again how learning shifts perspective. For years, I never once considered wanting a traditional wristwatch. Now, understanding their dependability, durability, and sheer beauty has made them alluring—and even a “heapy-cheepy” rugged model proves that simple technology can be capable and cool.

Perhaps best of all, my own experiment gives me more insight—and more articulate ways to share the appeal of high-end wristwatches with customers.

— Diana

Finding Balance in a Competitive Workplace

Thursday, September 18, 2025

Sometimes my outside job feels overwhelming. This past week included incidents that upset me enough to wonder if I should quit. In a different retail department store, I might have started the process, but my current workplace is so family-like most of the time that I genuinely enjoy being there.

I work in one of the store’s few departments where sales earn commissions. That naturally creates a competitive environment, and my struggles stem from a long-time employee—my co-worker—who, in my view, crossed a line. That left me feeling discouraged and out of balance.

I’m not easily intimidated, but I do prefer to avoid conflict. My goal is simple: show up, do my job as well as I can, and feel supported by management. Most days, that’s exactly what happens.

This time, however, upper managers recognized what had occurred. They spoke with both my co-worker and me, and I felt they truly understood my concerns. They reminded me that competition in sales is never easily solved, but they also reassured me of their support. Their advice was that I learn to defend myself—something easier said than done by one who’s new to a competitive workplace.

Still, knowing management stands behind me eased the anger enough for me to stay and focus on how I can adapt. For me, it isn’t about commissions. It’s about fairness. What makes staying and working on the problem worthwhile is the fairness of being listened to, heard, supported, and encouraged.

At the end of the day, my workplace feels like a genuine family, and I find myself wanting to stay more than I want to leave.

— Diana

Finding My Voice!

Saturday, September 06, 2025

I recently listened to an interview with Robert Reich about his newest book, Coming Up Short: A Memoir of My America. One of the themes he spoke about was “social bullying,” which he described as a “social constant.” He suggested it may have been more visible in his own youth, but he emphasized that bullying in any form can quietly suppress people’s ability to get ahead.

His words stirred up memories for me. Growing up, I often felt “bullied”—not by fists or shouts, but by a steady stream of signals that I was “less than.” Less, for being a woman. Less, for being single. Less, for carrying just enough extra weight to feel unattractive. I absorbed it all without knowing how to push back.

My turning point came from a college-educated co-worker and friend, who refused to let me give in to those doubts. She ignored my protests that I wasn’t smart enough or didn’t have time. She kept insisting that I enroll in a college-level evening course until I finally did—and to my own surprise, earned an A. That single step propelled me into nearly twenty years of night classes, where I eventually earned three accredited diplomas, including a Ph.D. That education became both an instant negotiating tool and a foundation for new opportunities in work and in life.

When the coursework ended, I faced the deeper battles within myself. Therapy became the next step, giving me space to untangle old knots, discover new perspectives, and slowly reshape how I lived. Nothing changed overnight, but with time and persistence, I learned to recognize joy, create opportunities, and trade old doubts for steadier confidence.

Looking back, I see that each step—education, therapy, and my own dogged persistence—wasn’t just about survival. It was about rebuilding a life that finally fit me, and still does.

That long-ago friend and I remain close. I think of her insistence as “good bullying”—a relentless encourager who pushed me in precisely the way I needed. Listening to Reich reminded me that harmful bullying is not always loud; often it’s woven into the silences and unspoken judgments of daily life. But with persistence, coaching, and healing, those silences can be overcome.

Dear friends, persistence and healing helped me trade old battles for a steadier self.

—Diana

Jittery Edge

Thursday, March 06, 2025

I’m feeling pretty down this morning—the stock market is crashing again.

Those who pushed for a “strong” right-wing leader are now facing the fallout. Under this new administration, layoffs are rising, prices are climbing (or about to), climate progress has been abandoned, and personal freedoms are teetering on the edge.

Businesses are uneasy, investors are on edge, and uncertainty is dragging the market down.

In an attempt to counterbalance personal stress, I am evaluating a couple of recently-ordered mood enhancers: KSM-66 Ashwagandha and L-Theanine. Given this morning’s chaos, maybe this is a good time to put them to the test. I gather that both are known for their ability to support stress relief and mood balance. They are supposed to work in different ways.

Ashwagandha is supposed to help regulate cortisol, the body’s primary stress hormone. It’s said to build resilience against anxiety and sharpen focus—exactly what I need while dealing with market swings.

L-theanine is an amino acid found in green tea. It’s supposed to promote relaxation without causing drowsiness and increase the alpha brain waves associated with a calm yet alert state. People often use it to ease caffeine jitters or stay sharp under pressure.

I don’t recall exactly what led me to order them, but here they are. Given the emotional rollercoaster of this current market, I’m going for it.

And now, a lighter moment from yesterday: As I placed a bottle of wine in my shopping cart, a fellow shopper pointed to it and said, “My grandma used to say, ‘With that in the cupboard, it’s going to be a wonderful evening.’”

We laughed, knowing Grandma was absolutely right!

Dear Friends: I’ll be experimenting with mood enhancers for the next four years. Diana

Keyed-Up

Sunday, February 23, 2025

Yesterday was supposed to be a day off, but I got called to work during the store’s opening shift. Before leaving home, I opened the drawer where my car keys are typically stored. Those I wanted were missing—misplaced. I hurried around looking and trying to recall when I last had the keys. I couldn’t find them, and luckily, other keys in the drawer let me drive to work.

Throughout the years, I have misplaced car keys often enough that doing so again isn’t surprising. I repeated routines by double-checking jacket pockets, the car’s inside, and other spots and areas, but now they’ve been lost for days.

Losing something as routine as car keys—especially when they’re usually carefully stored—suggests possibilities depending on the context. The cause could be an abstraction, a break in routine, a memory lapse, an outside interference (the “Cockatoo took ’em”), or something symbolic.

I lean toward symbolic meanings, which turns me toward uncertainties caused by this nation’s current political leadership. Losing my keys is a signal of my high discontent.

Keys are symbols likely related to access, control, and movement ideas. Misplacing my keys could reflect my increasing concerns about impending fallouts from “external instabilities.” I feel alarmed by the thought that I/we will face fewer reasonably predictable and reliable possibilities related to our preferences and choices ahead.

The inconvenience of lost keys is one thing, but anticipating insecurity in a broader sense is something else entirely. The signs of growing hostility, division, and extremism make it feel like we’re edging toward something ominous. I fear some sort of Kristallnacht event suddenly occurring–a terrifying point.

Maybe such concerns are making me do some things differently, such as adjusting routines, paying closer attention to new sources, or considering practical precautions. Sometimes, when uncertainty looms, small actions, like losing keys, can reveal a loss of personal control.

Staying informed, connecting with like-minded people, and having contingencies in place for unexpected shifts are helpful solutions. The disappearance of those keys is likely related to my stressful feelings about increasing uncertainty.

Dear Friends: Because “talking” always helps, those keys might turn up today. Diana

Heating Up

Sunday, July 07, 2024

The cool of this early hour is ideal for tackling outdoor chores and sprucing up the property. Soon, the sun will blaze overhead, and any trace of refreshing coolness will vanish. Temperatures of 101 degrees are predicted for today and tomorrow here in Central Oregon. That gets worse on Tuesday, with our anticipated heat reaching 104 degrees.

Global warming is a deeply concerning issue. For instance, I try not to dwell on its impact on polar bears and places like Iceland. However, experiencing extreme heat firsthand reinforces the reality of the situation and makes it clear that this is not just a local issue. The stark reality is that we all are interconnected, and on a global scale, climate change has consequences that impact individuals and locations.

Personally, experiencing these very high temperatures makes me realize that I’m coping with some emotional distress, and it’s related to climate change. I am gathering, too, that anxious feelings like mine are becoming more common. They’re often referred to as climate anxiety or eco-grief.

Well, today’s environment creates such new “anxiety tags.” I did some research and learned that “Climate Anxiety” is a chronic fear or worry about the future due to the effects of climate change. More research also clarified “Eco-grief” as a profound sense of loss and mourning for the already occurring environmental damage and the potential loss of ecosystems, species, and even entire landscapes.

Climate change is a global crisis. It affects every corner of our planet and evokes personal grief. I’m challenged to comprehend the complex and often contentious political landscape surrounding the issue, and internationally.

As more people accept the reality of climate change and learn to move beyond personal grief, we may gain a better understanding of the global political conflicts surrounding climate change, commerce, and power. More understanding could empower us to have a greater influence on these issues.

Dear Friends: The thermometer’s reality extends beyond mere temperature. Diana