Confessions of an Acetylcholine Junkie

I knew I’d been craving those drug-induced highs for years. I just didn’t realize until recently what my drug of choice is. Now don’t get alarmed and call the newspaper and the police; my chemical is street legal (well, actually I don’t know that), but it’s produced naturally in the body. In fact, without it, our nerves will stop firing and stop speaking to each other. In short, we would become vegetables.

Acetylcholine (ACh) is a neurotransmitter. That means that it’s a chemical that carries nerve impulses across the gaps (synapses) between our nerve cells. Research shows that the more often we do something the less ACh is required to carry the message. As things become more familiar or habitual the pathways don’t need as much chemical stimulus.

But there’s more to it than that. It turns out that ACh also has an effect on the pleasure centers of the brain. This affects some people more than others. I’ve known for a long time that to experience something new is one of the best ways to perk me up when I’m feeling a bit blue. I’m craving an ACh fix!

Here are some of my best ACh highs of the past month.

As I stepped out the kitchen door in the slanted morning light, not only were the pink apple blossoms glowing in the low sun but their lovely, clean scent was carried to me on the soft breeze. Just then, a pair of bluebirds sailed across the yard, banking and flashing their brilliant blue backs, wings spread, against the pink of the blossoms.

We have a little house wren that is building a nest under the edge of the deck. The male builds a home he would be proud to share and then sings for all he’s worth to try to coax a lady-love to join him. For a little brown bird- just an egg-sized ball of fluff with a stubby brown tail- it’s unbelievable how much noise can emanate from that breast. He’s taken to sitting on the deck rail just outside my office window. I can see him open his thin bill, almost translucent in the bright sun, puff out his chest, and then the vibrating trill begins. He’s so loud that he’s actually awakened me a couple of mornings. I’ve tried to take his picture out the window, but he knows I’m there. One bob of his tail, a nod of his head, and he’s gone every time I turn on the camera.

I’ve been in the Upper Peninsula this week and I’ve decided that they should film the next great fantasy adventure up here. The flat tamarack marshes can look as spooky as anything New Zealand has to offer. The afternoon light was gray but bright; it had been raining all day. Beds of sphagnum moss were scattered like irregular tiles across the landscape. Newly needled tamarack practically glowed- an eerie, alien green. An occasional spindly fir shot up from the mossy plain, usually a naked bole with broken, skeleton branches and a dark, tangled topknot. Through this vast and bleak plain meandered a flat and shining river. All that was missing was a craft with high, curved prows and foreign carvings. It should be propelled by small creatures- odd, but yet enchanting and mystic. I’m sure I saw it slip around the distant bend.

Experiences like these get my ACh flowing and my pleasure centers lighting up like a laser target. Recommended prescription for you? Go outside and find your own acetylcholine high!