`Cheshire Puss,’ she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider. `Come, it’s pleased so far,’ thought Alice, and she went on. `Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?’

`That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,’ said the Cat.

`I don’t much care where–‘ said Alice.

`Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,’ said the Cat.

– Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

I’ve long been fascinated by the neurobiology of attention – the interactions of parts of our brains like the hypothalamus and the reticular activation system. Each day, all day, we’re bombarded by sensations; yet, somehow, we filter out the vast majority, letting through a select few. Reading a book, we lose ourselves in the pages, blocking out completely the world around us. Or, talking at a cocktail party, we tune down others’ conversations, focusing in on just the words of our conversational companions.

I’m reminded of that particularly when I buy something new. I remember, in college, purchasing a Toyota Celica, and suddenly finding myself passing hundreds of other Celicas on the highways and streets. Not because, of course, people had suddenly rushed out to lease similar cars; but, rather, because my brain decided the ones that had always been out there were, for the first time, interesting enough to pass through to my conscious mind.

All of which is to say that I believe the brain is largely cybernetic. Not in the computerized sense of the word, but closer to it’s Greek root, ‘kybernetes’, which means something akin to ‘steersman’. It begins with an end in mind, then focuses us on and readjusts us towards those things that bring us closer and closer to that goal.

Which leaves us floundering, then, when the target isn’t clearly locked; without somewhere we want to end up, like Alice, it doesn’t much matter which way we go.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, mainly in the context of dating, of big city romance. With so many potential partners – an embarrassment of riches – we urban singles are weighed down by the tyranny of choice. There are so many people who might be right, and so many more who might be just a bit righter still than whomever we’re currently with.

But most of us, at a very basic level, don’t have any idea of what ‘right’ looks or feels like in the first place. We drink our way from date to date, trying to guess, hoping our hearts or guts or friends or mothers, or even the Cheshire Cat, will somehow jump in to tell us when we’ve found it.

So, for weeks, I’ve been brainstorming my way through my own sense of ‘right’, my own list of qualities I think I’m looking for. I’ve been quietly analyzing the long happily married couples I know, squaring that with my own experience, adding ideas, crossing off items, and boiling things down to the bare essentials: things I can look for that, alongside the requisite lightning bolt, would leave me happily ever after. In short, a target, an end in mind that my subconscious might, day by day, guide me towards.

And while my list is still brewing, certainly not yet ready for public consumption, I did, earlier this week, find at least one item that seems sure to make the final cut. Dr. Dan Gottlieb, a quadriplegic psychologist and guest on NPR’s Fresh Air, related the story of a young woman who he’d seen in his practice. “I feel like my soul is a prism,” she told him. “But everybody sees just one color. Nobody sees the prism.”

As someone too long practiced at playing social chameleon, I find her concern hits particularly close to home. Which is why, among anything else, I can see the appeal, or perhaps the necessity, of ending up with someone with whom I could always be my full, garishly multi-colored self.