ideas on human interaction (april)
Vacation people, airpods, and using conversations to create art.
the messy imbalance of systems-level beliefs and localized human perception
Social media has created increased opportunities for people to categorize and label others by their opinions on recent elections, the pandemic, healthcare issues, and other key events in the last decade. Social interactions seem to be decreasing within local communities (such as coffee shop conversations and neighborhood friendships), meaning humans have fewer opportunities to make judgements on individuals based on their everyday actions. The exposure of online information continues to create pressure on individuals to form values based on systems beyond the insularity of their local communities.
Humans seem to be increasingly perplexed, confused, and distrusting of their own judgement of others. The way we watch someone act in real life is often muddied by the person’s online persona and self-proclaimed identities. Systems-level beliefs are at odds with what we know to be true about others: how they treat their friends, family, and local community, how they show up for themselves and those in need, and how they spend their time. Yet, systems-level beliefs still carry a level of significance as we develop our values. How do we grapple with these collisions? I hypothesize that this contradiction will only continue to complicate the relationships we have with others.
vacation people
Sometimes we meet someone in a moment of fate and we wonder why we haven’t known this person our entire life. It feels like I’ve known you for much longer. Maybe even forever.
Everybody has had a few “vacation people” that come and go—the relationships that enter our life in shades of ecstasy and make us feel alive, usually during periods of time where we’ve been feeling still. We dance with vacation people as if in our own universe, on top of the world below. They cut through our stagnancy, offering novel glimpses into the joys of life through their demonstrated lust and awe. Sometimes, they’re a mirror to what we see as the most vivacious version of ourselves, acting as an idealized doppelgänger of sorts.
Most of our memories with vacation people are visceral—moments of highs where we are swimming—rather than instances that include the repetitive, peaceful mundanity of everyday friendships and relationships (cooking together, sitting on the couch in quiet coexistence). We have vulnerable conversations with a vacation person, not because they are the person best equipped to ride alongside our waves of growth, but because deep conversations add to the script and we’re in the backdrop of a movie.
The thrill and downfall of a relationship with a vacation person is a confusing and gray line, and one should always be cautious of the expiry. We may engage with this person after the peak of an adventure, just as we may travel back to the places in the world that have filled us with fascination. But we must not confuse our vacation people with the people that ground us in our everyday lives: those who are overjoyed to sit on the sidelines of our story even when it is dull. Vacation people tend to pull away once reality sets in. It is in this anticlimactic period that we often invalidate the memories. The problem, though, is not with the vacation people we meet and the feelings we experienced in their presence. It is with our tendency to ask for too much or expect too much from a vacation person.
Remember—there was a life you lived before you went on vacation. To carry the vacation’s magic into your daily life is a useful gift, so long as you don’t confuse life with the illusion of your memories.
airpods are ruining (a chance at) serendipity
I posted a note about this a few weeks ago, and the impact has called for additional reflection.
Things that have happened since I last saw my AirPods in December:
I interact with strangers more, and it is still meaningless, but maybe one day it won’t be. It’s not like anything magical has happened. I haven’t met the love of my life at a coffee shop or walking down the street. But I’ve definitely talked to strangers more, saying hi to my neighbors I never knew before and petting more dogs on my walks. And the type of discomfort that comes from speaking to a stranger and being rejected has made talking to anyone I meet much easier. So no, nothing inherently deep or magical has happened yet, but I know that if I only walk around the world with my AirPods in, my chances of serendipitously meeting a stranger who could change my life are zero. Life’s too short to take that chance.
A level of agency has been created that the pods were impeding. Reality is, we have to do a lot of boring shit in life. AirPods used to make this boring shit more fun—tedious tasks at work, cleaning, shopping for groceries. Then, during the times when the pods died or were forgotten, this boring shit just got way worse. I felt stupid at work sometimes without them, and I’m also hyper-sensitive to noise. Getting over the hump of the distractions and boredom was awful in the beginning, but there was a time when people did things in silence, with the sounds of the Earth and chatter of humans in the background. The silence is horrible, but then it becomes peaceful, clarifying, and sometimes even beautiful.
Running has become a secondary state of meditation where I feel lost in time and unlock deeper thought. I’ve actually been leaving my phone at home (a reminder that most of the time we create our own perilous hypotheses of danger around us; nothing bad has happened and I know directions better than I think I do). I’ve noticed details along the bay that I ignored before—a boat with lights pulling around a party of people, the warm shades of orange that hit the slimy water as time passes, families grilling on their patios and reminding me of childhood. Another thing: when you remove outside dopamine from movement, you are forced to feel your body more and come to terms with what types of movement you actually enjoy when it is not forced through EDM pump-up playlists, which leads to heightened body appreciation.
when life isn’t deep, relentless curiosity about others keeps art alive
Much of art-making is centered around seeking answers to internal questions. The more trauma and pain a person goes through, the more of these questions they will have, creating endless holes for exploration during the art-making process. This type of art also attracts the broken, and because many people in the world that spend time online are struggling with their own pain, a virality effect is created. Breakup songs, personal blog essays about the missteps of growing into adulthood, self-help content, to name a few. It’s always very popular. This type of content is a beautiful part of art—it creates a space for humans to find meaning and beauty behind pain that would otherwise seem cruel and meaningless.
But what happens when the pain is mostly gone? Does the art-making stop? I’ve been waking up the past couple of weeks at a seeming loss for inspiration and came to the following conclusion: My life is actually fine right now. No, it is more than fine. It’s better than it’s ever been. I’ve been spending less time alone and more time with friends, and I’ve been talking with others in coffee shops rather than working on blog posts in solitude with headphones in. Nothing particularly significant is happening to me right now, just a series of fun and joyous moments, and my ability to be present almost seems inhibitive when I stare at a blank page.
Coming out of the other side of healing, it can feel odd to not look inward and draw from sources of pain to create. Creating is also a lonely act. Yet, when I look back at my favorite stories, my best art has come from interactions with others and the questions I ask them, rather than obsessive inward reflection. Most of my favorite books have been non-conclusive narratives deeply embedded in interesting characters and subtle social interactions that make me think. In the past few weeks, I’ve needed to remind myself that writing doesn’t always need to lead to answers or require deep inner reflection of my own life’s history.
Maybe the best art is simply a second set of eyes on the world, from a perspective yet to be seen, no matter how dull or seemingly insignificant.