Splat on the interstate

I spend a lot of time thinking about people’s motivations and shortcomings and choices. I’d love to say it’s because I am a scholar of the human condition, being a writer, and maybe there is some small truth to that. Mostly, though, it’s because other people piss me off and I need to know what their incentives are, what role my own behavior plays in it, and how I can dissect my resulting outsized rage. My observation is that on the whole, most people are disappointing, and in the off chance that they actually recognize how disappointing they are, it’s even more disappointing than when they don’t.

Now, I know you’re thinking that people are only disappointing because I have preconceived expectations for them, therefore, the disappointment is my problem. I am disappointed you think this. You know why? Because while people don’t sell you expectations, they do present themselves as this or that sort of person, and so I’ve come to anticipate a certain deportment that coincides with the image they’ve depicted. What they’re portraying is all I have to go on in the beginning, and I will take this at face value until proven otherwise.

Sadly, otherwise is inevitable. Over the decades I have researched human fallacy, self-deception, vulnerability, and blockheadedness using the best and most intimately familiar example I have – myself. Asking myself, “What the fuck is wrong you with?” has given me ultraviolet insight into my own absurd conduct. It naturally follows that I’ve been able to apply this practiced observation to legions of people who I’ve crossed paths with, from the cursory to the thick and everything in between.

I had a friend once tell me that she, too, was an empath, a reader of souls, a witness to the insides of other people’s hearts. Yet, confronted with her own self-deprecating, conflict avoidant and happiness suppressing demeanors, she was blind as a bat. She oddly had enough self-awareness to recognize that she wasn’t introspective, yet in the same breath would deny all behaviors I observed her display in real time. This begs the question: how can anyone purport to understand the origin of other people’s reactions when they aren’t even aware of their own?

I’d be the last person to claim to be some emotional savant and the perfect control in a scientific study about human decision-making. But what I am aware of is how my own perceptions might taint my interpretation of someone else’s why. If you aren’t cognizant of your own biases and behavior, how will you know if what you’re seeing is reality or the variation influenced by your trauma, ego, depression, or self-esteem? You won’t. Is that couple arguing or do you simply think they’re arguing because you are conflict avoidant? Is that father talking down to his son or do you only perceive that because your own parents never respected you? Did you think that choice your friend made was heartless or do you believe that because you struggle to make difficult decisions that involve other people’s feelings? If you can’t identify the source of your perceptions – You. Won’t. Know. In my experience, most people are so adept at lying to themselves that they’ve come to believe they own the one true reality. I could ignore this forever if it hadn’t recently caused me massive grief and resentment in the past six months.

Occasionally I fantasize about being able to sit a person down in front of a TV with their eyes stretched open, Clockwork Orange style, to a video of themselves so I can say, “Look at yourself, you fucking fool!” In my fantasy they would see themselves making their stupid decisions and telling their personal lies and cringe, or see themselves and instantly become self-aware, or, because it’s my fantasy and I own it, both. Unfortunately, even if this were possible, I know they’d actually interpret the video through the same lens distortion that they used from their first-person perspective. You can hold someone’s eyeballs open in front of something but you can’t make them see anything.

In the past half a year of me Trying To Have a Nice Life ™, I’ve been tormented by a slew of people with corrupted esteem, malignant coping mechanisms, shattered egos, and codependency dilemmas. It seems that the better my life becomes, the more these fuckups are drawn to me like suicidal insects to a scented candle. I need to make clear right now – I am not your savior. Your attempts to glom onto me will not improve your standing in life. You are exactly where you deserve to be because you refuse to change. I feel no sympathy, mercy, or compassion for your plight. I’m not nice, friendly, cute or loving. You should know this. And if you don’t know this, I’m telling you now.

I am, however, introspective, and I spend a lot of time thinking deeply about other people’s journeys. This particular quality makes people think that I am especially attuned to their inner monologue and their trials and tribulations. That’s true. This also makes me attuned to the fact that they lie to themselves, to others, and to the universe about who they are. I know when you’re a worthless drug addict and an inconsiderate, arrogant poser. I know when you’re a little boy cosplaying as a man who thinks I owe you things because you “helped” me. I know when you’re an uneducated, vile woman who attacks others you feel threatened by. I know when you’re a wet noodle pushover of a man who doesn’t defend or respect himself. I know all the things you never told me. I know all the things that are secrets even to yourself.

I also know that you think I can rescue you from yourself if I just did this one thing you wanted me to do, just followed orders, just fucked off, just acted a certain way, just nurtured all your insecurities, just kissed the ring of your accusations. Quit showing up on my doorstep with your stunted emotional development, your mommy and daddy trauma, your cheaper-than-therapy attitude. If you don’t want it what makes you think I do?

Find someone else to torture. Stop trying to tell my story. Stop trying to drive my car. Stop trying to ride my horse. You want a glamorous sunset to disappear into? Get your own, shithead. And this is why I drive my own fucking car these days, and why I’ve always driven my own damn life. Because if I have to ride passenger seat to a shithead I’m going to jump out on the interstate.