Animals and Robots.
like no one's watching.
I don't think you can properly judge a person until you've really seen them as a human being. That sounds like an obvious statement, I know - it seems like something that shouldn't even need to be said. Human beings are human beings, all the time, constantly. They can't change into animals or robots or animal-robot hybrids, or insects (even though some have the personality of one). One might have the personality traits of a vicious wild cat, but they're not actually an animal. A human is a human, regardless of how uncivilized their behavior is or how much or little they eat. Humans cannot simply transform into birds or cars or vacuum cleaners, so saying that you can't judge someone until you've seen them act like a human seems redundant.
It isn't, though.
What I mean by judging someone as a human is forming an opinion on someone only after you can see the way they act when no one else is around. The moment you can watch someone's movements, mannerisms, habits, and emotions when they think no one else is looking is the moment you can make an informed decision regarding how you feel about them.
Now, that whole "seeing the way someone acts when no one else is around" and "watching their mannerisms, etcetera" thing may sound strange (and may bring forth the visual of an overly curious voyeur, peering through the windows of a stranger to get the people-watching fix reality television can't properly give them), but that's far from what I mean. I'm talking about those moments when you see anyone - someone you think you know well, someone you barely know at all, someone you've never met before in your life - when they're too enthralled in their own thoughts to notice what's going on around them, or when they're incredibly vulnerable and don't care about where they are or who they're with. I'm talking about their actions, their mannerisms, their behavior. I'm talking about the moments they'll apologize for later, when they revert back to acting "normal".
When you can glance at someone sitting alone at a diner, waiting for a friend that may never show up, and you can study their facial expressions and the uncomfortable way they fidget as their patience grows thin with each passing minute, take that opportunity. The way they play with their placemat and the speed at which they drink their coffee is a good indicator of what kind of person they are. While I mention coffee, I should also bring up that the way they take their coffee is an even better indicator of their true personality. How much sugar and cream they put in it, if any, dark roast versus light roast, all of that little, seemingly unnecessary information are little bits of humanity shining through their public persona.
The shaky fingers of someone who is incredibly nervous about something that seems completely preposterous to be convulsing over, or the sole tear that slides down - and almost freezes on - someone's cheek in the dead of winter as they sit on the concrete step outside the venue of a local concert while telling the sad story of their on-and-off relationship with the rhythm guitarist of one of the opening bands, these are also decent examples of tiny stars of humanity making themselves obvious in the darkest of skies. People are strange, and people are quirky, and people have overwhelming emotions. But the same people who cry over things once loved and long dead, by themselves, are the same people who tell you that you're being weak when you publicly let it be known that you can't let something (that was never really yours to begin with) go.
Weakness is defined by the amount of yourself you allow to be utilized by other people, and the amount you let the aforementioned get to you. Weakness can also be defined by how vulnerable you allow yourself to be, or how quickly you are to cave in to please others. Weakness is being the kindest to those who are not kind to you, and pushing under the rug the things that bother you the most. Weakness is almost like a disease that eats away at you, until there is nothing that could be recognized as "strong" left.
Vulnerability is humanity, though. Allowing yourself to truly be who you are when you don't think anyone is watching, or letting your guard down around someone who you believed has earned it, is allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Trembling hands and frozen tears and telling your waitress the exact way you like your coffee with the same bitterness in your voice as the taste in your mouth are all examples of being human, showing that you're someone deeper than what you portray as yourself. And in doing these things, you have let your guard down slightly, allowing vulnerability to overcome you for even the slightest moment. When you're ordering your food and admitting things about yourself to perfect strangers, you're a snail coming out of its shell to examine the world around you, as frightening as it may seem. You may retreat back as quickly as you came out, but you can still feel the sting of the fresh air that comes with exposure of your true self on your skin.
It's true that some people act like animals, vicious and only able to focus on survival in a cut-throat world. It's also true that some people act like robots, dull and lifeless, cold and calculated. But beneath the exterior of someone who engages in the same routine daily, the same small talk with the same people at the same water cooler, or the person who manipulates and attacks to get their way constantly, there is someone with shaking hands who cannot cope with being in open spaces, and there is someone who has had their heart broken. There is someone who spins in their computer chair to entertain themselves, and someone who dances by themselves because they're too embarrassed to do it in front of other people. There is a girl who isn't wearing makeup and hides her face because it makes her feel ugly, and it makes her feel human. Humanity can only be defined by the actions of someone under pressure, or the quirks of someone who seems to have no emotion.
Underneath every robot is a layer of circuits and wires that makes them run, and controls their every action. Underneath every animal is an instinct that causes them to hunt and hibernate and survive. Underneath every human that acts like a robot or animal is a person with emotions and beliefs and obscure references to films no one remembers. There is weakness, vulnerability, and humanity underneath every single person that wants you to believe that they are not truly human. Until you see that glimmer of humanity, that spark of something other than flesh and rhetoric, you cannot properly judge a person.
So the next time you're ordering your coffee with one teaspoon of sugar and one teaspoon of cream, just remember - you're human. Robots don't drink coffee.
It isn't, though.
What I mean by judging someone as a human is forming an opinion on someone only after you can see the way they act when no one else is around. The moment you can watch someone's movements, mannerisms, habits, and emotions when they think no one else is looking is the moment you can make an informed decision regarding how you feel about them.
Now, that whole "seeing the way someone acts when no one else is around" and "watching their mannerisms, etcetera" thing may sound strange (and may bring forth the visual of an overly curious voyeur, peering through the windows of a stranger to get the people-watching fix reality television can't properly give them), but that's far from what I mean. I'm talking about those moments when you see anyone - someone you think you know well, someone you barely know at all, someone you've never met before in your life - when they're too enthralled in their own thoughts to notice what's going on around them, or when they're incredibly vulnerable and don't care about where they are or who they're with. I'm talking about their actions, their mannerisms, their behavior. I'm talking about the moments they'll apologize for later, when they revert back to acting "normal".
When you can glance at someone sitting alone at a diner, waiting for a friend that may never show up, and you can study their facial expressions and the uncomfortable way they fidget as their patience grows thin with each passing minute, take that opportunity. The way they play with their placemat and the speed at which they drink their coffee is a good indicator of what kind of person they are. While I mention coffee, I should also bring up that the way they take their coffee is an even better indicator of their true personality. How much sugar and cream they put in it, if any, dark roast versus light roast, all of that little, seemingly unnecessary information are little bits of humanity shining through their public persona.
The shaky fingers of someone who is incredibly nervous about something that seems completely preposterous to be convulsing over, or the sole tear that slides down - and almost freezes on - someone's cheek in the dead of winter as they sit on the concrete step outside the venue of a local concert while telling the sad story of their on-and-off relationship with the rhythm guitarist of one of the opening bands, these are also decent examples of tiny stars of humanity making themselves obvious in the darkest of skies. People are strange, and people are quirky, and people have overwhelming emotions. But the same people who cry over things once loved and long dead, by themselves, are the same people who tell you that you're being weak when you publicly let it be known that you can't let something (that was never really yours to begin with) go.
Weakness is defined by the amount of yourself you allow to be utilized by other people, and the amount you let the aforementioned get to you. Weakness can also be defined by how vulnerable you allow yourself to be, or how quickly you are to cave in to please others. Weakness is being the kindest to those who are not kind to you, and pushing under the rug the things that bother you the most. Weakness is almost like a disease that eats away at you, until there is nothing that could be recognized as "strong" left.
Vulnerability is humanity, though. Allowing yourself to truly be who you are when you don't think anyone is watching, or letting your guard down around someone who you believed has earned it, is allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Trembling hands and frozen tears and telling your waitress the exact way you like your coffee with the same bitterness in your voice as the taste in your mouth are all examples of being human, showing that you're someone deeper than what you portray as yourself. And in doing these things, you have let your guard down slightly, allowing vulnerability to overcome you for even the slightest moment. When you're ordering your food and admitting things about yourself to perfect strangers, you're a snail coming out of its shell to examine the world around you, as frightening as it may seem. You may retreat back as quickly as you came out, but you can still feel the sting of the fresh air that comes with exposure of your true self on your skin.
It's true that some people act like animals, vicious and only able to focus on survival in a cut-throat world. It's also true that some people act like robots, dull and lifeless, cold and calculated. But beneath the exterior of someone who engages in the same routine daily, the same small talk with the same people at the same water cooler, or the person who manipulates and attacks to get their way constantly, there is someone with shaking hands who cannot cope with being in open spaces, and there is someone who has had their heart broken. There is someone who spins in their computer chair to entertain themselves, and someone who dances by themselves because they're too embarrassed to do it in front of other people. There is a girl who isn't wearing makeup and hides her face because it makes her feel ugly, and it makes her feel human. Humanity can only be defined by the actions of someone under pressure, or the quirks of someone who seems to have no emotion.
Underneath every robot is a layer of circuits and wires that makes them run, and controls their every action. Underneath every animal is an instinct that causes them to hunt and hibernate and survive. Underneath every human that acts like a robot or animal is a person with emotions and beliefs and obscure references to films no one remembers. There is weakness, vulnerability, and humanity underneath every single person that wants you to believe that they are not truly human. Until you see that glimmer of humanity, that spark of something other than flesh and rhetoric, you cannot properly judge a person.
So the next time you're ordering your coffee with one teaspoon of sugar and one teaspoon of cream, just remember - you're human. Robots don't drink coffee.