on people

Daniel asked me recently, "why do you like people?"

At the time I was busy (with work, probably), and told him I would get back to him later. It's a complex question that's formed a big part of my life, and I wasn't sure I would be able to get a coherent answer down in the moment.

I thought about it that day, on the train ride home. And the next day, and the one after that. I asked some friends, "why do you like people?" I thought about it some more in the shower. Talked to some more people, thought some more.

Daniel, this post is for you.

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1. to "like" something?

When I say that I "like" X, or that I "want" X, generally it's one of two very separate and very distinct reactions - the rational and the emotional. The emotional reaction is always the one that's very visceral, very close to X. For example, when see that my room is untidy, I immediately feel more stressed. I emotionally associate untidy environments with a lack of free time, deadlines, disorganization in my life, disrespect for possessions.

The rational reaction is always the slower one to catch up - it's the one where you get time to think about what's going on. It says, "hey, you're going to move out of your room in a week. It doesn't matter that it's untidy. chill out". It's the reaction that's usually right, even if you can't convince your feelings to catch up to it.

It's easy to talk about the benefits of people in an abstract, rational sense. People make you less lonely and can be fun to spend time with. People offer you unique and diverse perspectives, that enrich your life. People introduce you to new activities, hobbies, and opportunities.

Honestly, it's pretty hard to make an argument for being a hermit. I would posit that on a rational level, everyone benefits from more human interaction.

I think it's the emotional reaction that's much more complex. Interacting with other people is a non-trivial problem and it comes with a lot of attached feelings - fear of judgement, desire to be approved of, feelings of exclusion. Over time, an individual will accumulate more and more of these feelings and associate them with spending time with people.

If I were to ask you "want to hang out with a bunch of people?", what is your visceral reaction?

Personally, I feel pretty excited. Meeting new people has always been fun, and super interesting. I also feel anxious - worried that I won't be able to connect with anyone and going will have been a waste of time.



2. validation

I've always relied heavily on external validation for my sense of self-worth. I'm sure there are lots of psychological reasons for this that I could spend a few years working through with a therapist if I so desired.

I think this manifested itself in a variety of ways throughout my life. In primary school, I would sometimes be a dick to other people in order to get their attention, and I would always be the first to answer the teacher's questions. I memorised digits of pi so I could show off in class. I found my first small group of genuine friends, and that made me happier than anything else.

In my first high school, I became infatuated with girls hoping they would be attracted to me, desperately wanting someone to approve the person I was. I felt hopeless and alone. In my second high school, I changed schools and finally found a community I felt like I belonged to. I felt liked and welcomed instead of excluded and lonely. I wrote letters and baked cakes for people, hooked on the feeling that I was making someone else's day better. I woke up excited to go to school to every day. I became infatuated with different girls.

In university, I started practising starcraft. I'd watched Daniel play for months, and I wanted to become better - really, it was just so I could tell other people my rank so they would be impressed. I eventually got to grandmaster after a lot of hours and suffering, and quit the game because there was no more value in continuing to play. I didn't have a community, I didn't have practise partners, and I'd gotten enough likes on my Facebook post.

Around the same time, I picked up teaching and loved being able to directly help students and feel their gratitude in person. I spent hours and hours reflecting on my teaching methods and how I could be the best. My communication skills skyrocketed and I spent countless extra hours making content for my students and staying late to help them finish assignments. They could tell I cared and wrote me a thank you card at the end of the semester. I scored some good job offers - even the employers approved of me! I was living the dream.

In my first job, I overworked myself, wanting to prove myself, show that I was useful and good for something. I developed a repetitive strain injury and became pretty good at writing code. I met some people who were really good at a variety of things, and thought they were beautiful for the fact that they passionately cared about something so much to become so good at it.

After my first relationship ended (in no small part because of this need for validation), I started compulsively using dating apps and going on a lot of first dates that didn't really go anywhere. I went to some music events and liked the feeling of being able to connect with random strangers, as well as bond with your friends. Conversely, I didn't like the fact that people were just there to passively enjoy the music in a group and didn't care about connecting with other people.

I think a lot of therapists might tell me that my dependence on external validation is unhealthy - ideally I should draw my self-worth from something more internal so that I don't have to feel bad. I don't disagree, but I would also say that my need for external validation is something that adds colour to my life.

If you could do away with hunger entirely, would you do so, or continue to experience the upswings and downswings of satisfying a need that you could remove?

I'd still choose to be right here, savoring every moment of hunger and every meal. To continue the analogy, I would say that my hunger hasn't really changed over the years but I do have a lot more food, which is nice.



3. risk tolerance

People often talk about themselves as being 'risk-tolerant' or 'risk-averse'. I think this applies especially to spending time with other people - it comes with a set of risks and benefits you will consider.

This ties in with optimism and pessimism pretty strongly - if you are overly optimistic, it's easy to over-sell benefits to yourself and under-sell the risks, and vice-versa for pessimism.

I think it also ties in very heavily with the type of risk involved. For example, some people are more risk-averse when it comes to personal safety, or safety of their friends. Other people might compulsively avoid failure, or being negatively judged/evaluated by other people.

I would consider myself very risk-tolerant and overly optimistic in many regards. Take me to a casino, and I'll willingly play every game in the building because winning is so good and losing doesn't really feel bad at all. Ask me to join a dance group for an office talent show, and I'll yolo in despite having never danced in my life. Go to a 3-day music festival? Join a volleyball team? no problem. What's the worst that could happen?

On the risk side, I'm mostly weighing personal safety and whether I'm spending my time usefully (because there's a lot of other stuff I could be doing). I'm not really scared of failing or being judged.

And on the benefits side, if there's a good chance I'll be able to connect with people, or feel validated, there's a pretty decent chance I'm going to join in heedless of any minor risk of failure or embarrassment.

I think risk-tolerance and optimism is pretty critical in your decision-making process. If you don't feel social risk heavily, and feel excited about spending time with interesting people, it's more or less trivial to like people. Bonus points if you're tolerant of trying different activities.

On the flip side, if you are spending time with people you don't like as much, if you're socially anxious when meeting new people, if you're averse to trying different or new activities, it's inevitable that you won't feel like you "like" people. Even more so if you don't feel super excited about spending time with them.

I think this risk evaluation is where social drugs like alcohol come in super useful. For example, I don't think that alcohol changes anything fundamental about your emotional reactions to people - if you dislike people on a visceral level, there's nothing alcohol does to change that. However, it does reduce your ability to evaluate risks, including social risks like fear of rejection or judgement. Alcohol won't make you love people, but it may help you love people if you already do.

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> "why do you like people?"

tbh, i don't really have a good answer.

why don't you like people?

basic bitch

i think i used to write for myself. if you go back far enough you can find a lot of shit that i'm not particularly proud of. i wrote nonsense to fill word counts, i dumped thoughts to give myself a mild sense of catharsis, and i wrote for attention. look at me, i can write blog posts! look at my great typing test scores! i'm so cool! i was such a basic bitch lmao

the years have changed me.

nowadays i write with others in mind. how will others perceive me? how will they feel when they look at my words? will they get any value from my reading? do i still write in an overly dramatic tone? is that just my blogging style? are my posts concise enough that people stay engaged and don't skim over everything?

nowadays i write under more constraints. how can i find enough space and time in my life to reflect on myself? how is writing this going to benefit other parts of my life? what state of mind is optimal to write in, and how should i achieve that state of mind?

nowadays i write for myself. as always, i guess. blogging is such a selfish venture when you don't have an audience.

i'm still a basic bitch.