On the Peculiar Business of Being Human

I have always been fascinated by human behavior. The things people say, the things they don’t say, and the peculiar contradictions between what they believe, what they profess, and how they actually behave, which rarely align.

For years, I suppose I was simply an observer, curious about personalities, relationships, social dynamics, and the often-baffling ways people navigate their lives. I noticed patterns, questioned motives, and occasionally wondered whether we were all part of the same human experiment, yet operating under entirely different instructions.

Over time, however, that fascination has shapeshifted into something else. I am less interested in merely observing what people do and increasingly intrigued by what their behavior reveals about the human experience.

What makes someone curious while another remains comfortably unquestioning? Why do some people seek connection while others shy away from the vulnerability that relationships require? Why do we cling to beliefs that no longer serve us, defend identities we have outgrown, or mistake familiarity for understanding? Or my favorite: why do most people avoid conflict?

And perhaps most interestingly, how much of who we become is genuinely chosen, and how much is inherited, conditioned, or quietly absorbed over our life’s journey?

I must confess that people have annoyed me for a long time (for many reasons), but I’m learning to disengage from that feeling because it hasn’t served me well. I’ve always questioned their tactics, actions, or inaction. My inner Fran is often agitated, while my outer Fran is more empathetic. I once approached human behavior with a greater appetite for explanation. I wanted to understand why people make certain choices, especially when those choices seem contradictory or hard to reconcile.

These days, I find myself increasingly interested in these questions. I’ve also become increasingly aware that observing human behavior doesn’t necessarily mean understanding it.

Can I get an Amen?

In most people, I see the performance, but rarely the full production. Everyone carries an inner world shaped by experiences, fears, desires, and circumstances we may never fully grasp. That realization has made me more discerning and, I hope, a little less certain and even a little less cranky toward my fellow humans. That’s empathy working overtime.

My curiosity has also expanded beyond the people immediately around me. Writers, philosophers, artists, and unconventional thinkers have become fascinating companions on my journey of exploration and inquiry. Some challenge my assumptions, while others articulate what I’ve sensed but never quite put into words. A few even make me laugh at the sheer absurdity of our species.

With Fran Lebowitz, I’ve found myself wanting to sharpen my observations. Writer and poetic powerhouse Anne Carson makes me reconsider what I thought I understood. And somewhere between their vastly different approaches, I’m increasingly drawn to the margins of human experience rather than to obvious narratives.  Thanks, Anne!

Perhaps that is what growing older, reading more, traveling farther, and paying closer attention ultimately create: not necessarily greater wisdom, but a more sophisticated curiosity.

I recently discovered that much of what fascinates me falls within the realm of social anthropology… a term I have known for years in a cultural context but have decided to adopt as my moniker: the study of how human beings construct meaning, relationships, and intergenerational identities, and of how they navigate ways of life and living.

Which makes me, I suppose, something of an accidental social anthropologist, without the academic credentials, official field notes, or institutional affiliation to speak of. As I recently pointed out to my new trainer, Riaan, who is resurrecting a version of me that has been on extended sabbatical, decades of observing humanity surely qualify as a rather extensive, even gloriously unscientific, field study. Admittedly, my research methods may seem questionable to some; my subjects haven’t consented to being studied, and I am hardly an impartial observer. I am, after all, both researcher and specimen, bringing my own contradictions, blind spots, and peculiarities to the experiment. A rather inconvenient arrangement, but one that keeps the findings interesting and the research delightfully messy.

For as long as I can remember, I have been curious about my own reactions as much as the behavior of others.  Over my fifty-two years, I have come to recognize that my interpretations reveal as much about me as they do about them. My judgments, expectations, curiosities, and occasional frustrations are hardly objective observations. My own experiences, conditioning, and evolving understanding of the world inevitably shape what I see.

Perhaps the most revealing discovery in this ongoing field study is that I am not standing outside the human experiment, examining its participants. I am very much one of them. The older I get, the less interested I am in drawing definitive conclusions about people. I would rather stay curious about what their behavior reveals, what my reactions reveal about me, and how both might deepen my understanding of this strange, fleeting experience.

As I sit here, pondering the peculiar business of being human, it occurred to me that we spend our entire lives becoming ourselves, often without fully understanding why. And maybe that is part of the intrigue; I have a sneaky suspicion I’ll never run out of questions.