Two things about you, me, and other people.
Two things you should know about me, and they’re related. They’re probably the key to who I am entirely.
The first: I’m extremely good at eavesdropping. And to an extent, I enjoy it. Perhaps it’s because of the pride I take in how easily it comes to me as a skill? Perhaps. But it probably ties into the second thing you should know about me. But we’ll get to that in a moment.
So, the other day, I was at this thing. Kind of a party, but not the kind where anyone was really having any fun. But there we all were, crammed together like sardines in a can, sweating all over each other, and trying to scare each other away by talking.
You know what I’m talking about.
You walk into a room and you don’t know anyone there. You don’t really want to get to know anyone there, except maybe physically, but you don’t want to be antisocial either. No, in fact, you’re just going to fill the time by talking, maybe about yourself, maybe about whatever you feel like, but nothing of substance, not really. This isn’t about sharing, this is about taking up the air, taking up the space, and not letting anyone else in.
I do this, sure, but this is primarily what I noticed the other day at this “party.” Everyone was talking, no one was listening. Well, I was, but I was there by myself, not trying to be antisocial, but just wanting to observe and be open to whatever came my way.
That second thing you should know about me: I’m always curious. Sometimes about interesting things, sometimes about the incredibly mundane. But there’s a whole world out there that I don’t know about and I want to. So sometimes I actively seek it out and sometimes I passively accept it because there’s some things that will never be found if you go looking for them. And I do that, little by little, at parties with strangers sometimes.
So I opened my ears and a lot of things came in my direction.
An example of one was a girl, talking to some people and you could tell she wanted to appear smarter than she was. Or she was smart, but was nervous about being percieved as that smart. So, in her conversation about philosophy with various people over the course of the night, I noticed that she kept repeating the same thing from Sartre over and over again.
“Hell is other people.”
There’s been too many moments where I’d agree with this whole heartedly.
Later that night, I happened upon a couple breaking up. Can you believe that? Breaking up at a party, of all places. Not even in the comfort of one of their apartments or even callously in an email/text message, but out in public, at a party, for anyone to see.
The guy was the initiator, repeatedly telling the girl over and over, “It’s not you. It’s me.” It’s cliche, of course, but he was desperate to assure her that it was nothing to do with her, this seperation of love and affection, but entirely to do with him. Which, of course, is both bullshit and not bullshit. But then he said it…
“Maybe we should see other people.”
And it got me thinking about the inherent thisness of right now. You, me, us. Maybe there’s not enough in that, maybe there’s too much, or maybe it’s just fine and great but it needs more.
The world is a strange place at times. And fucked up. And beautiful. And all of those things, but wonderfully so. But a museum needs patrons. Not just beauty, but everything needs a beholder to see it and appreciate it and know it. And every beholder is different.
I don’t know you, not yet, but I want to. And together, I want us to go meet other people. In fact, I’m one of them. You are too. We’re all other people. The whole world is full of them, and like it or not, they’re not going anywhere. Let’s go broaden our horizons.
By Marco Sparks
Welcome to Other People.
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