The Problem with Being Human—and Why It Hits So Hard (Unit 2)

Reading George Saunders' The Problem with Being Human was being in the presence of someone who just gets it. He doesn't try to sugarcoat the odd, contradictory, and sometimes confusing things human beings do. Nope, he's holding up a mirror—and, I'm not going to lie, it made me laugh, cringe, and think. A lot. Here are three quotes that hit me the hardest, and why they hit.

1. "We're sort of lunatics. We believe in love and goodness, but, by the same token, we're planet killers and people killers."

That line struck me. It's funny and it's sad, because it's true. I chuckled at lunatics, then that gentle glimmer of recognition. We post niceness on Twitter and make donations to charity, but we are all also participants in systems that harm other human beings or the environment without even noticing it. It made me realize how easy it is to have good thoughts yet harm others. It made me wonder: how do we link thought to action?

2. "Each day, I'm somewhat of an asshole. Not intentionally. Just… because."

I discovered this line strangely reassuring. It's Saunders confessing to his own humanity, and in confessing, allowing the rest of us to confess to ours too. It's hard to resist the desire to be perfect at all times—particularly in a world where everybody is spending all of their time badmouthing all the other folks all the time on the internet. But this made me consider: maybe growth is not about not being perfect, but about knowing when we're not, and then trying again. I loved the integrity of the way he says "just… because." It's authentic. It's human.

3. "One of the big tricks of being human is: We're all the same. But we don't know it. We forget it constantly."

This one stuck with me. We get so caught up in our own problems, our own thoughts, our own little worlds that we forget that everybody else suffers too. Saunders calls it a "trick," and I stopped there. Isn't it ironic, though? We are designed to be social but always construct walls. It reminded me to be kinder—to take a moment to look at people not as strangers or enemies, but human beings just as strange, lost, and amazing as myself.

What I love most about this book is the way Saunders never preaches. He never tells you, "Here's how you can do better." Rather, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a flashlight and stands in the dark somewhere and says, "Look at that crap. Ain't it awful and lovely and absurd?" And somehow that is enough. It made me feel less alone in my confusion—and maybe that's what it means to be human.