I'm always surprised at how "human" other humans are. How much they aren't perfect like I imaged. They are not free of pain and worry and pitty and self hate, like I expected. It seems that I glorify "other" simply for the sake of other-ness. I assume, foolishly, that I am alone in my existential brain frozen states, in my shame, in my absurd silliness. We are different, but we're all alike too in our utterly honest human-ness. We are one.