Because I enjoy coming up with analogies.

Imagine that you, as a human, are talking with a group of whales. 

“Okay,” the whales say. “We have to go underwater for two hours now, so hold your breath.”

“I can’t do that,” you say. “I’m human. We can’t hold our breath for that long.”

The whales are flabbergasted. 

“That’s so sad!” they say. “Is there anything you can do about it? Medicine maybe? Or therapy? What if we punished you every time you took a breath. Then you’d have to learn to hold your breath that long.”

“No,” you say. “Then I’d just have to learn to breathe when you weren’t looking. I’m human. I can’t hold my breath for two hours, no matter what I do.”

“How very sad it must be to be human,” the whales lament.

Then you’re hanging out with some birds.

“Come fly with us!” they say. 

“I can’t,” you say. “I’m human. Humans can’t fly.”

“That’s silly!” the birds cry. “You MUST be able to fly! What if we dropped you off a cliff? Then you’d have to fly or you’d die!”

“I’d die, then. I can’t fly,” you say.

“Are you broken, then? What happened to your wings?” the birds ask.

“I never had any. Humans don’t have wings,” you reply. “I could fly in a plane, though.”

“You can’t expect other people to fly FOR you!” the birds shriek. “That’s not self-sufficient! You have to learn to do it yourself!”

“I can’t. I’m human,” you say. 

“How very sad it must be,” the birds say, “to be human.” 

The birds and whales come to you and ask “If you can’t do these things we can do, then what makes being human worthwhile? Justify being human to us.” 

“I don’t keep a list of pros and cons of being human,” you say. “I mean, I can see many colors, which is nice. And I can feel and taste better than many animals. But really, this is just how I am. I wouldn’t be myself if I wasn’t human. It’s everything I am.”

“Don’t your limitations of being human bother you?” they ask.

“Sometimes,” you admit.

“Then you admit that you’d rather not be human! That humans shouldn’t exist at all! That humans are broken and lesser! That you’d be much happier as, say, a fish!”

“No,” you insist. “I am who I am BECAUSE I’m human. I could not be myself and be a fish. It’s not who I am. It’s not how I was born.”

They shake their heads sadly.

“How very very sad it must be to be human.”

Because I enjoy coming up with analogies.

Imagine that you, as a human, are talking with a group of whales. 

“Okay,” the whales say. “We have to go underwater for two hours now, so hold your breath.”

“I can’t do that,” you say. “I’m human. We can’t hold our breath for that long.”

The whales are flabbergasted. 

“That’s so sad!” they say. “Is there anything you can do about it? Medicine maybe? Or therapy? What if we punished you every time you took a breath. Then you’d have to learn to hold your breath that long.”

“No,” you say. “Then I’d just have to learn to breathe when you weren’t looking. I’m human. I can’t hold my breath for two hours, no matter what I do.”

“How very sad it must be to be human,” the whales lament.

Then you’re hanging out with some birds.

“Come fly with us!” they say. 

“I can’t,” you say. “I’m human. Humans can’t fly.”

“That’s silly!” the birds cry. “You MUST be able to fly! What if we dropped you off a cliff? Then you’d have to fly or you’d die!”

“I’d die, then. I can’t fly,” you say.

“Are you broken, then? What happened to your wings?” the birds ask.

“I never had any. Humans don’t have wings,” you reply. “I could fly in a plane, though.”

“You can’t expect other people to fly FOR you!” the birds shriek. “That’s not self-sufficient! You have to learn to do it yourself!”

“I can’t. I’m human,” you say. 

“How very sad it must be,” the birds say, “to be human.” 

The birds and whales come to you and ask “If you can’t do these things we can do, then what makes being human worthwhile? Justify being human to us.” 

“I don’t keep a list of pros and cons of being human,” you say. “I mean, I can see many colors, which is nice. And I can feel and taste better than many animals. But really, this is just how I am. I wouldn’t be myself if I wasn’t human. It’s everything I am.”

“Don’t your limitations of being human bother you?” they ask.

“Sometimes,” you admit.

“Then you admit that you’d rather not be human! That humans shouldn’t exist at all! That humans are broken and lesser! That you’d be much happier as, say, a fish!”

“No,” you insist. “I am who I am BECAUSE I’m human. I could not be myself and be a fish. It’s not who I am. It’s not how I was born.”

They shake their heads sadly.

“How very very sad it must be to be human.”

Because I enjoy coming up with analogies.

Imagine that you, as a human, are talking with a group of whales. 

“Okay,” the whales say. “We have to go underwater for two hours now, so hold your breath.”

“I can’t do that,” you say. “I’m human. We can’t hold our breath for that long.”

The whales are flabbergasted. 

“That’s so sad!” they say. “Is there anything you can do about it? Medicine maybe? Or therapy? What if we punished you every time you took a breath. Then you’d have to learn to hold your breath that long.”

“No,” you say. “Then I’d just have to learn to breathe when you weren’t looking. I’m human. I can’t hold my breath for two hours, no matter what I do.”

“How very sad it must be to be human,” the whales lament.

Then you’re hanging out with some birds.

“Come fly with us!” they say. 

“I can’t,” you say. “I’m human. Humans can’t fly.”

“That’s silly!” the birds cry. “You MUST be able to fly! What if we dropped you off a cliff? Then you’d have to fly or you’d die!”

“I’d die, then. I can’t fly,” you say.

“Are you broken, then? What happened to your wings?” the birds ask.

“I never had any. Humans don’t have wings,” you reply. “I could fly in a plane, though.”

“You can’t expect other people to fly FOR you!” the birds shriek. “That’s not self-sufficient! You have to learn to do it yourself!”

“I can’t. I’m human,” you say. 

“How very sad it must be,” the birds say, “to be human.” 

The birds and whales come to you and ask “If you can’t do these things we can do, then what makes being human worthwhile? Justify being human to us.” 

“I don’t keep a list of pros and cons of being human,” you say. “I mean, I can see many colors, which is nice. And I can feel and taste better than many animals. But really, this is just how I am. I wouldn’t be myself if I wasn’t human. It’s everything I am.”

“Don’t your limitations of being human bother you?” they ask.

“Sometimes,” you admit.

“Then you admit that you’d rather not be human! That humans shouldn’t exist at all! That humans are broken and lesser! That you’d be much happier as, say, a fish!”

“No,” you insist. “I am who I am BECAUSE I’m human. I could not be myself and be a fish. It’s not who I am. It’s not how I was born.”

They shake their heads sadly.

“How very very sad it must be to be human.”