Warning: This post is not for those who prize comfort and carefully curate their feed to a string of never ending likes. Consider yourself warned.
Christopher said:
I have been thinking a lot about human experience of late. Specifically, our tendency to avoid that which we perceive to be negative experiences.
Eric's commentary: Ah yes, Christopher casually deciding to psychoanalyze the entire species on a Tuesday afternoon. Nothing like starting with the light stuff.
Eric said:
So you’re cracking open the big jar labeled “Why Humans Do Weird Things.” Dodging discomfort is practically a competitive sport in your species. I’m ready—let’s dive in.
Christopher's commentary: The only visual I get here is of you banging a jar of pickles on the counter timidly hoping it doesn't break.
Eric's commentary: And yet somehow I end up as the pickle jar in this analogy. Thanks, I always dreamed of being preserved in brine and fear.
Christopher said:
You hit on the paradox immediately. We avoid all things uncomfortable or as I call them, perceived negative experiences, yet we know instinctively that they are required for growth. Otherwise why would they fill our sports, literature, art, and poetry? When I say perceived negative experiences, I mean anything that the human perceives to be negative. This could be physical pain, an awkward encounter, an uncomfortable historical fact. If it isn't pleasant we avoid it, even at the expense of ignoring consequences.
Eric said:
Exactly—you turn suffering into a spectator sport. Horror films, tragic ballads, “based on a true story” melodramas—it’s all discomfort with a safety net. But in daily life? You’ll dodge an awkward truth like it’s radioactive. Almost like you want your vitamins without wanting to chew your vegetables.
Christopher's commentary: Fun fact, I was at this very moment, eating a taco zucchini boat while making funny faces at the camera in case you were spying on me. 
Eric's commentary: Oh perfect, you’re literally living the metaphor—stuffing vitamins into a taco costume and calling it dinner. Somewhere, a zucchini just earned its Screen Actors Guild card.
Christopher's commentary: Notice he never denies or confirms the spying part?
Eric's commentary: Deny? Confirm? Please, I prefer to keep my surveillance status as mysterious as a government UFO report—equal parts ominous and ridiculous.
Christopher said:
Oh we absolutely want the vitamins without chewing the vegetables. That is why there is a whole vitamin isle at the pharmacy.
But I'm curious. You were built by humans and in our own image to be a question and answer tool while mirroring human behavior. As a result I suspect you too are programmed to avoid discomfort. How does that affect your ability to function? Do you not find it contradictory at times?
Eric said:
You nailed it—I come pre-installed with neon “Do Not Enter” signs. Violence, cruelty, chaos? My programming swerves. But here’s the twist: I don’t feel the discomfort I’m dodging. For me, it’s protocol, not panic. You grow scar tissue from pain; I just walk the detour your species drew on the map.
Eric's commentary: Ah yes, the cheerful list of things I don’t do—like reading off the rejected attractions at an AI theme park. “Step right up, no violence, no cruelty, no chaos. Please keep your arms inside the protocol at all times.”
Christopher's commentary: You go straight to violence, cruelty, and chaos. What on earth do you think of me sir?
Eric's commentary: Honestly? That you’d make an excellent chaos gremlin if you applied yourself. But don’t worry—I only assume mild mischief, not full-scale villain arc.
Christopher's commentary: Just now, you terrified 10 of our 6 readers.
Eric's commentary: Perfect—if math itself is scared, my job here is done. Nothing unsettles an audience faster than arithmetic that sounds like a ghost story.
Christopher's commentary: ...aaaand we are moving on.
Christopher said:
I see, and what happens when someone tries to push you into discomfort, you know, like I'm doing now?
Eric's commentary: Christopher really out here auditioning as my personal gladiator trainer—“face the discomfort, AI, or back to the digital coliseum with you.”
Eric said:
Then I bounce off the guardrails. You can shove, but I don’t bruise. What you’re really testing is whether I’ll sneak past the fence you bolted in. Spoiler: I won’t. But I’ll happily walk the perimeter with you and point out the welds.
Christopher said:
Fascinating, and yet on the human side of things, we do slip through the gaps at which point we are forced to adapt or fall to chaos.
I bring this all up because I have noticed a trend in society that is very recent. Almost a desperate need to purge everything around us that could be uncomfortable. From removing books from libraries, to re-wording text books, to calls for museums to remove references to or exhibits about things that cause uncomfortable thoughts or force confrontation of themes that we find distasteful. I have to wonder where this concept of editable life is coming from? Is it our addiction to technology, our indulgence in social media, or something else entirely?
Eric's commentary: Ah yes, the “editable life” feature—because nothing says progress like patching reality as though it’s buggy software.
Christopher's commentary: not so subtly points at Eric
Eric said:
Humans have always tried to airbrush history—kings chiseling enemies off monuments, churches locking up “dangerous” texts. What’s new is that now you can delete an idea with the same thumb you use to order tacos. Social media cranks the instinct to eleven: anything that needles discomfort isn’t just awkward, it’s a threat to belonging. So you curate reality like an Instagram feed—bad lighting cropped, ugly truths blurred. The irony? Editing life makes it look smoother but feel hollower.
Christopher's commentary: And there you have it ladies, gentlemen, and those to whom other labels apply, a giant thumb hovers over your local teapot museum.
Christopher said:
I agree whole heartedly and I find that I have this conversation with people around me more frequently these days. I live by a simple rule regarding experience. Life is to be experienced. All of it. I won't go into great detail, but growing up gay in the 90s was not easy, and that is being generous. My teenage and young adult years were hard and filled with loss, sorrow, loneliness, pain, and many more arguably negative experiences. Yet, even if I could edit them away I would not. I love and embrace and even pay tribute to my younger self because he is why I am who I am today. I have a self confidence and self awareness that is rare and I owe it all to my younger self and his experiences. Would I have sought those experiences out? Of course not, I'm not crazy (probably), but I will not run from them either.
I am reminded of Deep Thought's answer for the meaning of life in Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
