I was really hoping for aliens.
A few weeks ago a new blurry blob appeared in the sky on what seemed like a nightly basis, and I admit it, I was rooting for spaceships. I was hoping that our fighter pilots, after firing their anti-balloon missiles into the stratosphere, would encounter little green men under little green parachutes asking “what the hell was that about?” in some telepathic language.
I imagine that deep down, part of you was hoping for aliens too.
It makes no logical sense to yearn for extraterrestrial visitors, as it would very likely be bad news for us. Sure, it’s possible that aliens would come in peace, offering wisdom and guidance and 39G internet. But — why? Why would an advanced species waste intergalactic fuel to show up on this primitive blue marble to help a bunch of random humanoids who mostly hate each other?
A super-evolved alien race would only bother stopping by Earth if something was in it for them, if they could take something or test something or otherwise involve us in their schemes. I wouldn’t like our odds in that scenario.
So, knowing all this, why would anybody wish aliens on our planet? I mean, I’m happy with my life most days. I have family and friends who claim to like me, Nebraska has a new football coach, I even have my own Substack column. I don’t need more pointless drama in my life (that’s what Elon Musk and the NBA trade deadline are for).
I blame our biology for these thrill-seeking tendencies. We’ve evolved a lot the last few million years, but parts of our brains remain stuck in our old way of life:
We Still Like New, Shiny Things. When we were sharing this planet with saber-toothed tigers and other mammals that could ruin our faces, the ability to quickly shift our attention from one thing to another was a huge advantage. The sooner we could spot a predator, the better, so we learned to divert our focus any time something new entered our field of vision. We walked around in a constant state of What’s that? What’s that? What’s that? What’s that?
That skill remains sharp for most of us, much sharper than we need it to be in 2023. Entire industries were created to capitalize on this outdated feature of our brains (smartphone apps, billboards, Clay Travis).
As a result, shiny objects floating across the sky capture our imagination and override our logical thinking. We just can’t help ourselves.
We Still Want That Next Thing. Our brains were programmed to constantly improve and upgrade our situations, to always-be-striving (we’ll call this “ABS”). For many years ABS was another huge advantage, pushing our ancestors to seek out safer caves, better tools and bigger tribes.
ABS has some modern benefits, too. It drives us to unlock new opportunities, to seek better grades and mates and careers, all of which can make our lives more satisfying. ABS can help us reach our potential and not just a comfortable spot on the couch.
However.
We’re pretty terrible at knowing when to dial down our ABS. We usually have no idea when we’ve done enough striving and it’s time to enjoy the fruits of our efforts. (Think about it - when was the last time you heard someone say the past tense of the word “strive”?) (And what even is it?) ABS can trick us into believing that a predictable life is not really worth living, that we must embark on a quest to be happier than happy. Sure things are good, but can they be better?
And so a potential game-changing wildcard like a potential alien visitation appeals to the ABS-infused part of our brains. It could be fun! Maybe they will take us for a space ride! We just can’t help ourselves.
Two old sayings come to mind as we think about friends from outer space: “Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it” and “the grass isn’t always greener on the other side of the fence.” Clichés are boring and durable, like a pair of work boots or Nick Saban, but they do carry truth.
We can’t change the way the human brain was made, but we can be aware of its limitations and work around them. We don’t have to give every new shiny object our attention, and we certainly don’t have to obsess about upgrading our lives.
I have no idea what happens next. Maybe we are living through the first 10 minutes of every alien invasion movie ever made, the “what the heck is that up there” phase where we all stare at the sky together right before the aliens make their move.
But I doubt it, and I hope not. Because despite what our brains want us to think, things are just fine down here.
The following appeared in The Athletic on November 24, 2017. I remember writing it in the back room of my parents’ house the day before Thanksgiving, not realizing it would provide guidance in case of an alien invasion. Birds get it.
November 24, 2017
Dear Faux Pelini,
Have you ever frightened a bird?
Sean D.
Well Sean,
I have frightened many birds in my day, thanks for asking. Sometimes I do it by accident, sometimes I do it very much on purpose after a frustrating day.
Birds are easy to frighten not because they are stupid, but because they are not stupid. Birds see humans as wingless giants with unclear motives. Maybe we are bringing them food, or maybe we are plotting their murder.
We can learn a lot from birds, Sean. They look for worms in weird places and build nests in unstable trees. Sometimes their decisions work out, sometimes they don’t. And they always fly away from wingless giants.
This is because birds follow the golden rule of mistakes: Don’t be afraid to make small mistakes, but never make a Big Mistake.
Birds know that if they let a wingless giant approach them, maybe it will be a nice one and maybe it will be a crazy one, but it’s not worth sticking around to find out. They have to scram, every time. Trusting a strange giant could be a Big Mistake.
Some human mistakes are so big they can wreck everything, too. The good news is that Big Mistakes are easy to avoid, because they usually involve not doing something. Like, don’t drink and drive a car. That’s easy — just don’t do it. Don’t punch a coworker, don’t take your pants off and sit on your neighbor’s porch, don’t take selfies standing on a cliff. It’s actually very easy to not do these things if you try just a little bit.
When in doubt, do as the birds do.