Why we feel this way and that

Andrea Popova
Jul 27, 2017 · 4 min read

I come from a family of psychologists. I mean yes, literally (my aunt and uncle have published papers on psychology, my cousin wrote a screenplay about Freud, and my mom worked at a psychiatric hospital); but even more deeply, my parents are analyzers. They would always return from dinner parties and discuss relationship dynamics and meanings of little remarks while I listened intently in the back seat.

Soon I began to add my remarks on “what she really meant when she said to pass the sweet potatoes” or “why their relationship will just never work.” By the time I was 10 I was explaining the foundational causes of divorce and motivations behind subtle revenge. In a family of two immigrant parents and two American-born girls, we found common ground in inspecting the relationships around us. The thread of human emotion — connecting jealousy, love, resentment, and power — transcends any language.

As I was already somewhat guided into my own emotional understanding, it seemed only natural for me to end up in theatre. I have always loved to perform. But most people think of me only in comedic roles — the comic relief, typically. In reality, my goofy personality belies my deeper desires.

My favorite roles force me to access that undercurrent of emotion running through my veins. These roles are so real, so human, you feel you can touch the character just from reading her lines off of a page. These roles say things that make your skin crawl, things that make the room so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Most of all, these roles are complicated — and who doesn’t love a challenge?

People often tell me that I ask a lot of questions, and frankly it has rarely been reciprocated. Why do I ask so many questions, then? Some have attributed it to my “selflessness,” or my “empathy” for others. And of course, these are both true to some degree. But what I have realized from years of late-night three-hour phone calls after her breakup or monologue after monologue lamenting high school betrayals and feelings of insecurity, is that I also listen to learn.

When I ask “what did he do after you told him that?” I’m cataloging the response into a mental basket of similar examples so that I can determine trends and motivations. I try to find the logical reasoning in every emotion-driven behavior and apply it to later anecdotes. I lay awake at night thinking about other breakups, other fights — some involving people I don’t even know — just to get to the bottom of why. Why? Why did they do that?

I have determined many trends, certainly. We all do. It’s human nature, not specific to my weird obsession. But what baffles me is that, after all this time, after all these stories, after analyzing so many people, I still can’t explain more than half the behaviors I try to. I have come to think that perhaps emotion is more random than I once believed. It is just chemicals and synapses, after all…maybe there is little reason or rhyme to how we feel.

I don’t want to throw my hands up and accept that people are as deeply complex as they truly are. I want to understand human interaction so intricately that I could know without a doubt why he never called you back or why she left you without an explanation. Maybe if these stories ever ended in an explanation by the offender, maybe then I would know the key to human psychology… but perhaps even the offenders couldn’t explain themselves. Are we all just guessing and filling in gaps of understanding with false reasonings to comfort ourselves? The brain often creates fabricated memories that sometimes feel so real that the person swears the memory is true. Maybe the same happens with our own emotional understanding.

I love the complicated character just as I love (and have literally fallen in love with) the complicated person. There is a uniquely delicious challenge in trying to determine irrational behavior. But it is a toxic challenge, and just as quickly as you find the logic, you lose it again. I will never stop studying the relationships around me, or searching for the answers to every “why.” But I am now hesitant to translate the lessons learned from others into my own life.

My “Chase” will never be your “Tom” will never be her “Serena” will never be his “Anne” will never be my “Gabrielle” will never be your “Jess” will never be his “Lizzy” will never be her “Victor” will never be her “Rachel” or your dad or my boyfriend or your sister or my teacher. Unfortunately, our emotion — what we think guides all of what we do — is the very thing that we may never understand.

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade