“How are you?”

Humanity’s greatest shared lie.

Not because people are malicious, but because nobody actually wants the real answer.

The acceptable social contract goes something like this:

“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Good to hear.”

Conversation completed successfully. Everyone may now continue pretending to function.

The problem occurs when someone accidentally answers honestly.

“Well, actually I’m emotionally exhausted, my nervous system has been stuck in survival mode for three years, I don’t trust my own judgment anymore, my sleep schedule resembles a meth-addled raccoon, and I cried in a grocery store parking lot because a song from 1997 came on unexpectedly.”

Now suddenly everybody looks like they accidentally opened a cursed tomb.

Modern society does not really encourage honest answers. It encourages manageable answers.

You are allowed:

• Fine
• Okay
• Busy
• Hanging in there

You are not allowed:

• existential dread
• complicated grief
• emotional ambiguity
• a fifteen-minute explanation involving trauma and executive dysfunction

Honestly, most social interaction now feels like NPC dialogue in a Fallout game.

“How are you?”

• [Lie]
• [Deflect with Humor]
• [Minimize Emotional Damage]
• [Trauma Dump — Requires Level 10 Charisma]

And to be fair, I understand why.

People have jobs. Kids. Bills. Stress. Their own disasters. Nobody has the emotional bandwidth to become your full-time therapist because you crossed paths in the frozen food aisle.

Still, it creates this bizarre cultural ritual where everyone politely checks on each other while quietly hoping nobody answers truthfully.

What people usually mean is:
“Please reassure me that your life is functioning well enough that I do not need to become emotionally involved.”

Which honestly?
Fair enough.

Because if we all answered honestly all the time, society would collapse before lunchtime.

Imagine the average workplace conversation.

“Morning Steve, how are you?”
“Well Carol, I’m one inconvenience away from wandering into the forest and becoming folklore.”

That meeting is going nowhere productive.

I think after major grief or trauma, though, you begin noticing how performative some interactions are. Not intentionally fake. Just… structurally shallow.

People want to care.
They just often don’t know how to sustain caring over long periods of time.

Especially once your tragedy stops being new.

That’s why eventually “I’m fine” becomes less of a lie and more of a social sedative. A verbal way to keep the machinery moving.

And honestly?

Most days it’s easier for everyone involved.

Besides, if I answered honestly every time someone asked how I was doing, we’d both need snacks and at least two business days. ▌