Observational Learning
By Angela Woolnough
“Do you believe in fate?” My head turns to the figure sitting next to me.
You learn a lot about yourself when you watch other people; their posture, the way they talk, how they observe others, and the small glimpse you get into their life.
The figure next to me shrugs and my body deflates for a moment. “I do. I think everything happens for a reason, we all have a purpose, we will be where we need to and meet who need to when the moment is right. Invisible string theory and all.” I trail off, the figure clouding a darker colour, not listening to me, not caring for me.
Outside, to others, I don’t think people really observe me. My friends call me kind, generous, thoughtful, and I can understand how they see me. But I have always been the youngest, angriest daughter, the loud and disruptive. No one else seems to notice me as such. Is it who I am, or is it how my family perceives me? Stupid, failure, praised only to benefit others, traumatised and wounded. Is how others describe me, how I actually am?
I observe others, them, the people. Walking, talking, slowly, slower, do they even know what they’re doing? Purpose. I want to know, to see, to feel their purpose. Parents want to entertain, get their shopping done as fast as possible, friends want to go slow and take their time to catch up, businesspeople only go slow when they are trying to avoid something, always in a rush. Slouched backs, heads in phones, ears covered and filled with devices, tuned out to the world. They don’t really show what they want, only what is happening.
I am surrounded by four low risen walls, a desk encased in the middle of the walkway, a large sign glowing above my head and my uniform neat.
I look up from my computer. A woman falls over. I see her, I can hear her cry, see the blood that drips from her lip, watch as eyes avoid looking while others offer a hand. Her own eyes are embarrassed through the tears, hurt lacing her face.
How do we decide what we are going to do? How do our conscious and unconscious minds decide whether to help or not? If it was you in that position, what would you want others to do? Is it embarrassing to be helped and witnessed? Or more embarrassing if no one offers a helping hand?
I think back to my childhood. The little I remember of it. I remember my mother always preaching, drilling into me, be good, be kind, help others. But I always wondered why she would ask those things of me, why she would want that to be how I am as a person, when her parents never told her those sentiments.
Her upbringing was horrific from the little she’s told me. Her brother’s family she wants to know, but he is someone that avoids her because of the painful memories of childhood. Parents that treated her badly. Not from lack of love, but for lack of understanding. Grandparents that were kind but unusual. Jobless, poor, unfriendly neighbourhood. No opportunities.
I always wondered if it was because she wished to parent us the way she wished she was parented, instead of how she was. But with only my observations and speculations, there was no real way to know.
We either learn to be our parents, or to be the opposite of them. I don’t believe we really have the choice either way. But we can observe others, and compare and contrast, reflect on ourselves and our own relatives. I know I want to be nothing like my father. But I see him in myself, when I look in the mirror. When I try to see myself through other people’s eyes, he stares back at me. I know, I observe, I am not like him. I see glimpses, his anger festering inside of me, his casual indifference to things that should concern him, his entitlement when I wish life was better.
“If I was a fly on the wall, I wouldn’t be concerned about being too much like a parent. I wouldn’t worry whether to offer a helping hand or awkwardly look away. I would never worry about how others see me, or how I see myself.” The words come out of my mouth, not quite a whisper, but not loud enough for anyone to really hear me. The figure beside me budges. I know they struggle with their own parental figures.
Observing people allows me to have a moment, an out of body experience. Working within a mall, sitting at a desk in the height of it all. A customer service, retail-oriented role. It’s similar to working in a normal retail job, with the perk of sitting down and only being noticed when you’re needed. When no one needs a direction, parking assistance, or general mall needs, we become invisible. Not completely, but almost. It makes people watching easier, a pretence of watching for safety and for those in need. Stare too long and it’ll be obvious, look away too fast and you’ll be suspicious.
It's an art form of its own, people watching. Learning who you can stare at, who will notice you back, learning intimate things about people from a simple glance. A person’s posture tells you several things; the curve of the spine tells you how they would normally hold themselves, the curve of the neck tells you possible traits they have, and the severity tells you how often they would hold this posture, how developed it is. Most have the habitual culprit in their hands when you see them, a phone or laptop that they hunch and slouch over, causing their body to devolve and develop posture issues.
“I wonder if people notice their own posture. I know I do, when I see others. Makes me sit up a little straighter. I’m not being judgemental, I don’t think.” The figure stays looking away from me, speaking to a customer.
It baffles me when a person allows themselves to be seen in states of distress. I have to remind myself, for all my observations, I do not know their story. They could be having the worst week, or year, of their life, and I sit in my little safe space judging them for it.
You learn a lot about yourself when you watch other people. I’m not a bad person. But I’m no better than them. Even when I cannot understand them and their behaviours, I am no different. I do things, say things, others cannot understand. Although I expect to be judged. It is in our nature as humans, to judge, to observe and compare, to feel better or less than others.
I think about the fly in my bedroom. Let in through the gap between the sliding door and doggy door. It remains alive for a short period of time. It hatches, wakes up, flies around, looks for food, attempts to have children of its own, and then dies.
In the short time it’s alive, does it observe the other flies? Does it judge others and reflect on itself? Does it work a job to earn and make a living as we do? Does it judge the way others walk and talk, or how they fly and eat?
The customers I speak to, the coworkers, the retailers, why are we all here? I am not myself when I am at work. I am someone the people need; I am whoever that person needs in the moment. I am kind, I am slow, I take my time, I go fast, I match the energy of the moment.
My body hurts the longer the shift lasts. The momentum of the shift, of the watching, the observation takes it away. I think more on the invisible string, thinking where mine is, where could it lead. I wonder about some of the people I see. Do they already know who their string is connected to? Or are they like me, waiting and watching, hoping and praying.
You learn a lot about yourself when you watch other people. You learn to adapt, to hold yourself accountable, to figure out your wants and needs, your place in the world. I adore my job, especially for this reason. To escape my reality and learn from others. To exist on the same plane, while looking from another.
But the time of day comes, when I have to accept and bring myself back. Ground myself, feel the pain invading my senses, observe only myself and my surroundings. Other people begin to fade away, my day truly begins. I am my own person once more, no longer a necessity to others, my only purpose is to make it through the day.
I grumble a goodbye to the figure, taking a slow deep breathe as I exit my four walls and the safety of the attention in the centre of the mall. I can now be observed as myself, I am where I need to be.
I exist to repeat the patterns and follow the rules laid by stars of fate that have placed me where I am.
I have learnt more about myself by being someone else.