Sometimes I think about what aliens might think if they ever stumbled across our little blue planet. Not in a movie way—with flying saucers and dramatic music—but in a quiet, observational, anthropological sense. What would they see in us? Would they want to talk to us? Or would they just… keep flying?
Honestly, I don’t think they’d make contact. Not because we’re too primitive—but because we’re arrogant, dangerous, and greedy. We’re the kind of species that builds incredible things—art, cities, rockets to the moon—and then burns down forests, poisons oceans, and wages war over ideology or resources.
If aliens are out there, advanced enough to reach us, they’re probably not just smart—they’re wise. They’d look at humanity and see a volatile species, obsessed with power, incapable of real unity. And they’d back off. Quietly. Cautiously. Like you would with a wild animal that might bite.
I don’t think we’re going to change. Not really.
I’ve looked at history, over and over—and it’s always the same. Empires rise, empires fall. Someone seizes power, someone resists. Violence, inequality, greed. Then we repeat. We invent sharper tools, flashier tech—but the core story stays the same. People talk about “learning from the past,” but we rarely do. The only thing we learn is how to do the same things more efficiently.
Sure, individuals can grow. People can be kind, brave, and thoughtful. But the system? The collective? That seems locked in an endless loop. Like we’re cursed to repeat ourselves, century after century.
If aliens are watching, I imagine them saying something like:
“They solved flight and quantum theory… but still argue about basic compassion. Recommend observation. No contact.”
And honestly? I wouldn’t blame them.