Lent 2026 · Day 15: Being Vangie and the Human Algorithm Problem

As I’ve said before, I mostly do things for the plot and character development. But the other part is understanding and participating in the human experience.

Every risk I’ve ever taken in life has somehow been calculated and weighed. And after some questionable life choices, I usually ask myself one simple question, “But… did you die?”

So far, the answer has been no. Which means the story continues.

I was recently retelling a story about an ex from my early twenties who took me to Hawaii… as friends. At the time she was my boss. It wasn’t some crazy age-gap situation. She was just a couple years older than me and she happened to have the money to fly herself and a “friend” to a romantic island getaway.

Now I know what you’re thinking.

“Oh come on, Vangie. Were you really that dense?”

Back then? Yes. Absolutely.

I believed what people told me because… why wouldn’t I? I wasn't always naturally suspicious. Some people walk into conversations with good intent, others with vigilance. I tend to approach things with neutrality. I observe. I assess the data. Then I respond to what the person is actually asking of me in that moment.

Which is probably why growing up I identified with characters like Spock or Data from Star Trek.

Spock was always balancing logic and humanity.

Data was an android trying to learn how to be human.

That’s pretty much what growing up felt like for me.

Which is probably part of my problem when it comes to women.

Because I can genuinely like someone and still not assume they like me back. That part of my brain that never believed I was the prize, the desirable one, still lingers.

Even though history has shown me repeatedly.

Yes, Vangie. You are the prize.

But that realization came late.

And it came slowly.

The bigger issue is that I struggle with subtext. If a woman is flirting with me, there’s a very real chance I will miss it unless she makes it painfully obvious. Otherwise my brain just assumes it was a pleasant interaction. I'm not hitting on every woman I speak to, either. I am a naturally curious person and engage with people easily. It could just be my decades of experience in customer service, community organizing, and years of facilitation training.

Because somewhere deep in my operating system I’m still the weird awkward kid.

The funny friend.

The smart friend.

The athletic tomboy.

But not the one people had crushes on.

I wasn’t the homecoming queen. I wasn’t the cheerleader. I was the big tomboy just living life as it came at me.

The closest comparison I can think of is the Asian kid from The Goonies. Like… when exactly did that guy become the romantic lead? Answer: when he was in his fifties in Everything Everywhere All At Once.

Which honestly feels about right.

When I was younger I used to wonder if I was normal.

After fifty-one years of living I can confidently say, "absolutely not."

And I don’t mean that in a bad way. I just mean my brain works differently than most people’s.

There’s a psychological concept called the Dunning–Kruger effect. It basically says that people who are highly incompetent often believe they are far more capable than they actually are.

Meanwhile, people who are highly competent tend to assume everyone else knows what they know, which makes them doubt themselves.

You see this all the time in law school.

The students who have actually read the cases and worked through the rules will say something like, “I think the answer is this… but I could be totally wrong.” Then everyone starts comparing reasoning. How did you get there? What rule did you apply? What facts mattered?

It’s collaborative problem solving.

Which reminds me a lot of math.

When I was younger I loved math because you could approach a problem from different directions, use different formulas, plug in the same information, and still arrive at the same answer.

Humans are not like that.

People are messy.

They ignore variables. They change the rules. They throw emotions into the equation and suddenly the algorithm stops working.

I once told my friend Jeffrey that I hate when people bring feelings into decision-making. You make terrible decisions that way. I want data. Information. Facts. Not feelings. Feelings have never gotten me into anything good.

And he literally poked me in the face.

I asked him why he did that.

He said, “I just wanted to make sure you were real and not a robot.”

To be fair… he wasn’t entirely wrong.

Sometimes it takes me a while to process my emotions. To understand subtext. To realize that people don’t always mean exactly what they say.

So part of my brain has spent years trying to build a formula for interacting with humans.

If they say this… they probably mean that.

If they act like this… it probably means that.

Which is funny because the moment you think you’ve cracked the code, a human will immediately do something that breaks the entire system.

And yet somehow I’m still pretty good at navigating people.

I adjust to different environments. Different groups. Different personalities.

Most of the time I get included automatically because people sense that I’m curious, safe, and also interesting. However, I’m quietly observing the room while participating in it. I think more than anything I keep people honest.

Am I what I say I am?

Yes.

Because I genuinely don’t know how to be anything other than myself.

When I first started dating I treated it like anything else I take on in life. I did my homework. I studied.

When I was nineteen my gay friend Raymond said something that sounded simple but ended up being identity-shifting.

“Vangie, you can be with anyone you want. You just have to be the thing they want.”

Which sounds logical.

Be the thing women want.

Simple, right?

But here’s the problem with that theory.

Have you ever tried dating women?

A friend from law school once complimented me on how good I was at handling sensitive situations and difficult conversations.

I told her two things.

First, thank you.

Second, it used to literally be my job.

And it’s practice.

Most people avoid hard conversations. They avoid situations where emotions are messy and complicated. I got good at navigating those things because I had to.

It was the only way I knew how to survive in a world that often didn’t make sense to me.

How people could say they love children and then turn around and exploit them.

How people could preach morality and then act with cruelty.

I never understood the hypocrisy.

To me, it always seemed easier to just be honest.

People are nothing like me.

But the truth is, I’ve never thought I was anything special.

I just think.

I’m Vangie.

Doing my best. Living life. Trying to leave the world a little better than I found it.

That’s all I do.

In all the things I have control over.

Which isn't much.

When you ask me what I do? I say, "My best!"

Lenten Reflection

There’s a moment in Jesus Christ Superstar during the song "Gethsemane" where Jesus reaches the end of arguing with God.

"God, thy will be done

Destroy your only son

I will drink your cup of poison

Nail me to your cross and break me

Bleed me, beat me, kill me, take me

Now, before I change my mind

Now, before I change my mind." — Andrew Lloyd Weber, Jesus Christ Superstar

He’s exhausted. He’s afraid. He knows exactly what the path ahead of him will cost. For most of the song he’s questioning everything, asking why it has to happen this way.

And then something shifts.

He stops trying to understand the entire plan and simply accepts the part he’s meant to play in it.

Not because it suddenly makes sense.

Not because the pain disappears.

But because he decides to move forward anyway.

Because humans are messy and some of us are sacrificed for the betterment of humanity. And, that moment always reminds me that faith isn’t about having a perfect algorithm for life.

Sometimes it’s about showing up, doing your best with the information you have, and trusting that the story will keep unfolding.

Even when you don’t fully understand your place in the algorithm.

Take care of yourself. Take care of each other.

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