Being human involves, at least for me, pondering about what it means to be human. A sentiment I often invoke when thinking about the human condition is that “human” as a singular does not make any sense. A single human does not exist. By this I do not mean that we could not end up in a desolate place, entirely on our own, rather that what and who we are is predicated on who we have interacted throughout our life. That sentiment is true for everyone alive and everyone who came before us.