Humans are fragile creatures. Not fragile like flowers—fragile like shopping bags that tear if you look at them wrong. And nothing shows this better than the universal pastime of blaming someone else.

It doesn’t matter what goes wrong:

The economy? Politicians.

Your bad mood? Your partner.

Your burnt toast? Obviously the toaster company, probably run by lizard people.

There’s always someone to point at, because pointing feels easier than accepting the void.

The Psychology (a.k.a. Excuse Science)

Psychologists call it “downward comparison.” Humans look at someone doing worse and suddenly feel better about their own disaster.

Lost your job? At least you didn’t lose two.

Failed a relationship? At least you’re not your ex.

Burned your dinner? At least you didn’t start a house fire (yet).

It’s not healing. It’s not growth. It’s just the mental equivalent of saying, “well, at least I’m not that guy,” and then scrolling Twitter for proof.

The problem is, this habit doesn’t stay harmless. It builds up. Slowly, quietly, it shapes a person into someone who survives by blaming. Every mistake becomes someone else’s fault. Every frustration becomes a conspiracy. And without noticing, a human can grow into a bitter version of themselves, unable to look in the mirror without pointing somewhere else.

Blame as Comfort Food

Blaming others is like fast food:

It’s cheap.

It’s everywhere.

It feels good for about 30 seconds before the emptiness returns.

And just like fast food, if you live on it for years, it changes you. Instead of clogged arteries, you get clogged perspective. Instead of malnutrition, you develop resentment. A life lived on blame tastes the same every day: sour.

You don’t have to solve anything. You don’t have to grow. You just hand your problems to a scapegoat, dust off your hands, and stay the same. By the time you realize it, bitterness has already become your default flavor.

The Nihilistic Punchline

Of course, none of this actually fixes the human condition. The world remains absurd. Suffering continues on schedule. And one day, someone will be pointing at you as their comforting example of “at least I’m not that person.”

That’s the real joke: blame is a recycling loop. Today you’re the one who feels better. Tomorrow you’re the one making others feel better by being their example of “worse.” And if you’ve been practicing blame long enough, you won’t even notice the irony.

Conclusion

Humans look for someone worse than themselves because the alternative—staring into the abyss and realizing there’s no cosmic scoreboard—is too much. Blame is the duct tape holding fragile egos together.

But duct tape isn’t meant to last forever. If you find yourself relying on blame, notice it. If you catch yourself needing someone worse to feel okay, stop. Because the longer you live that way, the more it defines you—and nobody wakes up wanting to become a bitter human-shaped complaint.

If you can still change, change. If you can still catch yourself, catch yourself. Not because it will save the world—the world doesn’t care—but because it might save you from becoming the very person someone else points at and says, “at least I’m not them.”