Perspectives

I live on the river Thames. I have a balcony where I work. The view from my balcony informs my perspective on London, the City I see when I am working or thinking.

When I check in for a flight coming into Heathrow airport, I always ask to sit on the left as I enter. This means, weather allowing, that I will have a fleeting view of my flat if we approach the airport from the east (as is most frequently the case). This gives me a completely different view of my flat. A new perspective on where I live and work and on my place within the great City. If I run along the towpath by the river, past my flat, I look up to my home as I pass it from a third point of view. Another very different perspective.

Approaching the stands on the racecourse, accelerating up the home straight, the noise of the commentator and the crowd is very different to the noise one hears standing in the crowd. The noise of thudding hooves is very different. The shouts from jockeys to mounts are more clear and urgent – and personal. The view of my horse’s neck, mane and ears, pumping in front of my still eyes, of other horses, opening and closing gaps and jockeys silks and backsides (unless you are on the winner) is unimaginable to most spectators. The smell is of grass and horses and rushing air and of being alive. It is different to the smell of alcohol and burgers that one gets in the stands and balconies.

The actor’s view in an intimate conversation that we witness on screen is of a camera lens, a crew behind and of coffee cups and another set behind that again. We accept our view as being directly through the eyes of the listener: intimate, detailed, emotional.

When we approach the front of the room to present, the room alters before our eyes. The view is different. The sensation of having eyes upon us rather than being behind one of those pairs of eyes is different, our thoughts and our physiology alter merely in response to the shift in perspective.

The view I have of you when we meet is different to the view you have of yourself as you look out from behind your eyes at me. The point of view that I have of a person causing me pain and distress is different to the view they have of me, of the world and their place within it and my place within all of that, the history and experiences and expectations that they are acting from when they forget the now and forget that they can choose love. I suffer identical myopia when I am causing that pain myself.

Seeking to experience, physically and so mentally, new perspectives, creates growth and develops empathy. They can intimidate initially and this scares most of us off, but this is natural and surmountable.

Seeking to understand perspectives we cannot physically or mentally experience: through our imagination, our understanding of what it is to be human, our careful questions and our listening creates growth, develops sympathy.

Contemplating perspectives opens us up, makes us vulnerable and demonstrates the limitations of our limited view of the surroundings, the situation, the problem. It facilitates emotional intelligence, creativity, understanding. It creates humility and wonder and possiblity.

We cannot be right. We cannot be perfect. We can seek to grow, to love, and to be aware, accept and laugh at our short sightedness.

Or maybe that’s just my perspective?

Over to you.

Jim.