On getting perspective

Being in the midst of some argument or worry, it can be hard to get a wise outsider’s perspective. This is why we often find ourselves monologuing, replying to day-old discussions while standing in the shower or driving. Time and distance give us a birds-eye view of our troubles; it can be hard, but we ought to give ourselves time to reflect on the bigger picture. Better perspective tends to lead us in the right direction.

The quickest change to any regular person’s point-of-view probably comes at takeoff in a passenger jet. If you’ve been privileged enough to fly, you’ll know what I mean. Looking out the cabin window, you get a nice view of the airport. As the plane’s engines go from a low thrumming to a persistent whine, as the wing stiffens and the landing gear peels from the runway, the whole scene changes rapidly. Where before you might have been looking at a few grounded planes, your attention is now on the whole rapidly shrinking city below. Where you might have been concerned about traffic on the way to catch your flight, now the cars on the narrow highway beneath seem like ants. Twenty minutes ago, you might have been worried about your taxes. Now, looking down at the coast, you can’t help but see the threat of climate change.

I give you the flight metaphor because I often find myself worrying about details that cloud my judgement. Is the homework assignment I missed yesterday going to ruin my GPA? Why did I go for a slice of dessert instead of a salad? In those situations, I’m thinking about the airport and not the landscape, so to speak. Instead, I should be focused on upcoming assignments and planning out my semester, or the fact that I’ve been eating healthy all week and one piece of cake isn’t gonna kill me.

We cannot make large sweeping changes to the territory all at once, which is why we are forced to act small, one plot of land at a time. When you close the tap while brushing your teeth you may be acting for the health of your water bill and wallet, but looking at it from cruising altitude you’re helping to conserve the planet’s resources. When you’re friendlier to your neighbors tomorrow morning, you not only will brighten your own day but you might save yourself from a noise complaint later, and you’ll benefit from the improved relationship. These small developments stitched together form the pleasant, rolling green patchwork quilt you can observe from the cabin window. The actions are small, but when done with perspective, they add up to something big.

We all need the ability to transition from eye-level to sky-level, to not live in either place but be frequent visitors of both. Do what it takes to learn the skill. Meditation, thoughtfulness therapy — whatever works. We should all have the ability to ascend to a place where you can no longer see your shadow — to see Earth as a blue ball suspended in space — but also be able to enjoy the descent to details, hear the buzz of phones as everyone regains cell reception and the welcome bump of a temporary landing.

Stephan Chamberlin is a UF political science junior. His column comes out Tuesday and Thursday.