(#55): seeking perspective
How insisting we're right limits our perspective
I’m turning 32 next month, and a few days ago, I realized that means I turned 16 16 years ago. I’ve lived the life of two 16 year-olds. I’ve turned 16 twice over (almost). It sounds ridiculous, like, okay dummy anyone can say this about any age, but it signifies that I’m entering the time in my life where I’ve lived enough to look back on it with perspective. I’m learning the profound privilege of aging, something we’re taught to fear. While young people are often told “you’re wise beyond your years,” I think only experience and reflection truly can truly bestow us with wisdom. I finally understand why older people think it’s funny or inappropriate for 20-somethings to write memoirs.
I’m sure there are people who’ve lived enough to have perspective at a younger age, but right now, I’m noticing myself peeking through an opening door, where I’m rewatching past experiences with less judgement and more comprehension. That’s a relief, considering how much of my daily ritual involves unintentionally revisiting past missteps and social interactions, cringing and berating myself for not doing it differently. While I’m still experiencing those thought loops daily, I’m discovering more self-compassion, and for someone who’s struggled with sweatily replaying the past for years, the fact that I’m unearthing clarity in reflection feels a little like a clue to the meaning of life.
16 years ago this year, I was less worried about the future and very much ruled by the present. I was named the lead in the high school musical over all the older kids by my favorite teacher, Mr. Farrier, who died on March 9, 2009, 16 years ago this month. My parents were planning a surprise sweet-sixteen party at my house that my boyfriend and best friends both accidentally and hilariously ruined mere days before the event. My brother and I got our wisdom teeth removed on the same day (my poor parents). He graduated high school the same day I got my driver’s permit. I started my first paying job at my childhood summer camp. In September, my first love dumped me shortly after leaving for college, a phone call I dreaded so much I had to hold the phone away while I threw up into the toilet. I did a play. I made new friends. I got more serious about my studies after nearly flunking all my classes post-breakup.
16 years later, I know that guy was a good person and a bad boyfriend. For years after we broke up, the sight of him made me flush and feel sick; now, I only feel sorry for who he was then, how much he struggled in ways I needed time to fully grasp, and I can genuinely laugh recalling the shit I put up with then that I would never now. I lovingly, lightheartedly embrace the younger me, instead of lecturing her on all of the things she should’ve done instead. I see that despite thinking otherwise at the time, I had absolutely no idea how to do just about anything at 16, especially romantic relationships, and neither did he. Today, I remember that time with fondness and forgiveness for us both.
It’s called perspective, honey, and I’m relieved to proclaim I’m finding it during a cultural moment that it’s seemingly fleeing. Last weekend, I listened to an episode of This American Life, “Ten Things I Don’t Want to Hate About You,” about a father whose conspiracy-theory-addled politics are dividing his family. In the episode, he makes a bet with his son, Zack Mack, the journalist telling the story, for $10,000 if his ten predictions [conspiracies] for 2024 come true. Whoever loses the bet has to not only pay up, but also admit to other that they were wrong. Before and after the bet, this man’s family tried everything from delving into past family traumas, fighting, to calmly dissecting how his views weren’t just differences in opinion but consequential to their dynamic, like the fact that his daughter, who’s gay, felt rejected from the family after he told her he believes her sexuality is a “choice.” Nothing worked. He simply saw their opposing views and values as differences in opinion, convinced that he was just misunderstood. The episode broke my heart because underneath the debate, this dad’s relationship with his children and wife suffered because of one thing: He cared more about being right than being in a relationship. His family tried so hard to understand why he adopted the views he held, and he couldn’t try seeing the world, or his own behavior, from their vantage point in return.
The story left me so disturbed that I recapped it for Jason on our afternoon walk with our dog, Lou. Sometimes, people just don’t see the world through the same lens. It’s confounding, even infuriating, but in those instances, we all have choices. Especially when we love someone, I believe we have a responsibility to try to understand, in good faith, where they’re coming from. Obviously, there are degrees of risk and potential harm involved in exposing ourselves to people with opposing views, particularly for marginalized people, but I also think that our society is becoming so intellectually weary and so risk-averse that we’re no longer trying or interested in hearing anything that disagrees with our individual reality.
Jason and I talked about the fact that our society is so starkly polarized that there’s a trending fixation on being right. We wondered whether this is what people are replacing community with. There’s a known crisis of loneliness in this country (I wrote about it once). At the same time, people are constantly moralizing personal experiences and worldviews, searching for others, at all costs, to confirm they’re right, validating that they’re thinking and “doing life” the right way. If they're “doing it right,” that must mean their loneliness, their disaffectedness, their lack of satisfaction, their burnout, isn’t their fault. I once thought if people recognized how hard they’re trying and still struggling to achieve and maintain the life they think they deserve, they’d recognize that there’s something wrong with the systems constructing our society. And I think a lot of people do know that. But in the absence of a convenient or immediately effective path to rectifying those systems, people are blaming those who fail to think and see the world like them, the right person.
P.E. Moskowitz wrote about this black-and-white mentality in a recent edition of Mental Hellth, calling it “literalism,”:
What is the difference between a Republican and a Democrat or progressive or leftist if all of them are anti-interpretation, anti-nuance, and anti-plurality…People have become extremely rigid in their thinking—unable to accept subtlety, threatened by things that demand interpretation or that make them uncomfortable (how else can you explain hundreds of thousands of people agreeing that the director of Anora is a terrible person because they did not agree with his art?). Like the Republican women who modify their bodies in order to meet strict definitions of womanhood and wield power over those who don’t, the average person these days seems to be in a constant process of moral and intellectual definition—finding narrow and rigid positions to uphold and then castigating or casting out any and everyone who does not live up to those definitions.
Ironically, I know people will read that quote and knee-jerk assure themselves: I don’t do that. Maybe you don’t. More likely, we’re all guilty of doing this to some extent. We’re living in a world of informational bubbles, waiting for algorithms to suggest or surface the details they decide we should know based on what we like or engage with. Technology is increasingly being built to reflect our current perspectives back to us, reinforcing that what’s good, enjoyable, and worthy, agrees with what each of us already knows and believes. While we’re sedated on the assumption that the world is okay as long as it’s ruled by those who agree with us, everyone’s experiencing vast, nuanced, unique lives that shape their worldviews in ways that are impossible to exactly mirror in another person. It’s hard to know the value of perspective, and how to gain it, when we’re encouraged not to look much further than our own.
Last month, a social media trend circulated inspired by Jennae Cecilia’s poem, “I met my younger self for coffee.” The poem is about the Cecilia from today meeting her 15-year-old self for coffee, sharing what she’s learned in the 15 years since she was that girl, and providing the self-love she has now for the version of her who needed it then. The poem inspired millions of variations on TikTok and Instagram. At the time, I thought it was cringe and corny, but in an earnest way. I was a little put off that so many people wanted to share this type of intimate meditation so publicly (not unlike what I’ve done here lol), but I think it served for many as an opportunity for momentary connection. Every adult was a teenager once, so if you share your story, it’ll probably resonate with others who might reach out or share something about themselves, opening up. If only that vulnerability translated easily into real-life.
The underlying message of the “meeting your younger self” trend isn’t just about self-love, it’s about perspective, and the acknowledgement that all we can do is our best with the information we have at the time. Americans are quick to point the finger at each other, blaming people for their circumstances or declaring the “right” way to react in any given situation. In a political climate like the one we’re living in, it’s easy to say, “No, we’re NOT all doing the best we can.” I understand the anger, fear, and confusion people are feeling, and it’s justified. I feel it too.
We’re raised to see the average voter as the most powerful force for freedom and democracy in the nation. That thinking means, despite most voters believing they’re doing the best they can with the information they have, American constituents levy the bulk of their frustration at each other, instead of the forces shaping their choices and lives. Part of that is because those forces are out of reach, while average voters are everywhere. The other part is, people genuinely do blame their fellow Americans, because they don’t know what else they don’t know about the way this country is run and the priorities of the political class. We all have different perspectives, and while there are valid reasons to have anger and frustration toward each other, it sometimes feels like that’s the only sentiment growing. Perhaps we’ll one day unite in our anger, if nothing else.
Years ago, during a sad time in my life, I drunkenly embarrassed myself. In therapy the following week, I confessed how awful I was, and my therapist at the time simply asked: “Do you think you were doing the best you could in the moment to cope?” I genuinely answered: “Yes.” In that moment, I recognized that the reason I didn’t make better choices that night was because I didn’t have enough information about myself, or alternative ways to react. Wishing I’d done better was different than knowing in the moment how to do better. I could take responsibility for my actions while identifying where I needed to grow. That day, my therapist gave me a copy of the poem, “There’s a hole in my sidewalk,” by Portia Nelson. It’s about someone who keeps falling into the same hole and struggling to climb out, but as they discover an awareness about the hole, they start to learn how to get out faster, eventually finding a new path without falling in the hole at all. The key to that different, previously undiscovered path, is more information.
When I look back at the views I held at 16, they’re embarrassing, based on barely a drop in the bucket compared to what I know now. In high school, I wasn’t very studious. That changed in college. I met people who lived completely differently than how I was raised, I learned from professors with diverse backgrounds who’d traveled and studied around the world. I majored in education and history. I learned about how people learn, the stark differences in the education system across the country, and not just American history, but Latin American history, African history, Middle Eastern history, European history. I was exposed in class, the cafeteria, books, and travel, to other perspectives. I realized I had a choice: I could live in my tiny comfortable bubble that centered my personal experience and those like me, or I could keep learning and trying to understand the world. I’m not perfect, and I’m actually not saying my way is the right way, but I am saying that I am a testament to one truth: consistently seeking more information helped me access more perspectives, spurring personal growth that’s made me more empathic and understanding than I was before.
Jason, my husband, is the smartest person I’ve ever met. He’s so well-read and retains so much of what he learns, it baffles me and almost everyone who meets him. We talk often about the fact that the more you know, the stupider you feel, because you see how much you still have to learn. Lately, while contemplating my life with more empathy for the earnest, naïve, boisterous younger me, I’ve started worrying more about the future, recognizing all the things I still don’t know how to do, and the narrowing number of people willing to guide a grown adult. More information might make us all see how much there is left to learn, and maybe, especially right now, that’s not such a bad thing.
Hot
LED face masks - they are undeniably trendy right now, and I finally caved. After much research, I bought the Currentbody series 2, mostly because of it’s longer 2-year warranty and 60-day return policy. I used Caroline Moss’s flagship to get a 10% discount, as a pretty diehard Geezer (IYKYK). But it’s still both frivolous and practical, because it’s the cost of 1-2 facials in NYC. So, after 3 uses it’s really paid for itself. That’s what I’m telling myself. More to come here I’m sure…
Hot Dog Towers - I’m not even a big fan of hot dogs, but I love that my home state and former city (Boston) is popularizing the hot dog tower, which is exactly like a seafood tower except hot dogs and french fries. Nothing bothers me more than pretentiousness about things that are supposed to be fun for everyone, so I love when there are silly, unserious, experimental food trends. It’s exactly the kind of medicine we need rn if you ask me. Long live the hot dog tower and ideas like it.
Roberta Flack - Sadly, I forgot how much I love Roberta Flack until she passed last month. I can’t stop listening to “First Time Ever I Saw Your Face,” which I think might be one of the most beautiful love songs ever written. I especially love watching this performance of it:
Bothered
I can’t stop thinking about this unbelievably frightening 1920s full face swimming mask meant to protect women’s faces from the sun. Praise be for SPF.
“Captain Jack” by Billy Joel - Jason and I had a kitchen dance party to Billy Joel last week and while I understand this might be polarizing, this song is horrendous. In Jason’s words: “I just see it as a spiritual forerunner to Creed.”
The Abduction of Mahmoud Khalil - It’s difficult to find the words to describe my horror and sadness at this disgusting infringement on free speech. Khalil has reportedly been using his commissary funds to help others in immigration detention buy what they need. His wife is 8 months pregnant. But even if he wasn’t seemingly such a good person, he still doesn’t deserve punishment for practicing free speech. And he’s not the only activist being oppressed for practicing the first amendment. This is frightening for all Americans.
You made it! Thank you so much for reading. Leaving you with this iconic Nirvana cover by Sinead, in honor of St. Paddy’s: