Staircases, Sleepovers, and Stars

A few words on perspective...

I was about to post this last week, but my driver quit. Not the chauffeur kind. The computer kind. Off to the repair shop, it went. I drove it there—as the chauffeur. The laptop chauffeur or the driver driver. I was told that it would have to spend a couple of nights at the little shop on 6th avenue, so I decided to spend a couple of days enjoying the arrival of summer. Ninety degrees of pure vitamin D penetrated deep and, ohhh, it was euphoric. Oh, jeez, no—not in an erotic way. More of a California girl trapped in a pasty Norwegian body sort of way. I spent the days stretching my limbs in the local park—hours under shady branches and and cliffs with glittery waters beneath. I read a few pages of a book before a quick nap outdoors, and slept under the stars in my backyard—the only available campsite in the state of Washington. I imbibed nature’s simple, but grand pleasures—fuel for the engine. I brought my laptop, or rather, drove my driver, back home today and am happy to report that she had a restorative weekend as well. I’m guessing on the gender, but it appears to have too many holes to be a male. For the few folks that made it through the intro, here are a few words on perspective.

Something I just can’t ignore lately is the divisive nature of humans. There is such discord around the world and much of it seems to stem from the failure to consider, or at the least, respect alternative perspectives. It’s like an assumed intelligence settles into the minds of some; egos inflated with presumptuous truths, drifting high to rest on clouds, unbothered by activities below.  Failing to acknowledge the view down below is much like an unexcused absence from school with lessons to be lost. We’re walking around in a world full of graduates who assume they know all there is to know or at least enough for their personal agendas. If you enter a kindergarten classroom, you’ll quickly become aware of the inquisitive air, and you’ll likely be hit with a barrage of questions. Those kids will observe you, like look you up and down, and you’d better believe they’ll notice the smallest details, like the coffee spot on your blouse that you removed that morning. You scrubbed it, then dried the wet spot with your hair dryer and detected no remaining evidence before leaving the house, yet they’ll know. They’ll ask you what happened, why you spilled it, why you drink coffee, how much did you drink, if it was hot, if it burned your skin, it you have blisters, if they can see them, why the coffee didn’t burn a hole in your shirt, why you’re there, why you have so many wrinkles, how old you are, if you believe in God, and if Santa is real—roughly within the first ten minutes of your arrival. As we grow older, we lose some of this curiosity about others and instead turn to our assumptions to answer our questions.

Humans are essentially eternal students strewn about upon an endless staircase. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time, each tiny gain elevates us just a little bit more, allowing us a broader view of the landscape. In other words, we can begin to see the bigger picture, the purpose of the journey, all ascending at our own speed. Some may be burdened by heavier loads for periods of time, while others weightlessly flit on by, maybe trading places later on.  We can expect obstacles and storms, and we’ll likely all grapple with internal forces for a bit, adding weight to the packs on our backs. And it will happen…you’ll drop some shit and watch as it tumbles down those stairs. Loss is inevitable. What I find impressive is the perseverance, the willingness to continue the journey regardless of circumstance, without complaint. Loss is inevitable. It can be so tempting to turn back, searching for what we’ve lost—valued things, but risk will accompany the descent. We’ll risk the loss of our time for something we may never find. Every step holds some significance, a realization, a lesson, some learned piece of information that we can use to evolve.

Something to keep in mind; we’re not lined up in single-file fashion with our noses pressed up against someone’s back. We’re all spread out and learning as we go, at different paces, with our own perceptions that individual backgrounds and experiences have shaped. None of us have traveled the exact same journey, yet we can become so disappointed, so frustrated by people that don’t agree with us. Why is this? We’ve traded some of that curiosity for an expectation that others should think like us, and behave in such a manner that is congruent with our own experience. When someone disagrees with our ideas or behaviors, the message we often receive is you’re wrong, Bucko. Suddenly, we’re on opposite sides of a courtroom, beefing up our defenses to protect our truth. It’s easy to get so consumed with being right that we refuse to even consider an alternative view, and instead, we argue, fight, and duke it out with words. I can recount several occasions where I’ve been the pompous ass, shutting out another voice because I felt like I had all the information I needed and nothing could change my mind. A colleague and I were engaged in a discussion about the concept of work-life balance and just weren’t seeing eye to eye. I distinctly remember vomiting the words you’re wrong. Ohhh yeah, it’s an absolute cringe moment and one that haunted me for a good while. Ever missed a step on a staircase in public? Humiliating—yup, I had missed the step entirely, forfeiting the education from someone who had this super interesting, diverse, rich background. I walked right out of his classroom in a dunce cap.

I do believe that most of the time we aren’t intentional asses. We just haven’t learned or grasped concepts yet. We simply know what we know in the present moment. Fully understanding someone for who they are requires us to meet them where they are. For the kindling not only receives the spark of the match, but also supports the larger logs that burn long and hot to produce the heat for our daily bread which provides the energy that is released by our wild existence—our living. wood to create the fire that burns to heat the food that gets converted to energy.  The process of our becoming holds the contextual pieces, the kindling and such, from which the flames first arose. I really do believe that an appreciation for the process is what sweetens the bread. It’s simply curiosity instead of judgment such as a pretentious “You’re wrong!”. Good Lord.  

Lucky for me, this colleague, this gentleman, was kind enough to confidently support his stance, pardoning my ignorance. He caught me in my dunce cap mid-fall and welcomed me to join him at his place on the grand staircase. He invited me to share his view for a moment and I’m so glad that I accepted. If we want the sweeping views of the landscape, we’ve got to be willing to leave our comfortable perch for a moment, explore, dive in, widen our gaze, and scan the periphery. We ought to be willing to surrender our position of being right in order to learn and grow from the wealth of knowledge and insight that may be gained from one another. We don’t have to change our ideas completely, but we can be open to the simple fact that we might. Those curious little kindergartners are unabashedly on a mission to discover, explore, and, perhaps most importantly, learn. They are smart enough to know what they don’t know and they’re not ashamed to get some answers. I think much of that curiosity remains. Perhaps it’s just hiding under a bunch of layers—layers of caps and gowns. People are really some of the most interesting storybooks and textbooks; if we would just take the time and have the courage to read them beyond the first page.  

Thank you for being here.