I’m always in awe of the view at 30,000 feet. No matter how often I fly, there is just something amazing about looking down and feeling like Gulliver.
As I’ve gotten older, I find myself mesmerized by the changing landscape, the presence (or absence) of vegetation, the size of lakes and rivers, the concentration of city lights. It’s crazy when you realize that ‘small’ clump of trees is probably hundreds of acres wide.
Maybe getting older is making me wiser, but as I fly across the country today, I can’t help but think about how perspective changes everything.
From this altitude, I see the big picture, but I have no idea about the details. And this makes me think about teaching and parenting and life in general. Too often we forget there are other perspectives.
Monday afternoon S ripped a favorite pair of shorts. She was bringing groceries in and caught the side of them on the porch railing. She was mad, and my, “don’t worry about it, I can sew them up,” did nothing to calm the teenage moment. For the next fifteen minutes or so, she ranted about how they would never be the same, how she didn’t have ANY other shorts, and pretty much demanding I stop everything else and fix them NOW.
Needless to say, I didn’t drop everything to fix them. In fact, the whole time she’s ranting, I’m thinking about if I have time to fix them before leaving for San Diego or if it would be easier to go online and order another pair from American Eagle.
She settled down.
The rip was worse than I thought. I can fix them but you’ll be able to tell. They’re on clearance at American Eagle. I ordered another pair. When I explained all of that to her Tuesday morning, she was fine; even offered to pay for the new ones herself.
I shook my head at the changed attitude.
But I was reminded of it as I look out my window and see the landscape below.
It was all about perspective.
It’s hard to find shorts for her that are long enough, and this pair was perfect. She knew that. To her, it was tragic. To me, just a blip on the parenthood radar.
Our perspectives were different.
If I had to do that moment over I probably would’ve looked at them right away. I wouldn’t have fixed them, but I would’ve acknowledged that it was a big deal to her. I would have recognized her perspective.
I think, sometimes that’s all we really need; someone to recognize our perspective.