by Eve Stenson

Have you ever really watched the world upside down? Even a cursory examination reveals how interesting this is: the sky’s just beyond your feet, your hair’s dangling above you … and did you ever realize how fascinating it can be to watch an object fall up?

Perhaps not everyone is quite as amused by new points of view as I’ve always been. I realize that I’m something of a whore for perspectives, both visual and intellectual; I want to know all the different ways to see things and issues, even if they may be skewed. (For example, it’s interesting to hear how my father compares his childhood to mine, even though I’m still not convinced his grade school commute was uphill in both directions.) Yet, I find myself getting stuck in a rut far more often than I’d like.

For the longest time, I didn’t understand how anyone could tolerate being in a crowd, since I disliked it so intensely. It was years before it occurred to me that crowds probably weren’t so bad for those who could see over them. Being just under five feet tall, my experience was limited primarily to the backs of shirts, and while I knew full well that others are usually taller than I, I never considered how that changed things.

In the same way, I feel like almost everyone realizes we all look at the world from at least a slightly different angle – that of a stricter religion or a less privileged childhood, a foreign country or a few inches taller. And it’s certainly not uncommon to speculate about an isolated topic, "If I were in that situation, I would think/do/say…" But it’s so easy to forget just how pervasive even the smallest difference can be.

When you think about it, perspective can modify the meaning of even the most seemingly objective aspects of life. Take speed limit signs, for example. You may not usually think of the highway department as having a sense of humor, but when you’re zipping along the New Jersey Turnpike at 80 miles per hour, those reduced speed zones seem downright comical. "Ha ha," you laugh, "Like I’m going to do 55 now."

Then you get stuck in traffic, and the tables turn. Now, as you inch slowly forward, dreaming of getting up past second gear, those same signs mock you, "Ha ha. Like you’re going to do 55 now."

Perspective is one of those select areas where kids tend to be more adept than grown-ups, it seems. Perhaps it’s because they are still in the process of discovering the world themselves that they consider just how many other ways to see it there might be. I remember being fascinated when I grasped the concept of foreign languages for the first time, realizing that "cat" would mean nothing to a child like me in another country; instead, they’d call their pet a "dfanjw." (I didn’t know any other languages at the time, so I made up my own words – much as I did when I took Russian junior year.) Yet, I know an adult who was uncomfortable visiting Cancun because, "They don’t speak English down there!"

Supposedly, though, human beings are fairly adept at learning new perspectives. In high school, I read about a psychology experiment in which the subject wore a set of complex goggles that literally turned her vision of the world upside down; when she lowered her head, for example, she’d see the ceiling. As one would expect, the inversion of her field of view immediately wreaked considerable havoc on her ability to function. Amazingly, though, after only a few days, she could operate normally; in a few weeks, her coordination increased and her reflexes adjusted.

One might note, however, besides simply the capacity to adjust, that the subject could only handle one reference frame at a time – either the world was right side up or it was upside down, but it wasn’t possible to immediately switch from one to the other.

In the same fashion, how possible is to simultaneously consider more than one mental viewpoint? Sure, I can try to imagine how I would see things differently if I were older, younger, richer, poorer, etc. But can I ever get it right?

Even more importantly, though, why should I want to? The dictum of journalism, after all, is that you can only see things clearly from a sufficiently distanced point of view. This is the reason that members of the team don’t write the sports articles (even if they are the people with the most intimate knowledge of what happened), and news editors don’t run for positions on USG (no matter how incorruptible their character). Objectivity is paramount.

Perhaps the best answer to that query was the one I read in an introduction to a book about world religions: "The final reason for understanding another is intrinsic – to enjoy the wider angle the vision affords."

Yet, there is also the danger of swinging too far to the opposite end of the spectrum, where one arrives at the oh-so-prevalent notion that entertaining alternate viewpoints means considering them equally valid. (Or, at least, claiming to. Holding any viewpoint at all, though, implies a critical judgement, admitted or not.)

A friend of mine is especially fond of the old adage, "Before you criticize someone, walk a mile in their shoes. Then, when you criticize them, they’re a mile away and barefoot." Trying on someone else’s shoes doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll come to like their choice of footwear; you might find yourself even more vehemently opposed than you were before. But every so often, you might learn something valuable.

I, for example, discovered that I could use shoes with thicker soles. Or better yet, stilts.

(published in The Ram, 3 December 2003)