Week 2: Looking Through Different Windows

You know those weeks where the universe keeps nudging you—"Hey, everyone's living a totally different version of reality than you"? That was this week for me. Like a week-long treasure hunt of perspectives.

It started with a restaurant. My friend and I had a lovely lunch there last month—good food, warm vibes, no complaints. But when she went back with her daughter, the whole vibe changed. She said she was put in the back like the other Black and brown folks, while white diners got the better tables. Same place, same menu, wildly different experience. Without me—her white friend—she noticed a shift. And I had to wonder: how often do I coast through life in a privilege bubble, totally unaware?

I chatted with my new friend from Peru who's visiting the area on her own path of service. She's examining our neighborhood with fresh eyes—spotting possibilities where I see potholes, asking why we do things the way we do. She's trying to help me take my overwhelming tasks and make them doable, and I'm grateful she's so persistent in helping. It’s like having someone reorganize my mental filing cabinet!

I took that energy to our afterschool program and had the kids do a group drawing of what they saw in our community. I gave each kid one minute to add something to the picture. Of course, the first thing they did was complain about what the previous kid had drawn—"That's not right!" "Why did you put that there?" But I had to explain: that's their perspective, just like you have yours. Once they got that, the drawing became this fun, colorful blend of how they actually see our neighborhood—details I never would have noticed or thought to include. We posted it on the billboard, and they got so excited seeing it up there, showing their friends and families.

Later, at a county board meeting, the perspective parade continued. Public comments ranged from glass recycling programs to religious persecution to Jesus and parking issues (ours was on public safety). What one person framed as a community crisis was just background noise to the next. Same room, wildly different priorities.

Even hanging out with my old coworkers at a conference felt like time-traveling across alternate universes. What had once been the center of my world—the office dynamics, the projects, the workplace issues they were still deeply invested in—now felt like some inconsequential past life. And then I went skeet shooting with more past coworkers. I don't normally go, but I wanted to experience what they experience and not stay in my bubble. Same activity, completely different relationship to it (for the record I hit FOUR! um, skeets?) !

Then there's this art group I’ve been encouraging my friend to join. She's brilliant, and I see it as a fun, supportive community. But to her? She's full of anxiety about it—rejection, judgment, the feeling of not belonging. I'm thinking, "This will be great!" while she's wrestling with all the what-ifs (happy to report she’s now a member and I can't wait for her to flourish!).

But then grief showed up, and it didn't care about perspective. My dear soul sister friend I haven't talked to in a while lost her father. Then my neighbor lost his dad—I attended his beautiful funeral service. Then there was mine own dad’s death 2 months ago. Three of us losing our dads—different races, backgrounds, beliefs—all figuring out how to carry the same heavy thing. Grief's like that. It flattens the differences for a while.

And that's what stuck with me. We all walk around in these little perspective bubbles, shaped by who we are and what we've lived. But we can't stay there. We have to make the effort to look through other people's windows, to step outside our own view of the world. When those bubbles bump up against each other—that's where things get interesting. That's where the learning happens, gaps are bridged, and polarization becomes unity.

This week, my windows were opened by everyone from gun enthusiasts to second graders, from immigrants to old friends. It reminded me that staying curious about how others see the world isn't just nice—it's necessary. How many other worlds are spinning right next to mine, just waiting for me to take a peek? But despite all our different ways of seeing, some experiences—like loss—remind us that underneath it all, we're more alike than different. In fact, we are the same, drops of one ocean, leaves of one tree, flowers of one garden. 🌊🌳🌻