Sometimes simple changes can have profound results. By simple, I mean things like where you part your hair, the time you get up in the morning, or the route you take to work. Change your routine a bit, and you might see things in a different way. That happened to me this week.
I left the coffee shop Saturday morning to go to the university as I usually do, but instead of walking on the western side of the street, I crossed over to the eastern side. I did it out of boredom and to avoid a group of protesters that assemble at a certain corner every week. Even though I am sympathetic with their cause, I didn’t want the hassle. The issue is intense.
That’s when something interesting happened. Walking on the other side of the street allowed me to see the familiar landmarks–houses, hair salons, restaurants, coffee shops, schools, intersections, and even an Egyptian museum–in a different way. It was as if I were seeing things for the first time, which means I saw details that I had overlooked.
For instance, one house had a second-story deck in the rear that I never knew about. A barber shop window displayed the traditional red, white, and blue barber pole. I could see into the halfway house I had noticed before without being seen by a resident who sat outside on the stoop, smoking. I could see directly into their living room, which brought back memories of my uncle, who lived in a series of such places (see The Men of Park Avenue).
Seeing things in a new way isn’t just a metaphor. It’s a reality that you can enter into if you are open to it and give it the time, although not all changes are positive or ennobling. I am thinking here of the “No Pants Subway Ride,” which had what might be the easiest barrier to entry: taking your pants off and riding the subway (see Why People Are Stupid).
I wouldn’t go that far. You have to be in top form riding the subway, not self-conscious or exposed to ridicule and derision, pun intended. Hard to believe the trend started in New York. I’m not sure if they still do it. I experienced it firsthand in the Bronx as an observer, not a participant. Even if I had wanted to try it, riding the D train without my pants on would have spelled certain death, capital “D,” which would have been fitting, I suppose.
To be clear, seeing things in a new way doesn’t necessarily convey new information or content. It’s not as if I know something I didn’t know before about the house with the deck, the barber shop, or the halfway house. I could infer things, of course, like the owners of the house had the money to finance a building project, the barber likes traditional symbols, which means he could be conservative, and seeing into the living room of the residence could tell me how many men lived there and, possibly, their mental state.
Rather, seeing things in a new way opens me up to how I approach familiar (and new) things. It affects my attitude and feelings about others and can confirm or deny my presuppositions. In a word, it allows for insight into the thing without automatically adding to my factual knowledge of it. In that sense, it is not science. But it also makes me more attuned to my surroundings and myself as I walk the familiar route in a new way, or, for that matter, in somebody else’s shoes.
The early church fathers looked at this insight and new attitude as sacramental, the basis of which is love, meaning that the person in it could see the extraordinary in the ordinary things of life. They spoke in particular of bread, wine, oil, and water, but I don’t see why it couldn’t also apply to walking, especially on the other side of the street. I just have to be aware that, in time, the eastern side will become as familiar to me as the western. Then it will be time for a new route.
Feature image by 13on on Unsplash; man in crosswalk by Arturo Castaneyra. Want more? Go to Robert Brancatelli. The Brancatelli Blog is a member of The Free Media Alliance, which promotes “alternatives to software, culture, and hardware monopolies.”
