Perspective

I love the spring. After all the grey of winter it’s great to get outside. The brown is starting to give way to hints of green, the temperature is warming up, and people are happier. I’m trying to spend most weekends outside.

Perspective is a funny thing. When it’s 60 degrees outside, it feels so warm coming from the cold winter and bringing hope of spring and sun. But in a few months, the same 60 degrees will feel cold and slightly depressing, as it means winter is approaching. No matter how much I tolerate winter because of skiing and snowboarding, it isn’t my favorite season.

The last time I was in DC, I got to do a high ropes course with Living Social Adventures. The weather was alright, the people I was strapped to trees with were fun, and I had a blast pretending to be a staff member of LSA. While in the trees, I was aware of how the same situation can be seen in different ways by people. The couple in front of me were scared, double and triple checking their carabineers. The two guys behind me were not terrified at all. The height and obstacles were the same for both groups but the experience was different. I spent the time giving encouragement to the couple in front of me and trying to mess up the guys behind. We also tried to see who could lean of the tree the farthest or climb a shaking ladder. Compared to skydiving, the height was nothing, and the time in the trees was strangely peaceful. The course had a lot of obstacles, five ziplines and two Tarzan swings. They were my favorite where you launch yourself out of a tree into a large net.

Differing perspective can also be seen in the attitudes of people living in the American North and South. It is a common thought that people from NYC are rude. Living here I don’t see it. New Yorkers are very helpful as long as you don’t ask too many questions and don’t block the left side of the escalator. But then there are things that can be seen as impolite. We don’t stay and talk about anything in line. It’s get in, purchase, get out, and move onto the next thing. And if we were to say “excuse me” every time we bumped into someone on the streets we would never be able to get anywhere.

A few weekends ago, I visited North Carolina to see my sister and her boyfriend. I immediately saw the difference. Everyone is willing to talk about anything in line or at the gas station, even to complete strangers. I never got used to it, instead skeptical that they could indeed be that happy to show me to my seat at a restaurant. Perhaps it is fake, or perhaps it’s genuine, but when arriving back in New York I was aware of how miserable we all seem by comparison.