The other night, I was on the couch with my son, and it was one of those rare moments where the noise of the world quietens just enough for a real conversation. We’d just finished Stranger Things and then watched Passengers. (A movie that casually throws a moral grenade at you and then walks away.)
As the credits rolled, my son said he really liked the song “Running Up That Hill” by Kate Bush.
So I asked him, “Do you know what that song is actually about? Why she wrote it?”
He didn’t. Most people don’t.
I told him it’s about perspective, about wanting to swap places with someone you love so you can truly understand their life. Their pain. Their burden. Not just sympathise from the sidelines, but feel it. Live it. See the world through their eyes.
That led us down a bigger rabbit hole. Life is hard for everyone. Everyone is carrying something. And somewhere along the way… we forgot that.
Then came the real question.
“Would you do what Chris Pratt did?”
If you’ve seen Passengers, you know exactly what that question carries. My answer was yes. I would have done what he did. He told him he would have done the same. The two conversations forced me to sit with something uncomfortable:
Perspective isn’t theoretical. It’s ethical.
Have We Forgotten Perspective?
Maybe. Or maybe we’ve just buried it under noise, ego, and the belief that our struggle is somehow unique.
Perspective used to be normal, like common sense, manners, or letting someone merge in traffic without acting as if they’ve personally insulted your lineage.
Now it feels optional.
Perspective requires humility. It asks us to zoom out and accept a hard truth:
We are not the main character in every scene.
Sometimes we’re just the extra walking past with a sandwich.
And humility? Yeah… not trending.
Or Is Perspective Actually a Superpower?
Honestly, it might be the last real one left.
Being able to step back, breathe, and not absorb every emotional outburst around you is rare. Powerful. Almost rebellious.
Think about the “people are like garbage trucks” analogy.
Some people are driving around full of unresolved crap, stress, anger, fear, and frustration, packed in tight. And eventually, they dump it. On you. On strangers. On whoever happens to be nearby.
Sometimes perspective is simply the quiet reminder: “This pain isn’t mine to carry, but I can still acknowledge it.”
Imagine moving through life like that.
- Someone snaps at you? Perspective says they might be overwhelmed, stretched thin, or hurting in ways you can’t see. Acknowledge it; you don’t need to take it on to understand it.
- Someone feels heavy, tense, or stormy? Perspective recognises that everyone has their own weather. You can notice the clouds without letting them roll into your sky.
- Someone tries to pull you into their chaos? Perspective allows compassion and boundaries. You can care without drowning.
People who live with perspective aren’t cold or detached. They’re aware. They realise that everyone has their own shit going on.
Zoom In. Zoom Out. Both Are True.
Let’s shift the lens for a second.
I’ve mentioned this before. Say you cut your hand. On the surface, it’s simple. You see blood. You know that red stuff is essential to the whole staying alive thing, so you clean it, patch it up, and move on.
But zoom in, really zoom in, and it’s absolute carnage.
Cells fighting. White blood cells are on the attack. Bacteria are getting annihilated. A microscopic war zone straight out of a bad action movie.
And here’s the part people miss. That chaos is why you don’t die and keep living.
If you tried to stop it, if you interfered, controlled it, or tried to make it “neater”, you’d wreck the process. The higher organism, “you”, would suffer.
So which perspective is right? The calm surface view… or the chaotic close-up?
The answer is uncomfortable but true: both.
Life works the same way.
Up close, life looks brutal. Heartbreak. Betrayal. Loss. Failure. Chapters so messy you’d tear them out if you could. Moments that feel pointless, unfair, or endless.
But zoom out.
From the wider lens, the wreckage starts to look like part of the process. Not punishment. Not failure. Raw material. The breakdown before the rebuild. The internal war that allows healing to happen.
Maybe the chaos isn’t trying to destroy you. Maybe it’s doing exactly what it needs to do to keep you alive.
Perspective and Gratitude (The Part We Avoid)
Here’s the part that hits hardest when you let it land.
Right now, as you’re reading this, someone somewhere is taking their last breath. Someone who would trade places with you instantly. Someone who would accept your stress, your heartbreak, your messy life, your worst day, without hesitation, to stay alive a little longer.
Perspective doesn’t dismiss yours or their pain. It just reminds you that being alive is still a privilege, even when it hurts.
Both things can be true.
Call Me Naive…
But sitting on that couch with my son reminded me of something simple and forgotten.
Perspective isn’t abstract. It’s a choice. It’s care in action.
So yeah, call me naive.
But imagine, truly imagine, if we actually gave a fuck about one another.
Not performative empathy. Not hashtags. Not autopilot “thoughts and prayers.”
Real care. The kind that pauses before reacting. Listens before judging. Assumes struggle instead of stupidity. Chooses compassion over convenience.
Imagine workplaces built on it. Families softened by it. Communities strengthened by it.
Because if we actually used perspective, genuinely and consistently, the world wouldn’t just improve.
It would be unrecognisable.
Imagine that.
