The Eye of the Beholder

Lately I have been thinking about the speck that we see in our brother’s eye while we don’t see the beam in our own. That is from the Bible, of course. In less religious terms, when I point one finger at someone else, three fingers are pointing right back at me.

The idea that we project our own “stuff” to others is a hard pill to swallow. At least for me it is, since most of the time I could swear – I mean, like SWEAR! – that the other person – and ONLY the OTHER person – is being huffy or arrogant or self-important or selfish or immature or bossy or … you name it! So, how is it even remotely possible that my judgments say more about me than someone else? How can it be that saying, “You are stubborn!” more often than not means that I am stubborn?

It has occurred to me that the letters “H-O-W” also spell “W-H-O.” Who we are is how we see the world. Our perception is always colored by our upbringing and experiences, so the “truth” really is in the eye of the beholder. That explains why two eye-witness accounts can be completely different. It’s also why I can get affectionate approval from one person and scathing criticism from another – even though in both cases I am just being me.

For instance, when I am out hiking with my dog and another hiker is coming our way, I always do the same thing. So does Sherman. The ritual goes as follows: I move over to the side of the trail – even if that means clinging to boulders on the mountain – so that the other hiker can squeeze by me safely. Sherman, on the other hand, picks a spot, usually smack in the middle of the trail, where he comes to a complete standstill so he can study whoever is approaching us. And, of course, he ignores my plea to join me in my hillside spider-woman position.

Sherman and I never change that behavior – and yet people react to us quite differently.

One woman we ran into never even uttered a word. She simply stopped in her tracks on a relatively wide trail and looked at Sherman with a face that suggested she was chewing on a very sour lemon. Then she slowly lifted her gaze and cast a long, stern look at me, still seemingly sucking on that same sour lemon. Despite an instant reflex to likewise scrunch up my face, I managed to smile and say “Hi.” In response, her body stiffened, and even though the trail was at least seven feet wide and Sherman barely 17 pounds, she tiptoed, staggered, and swayed back and forth to walk around my tiny dog. Once she had passed him, she turned around, gave me another stern look before she vanished down the trail, heavily stomping her feet on the ground.

That was one reaction.

And then there was another. Also from a woman. This time we were on a really narrow trail that left her no way whatsoever to walk past Sherman – hence, even more reason to lemon-up. She too stopped in her tracks. But instead of disparagingly glaring at me, she beamed (beamed!) at Sherman and said: “Look at him. He is guarding the trail!”

Guess, which one of those women warmed my heart and inspired me to be more like her?

Brigitte Schneider
aka Ms. Spider-Woman

Copyright © 2020, Brigitte Schneider. If you wish to quote text from this article contact the author by leaving a comment.