"How To See Things As They Are"
by David Cain
"I’m in the back room of a coffee shop right now, switching between writing and another mental exercise: pretending I’m not here. I don’t mean I’m wearing a disguise, or hiding behind a potted plant. I’m doing a perspective-shifting practice that I’d recommend to anyone: now and then, wherever you are, look at the scene in front of you as though it’s happening without you.
From any seat, or standing spot, anywhere - in an office, a breakfast diner, a public square, a waiting room - see your surroundings just as they’d be if you weren’t here to see them. Focus on the look and feel of the setting. The way the light lays across things. Take it in like a shot from a movie. Notice the movement and speech of people or animals, the soundscape and overall ambiance. It’s just a little corner of the world where things are unfolding, and you’re not here. Maybe nobody is.
When you do this, you might notice a certain lightness or simplicity arising. Things are more poignant. Everything seems less complicated, because it’s just stuff happening, not stuff happening to you.
I used to call this practice
“dying on purpose” but that sounds a bit dramatic. Maybe “looking at the world as though you don’t exist” is better, but a good way to understand how to do that is to simply watch what’s happening here as though you’ve died, or maybe never existed at all.
Right now, in this back room, there’s a long communal table, with three students working in front of a spread of laptops and textbooks. There’s music playing - a band that sounds like the Cranberries. Framed by the doorway to the front of the shop is short-haired, golden dog (this place allows animals) waiting for its owner to order. No humans are visible but there’s a lot of easygoing chatter. The far wall is all window, with potted plants on hanging shelves silhouetted against the mid-day brightness outside. Someone comes to pet the dog. There’s a warm, neighborly feeling in the room. Now the not-Cranberries song is over, and a Beach House song comes on.
This vignette, seen in a certain way - as though it is happening, but not happening to me - can be just what it is, without any entanglement with my own interests. None of my reflexive moral judgments are present. The angle of the sun doesn’t remind me of everything I still have to get done today. Seeing twenty-year-old students doesn’t make me wish I was younger. Because I’m not here. It’s just life unfolding, and on its own it’s beautiful.
We have a habit of looking at what surrounds us through a self-referential lens. We don’t just see a thing, we see the way that thing fits, or doesn’t fit, into our lives. Seeing a luxury car might elicit judgment, or envy, or brand loyalty. Seeing someone enjoying what seems to be a day off might remind you that you do not have the day off.
It’s not that we all think we’re the center of the universe. But our lives do tend to feel something like The Biggest, Most Pressing Thing Ever to Happen, when it’s really only a short thread running through a vast, endless fabric of happenings that is life on Earth.
Even a short glimpse of something as it is- of any scene free from entanglement with our stories -comes with relief. What you witness in this way still has meaning, but it’s intrinsic meaning, like beauty, or some nameless quality. The meaning isn’t “What this means for me and my ongoing story.”
Those short glimpses are always available, by looking at what’s before you as though it’s happening without you. Every scene has its own signature, its own identity to express, which can only come through when it’s not mixed up with yours.
It’s not hard to achieve this perspective, for a few seconds anyway. Just see it as it would be if you weren’t there. This parking lot. This row of houses. This quiet kitchen. It looks exactly the same, but it feels different to see it this way.
When you look at a bug climbing a railing - at least for a moment, it’s nothing but a bug climbing a railing.
When you sit down with your coffee - just for a moment, the coffee shop is happening just as it does on days you’re not there, or as it might after you die.
When you look in the closet - just for a moment, it’s only clothing, hanging there quietly, as it does when nobody’s standing there choosing how they’re going to look today."
