A Different Perspective

I met a young man named John in Sergeyevka, Ukraine. He had the kind of beard that bards used to sing songs about. In fact, his appearance could be approximated by imagining two shiny eyes nestled in a mass of wiry, chestnut hair. Sometimes he smiled, which revealed to those around him the location of his mouth.

A few months after our first meeting, John shaved his beard. I could hardly believe he was the same person; I could recognize him only by holding up my hand to block out the lower half of his face. It turned out that John was usually clean-shaven, and I happened to meet him during the one summer when he grew out his beard. Then I realized that my image of John was not accurate. That is, it wasn't the image that others had of him, nor was it the image he had of himself. I had been looking at him the wrong way. I had seen just one side of him, and it was temporary at that.

Everyone has many sides, and it takes time to see them all. Sometimes we see one specific side of someone (or don't see one specific side) for so long that we think we have the whole picture. But it's a mistake to think so; there's almost always more to be seen. Every bit that remains below the surface--whether for us to see in others or reveal to them--could bring us closer or drive us apart. It might seem safer to keep our hidden sides hidden, sure. Sometimes we're disappointed to find a person's first flaw. But it's not in fact a flaw, nor is it the first; it's the beginning of a more complete picture that we simply couldn't see before. And if we weren't looking at the whole picture, then we can't claim to have liked the person as he truly is. Deep, genuine connections can't form unless we are prepared to both see others and reveal ourselves fully.

A fitting poem by Shel Silverstein: