Up on the Roof

×

Expand

Photo by Barbara Loren Vergara - Getty Images

Woman on a balcony

Perspective. It matters, especially when challenging circumstances induce tunnel vision, blinding us to other possibilities. Many mental maladies involve a loss of perspective, the inability to perceive the proverbial forest or, for some of us, the jungle for the trees.

In depression, for example, one's focus becomes riveted on life's dark side; losses, worries, helpless feelings and despair. In kind, with anxiety, psychological vision constricts until all one perceives is fear and peril.

It's more than coincidence that many troubled folks complain of feeling "stuck in a rut" or "down in a dark hole" or "lost in a fog." Through a constricted mind’s eye, they simply can't see much except their problems.

Mired in Melancholy

Clara was among them. Mired in melancholy and angst, she perceived only life's impediments and none of its possibilities. She tried cognitive behavioral therapy, which addresses distortions in perspective by reframing thought processes, but didn’t make much progress.

"Friends tell me to climb out of my hole and get back into living, but I can't see how," she told me.

"Perhaps your mind's eye has lost peripheral vision," I suggested. "When that happens, it's like looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope."

Often, counselors suggest that lost perspective can be regained with cognitive reframing and insight development, which sometimes proves true. However, with certain folks, I recommend something that aligns more with the sensory equivalent of a narrow perspective; how one sees the world, literally. In Clara’s case, I suggested she make use of her home’s architecture.

"You want me to go up on my roof?" she asked, flabbergasted at my advice.

"Right. You said you have a second-floor balcony, and your home is on a high hill, so try sitting up there every day and take a good look around," I advised.

Clara left with an expression one would expect from a skeptic departing a palm reader's parlor, but she was kind enough to comply with my kooky instructions. Each day, she stepped out on the balcony, planted her behind on a small chair, brought to mind her troubles, and then gazed at the landscape and vista below her.

It was pleasant, but also interesting," she reported at our next session. "Everything looks so different up there. It’s like you’re above it all."

“Exactly,” I replied.

Fresh Air

Before long, while on the roof, Clara began writing in her journal, playing the guitar and knitting. It became a place to disengage from her mental muck and ascend to clearer psychological air.

“I don’t know why, but my mindset is shifting,” she told me.

“Why doesn’t matter. The shift in perspective does,” I replied.

When safe access to a roof isn’t in the cards, I suggest observation decks, scenic overlooks, bridges, hilltops or any elevated location that affords a broad vista. Laying under a night sky and gazing into the vastness of the universe is another perspective-widening platform. For those too busy or physically compromised, even watching panoramic videos of nature can do the trick.

Psychological smoke and mirrors? Maybe, but the mind's eye and our external ones are intimately connected. Neuroscientists tell us we see with our brains more than our eyes. So, sometimes expanding one's actual vision stimulates the opening of its internal counterpart.

Ask the astronauts. Gazing down on the Earth, a warm, living sphere floating in the cold vastness of space, forever changes one's outlook on life and self. A rooftop or other lofty perch doesn't afford a comparable mind-bending spectacle, but it's a start.

So, if your mental viewpoint seems like staring down a sewer pipe, and you can't see your life's forest because of some large psychological trees, head for the roof. Like Carole King sang:

"On the roof it's peaceful as can be, and there the world below don't bother me."

Go for the mental high ground.

For more, visit philipchard.com.