My husband and I are opposites in many ways, and over the years that has created some interesting experiences. We can look at exactly the same situation and see something quite different, although we've gradually learned that this isn't necessarily a problem. In fact, our different perspectives often bring something additional to whatever we're considering.
It wasn't always quite like that, though.
When we bought our first house together, we discovered that our ideas about furnishing a home were rather different. We had different tastes in pictures, furniture and even the sort of sofa we wanted. Shopping for things for our new home could become quite an experience, because one of us would suggest something and the other would almost immediately dismiss it.
Looking back, I can see that we weren't particularly interested in understanding what the other person liked or why. We were each looking at things from our own perspective, and if something didn't appeal to us, that seemed to be reason enough to reject it.
Money was tight, of course, as it often is when you're buying your first home, and there were plenty of perfectly reasonable explanations for why we couldn't replace everything we wanted to. We justified things, rationalised our decisions and talked about compromise, but I suspect the real difficulty was that our ideas were so different and neither of us was particularly willing to explore the other's point of view.
It became rather silly at times, and one particular example still makes me smile.
We needed something to put the television on, but couldn't agree on a suitable piece of furniture. During the move, a flat-packed wardrobe had collapsed and was no longer much use as a wardrobe, so we improvised. Using part of the broken wardrobe and some bricks we'd found in the garden, we created a temporary television stand.
It was certainly a creative solution, although perhaps not quite what either of us had imagined for our first home together. The amusing part is that our temporary arrangement was still there when we moved out eighteen months later.
I wonder how often we do something similar in other areas of life. We become so attached to our own idea of what is right, appropriate or desirable that we dismiss another possibility before we've really considered it. We may tell ourselves we're being practical, sensible or realistic, and sometimes we are, but there can also be an underlying reluctance to accept that someone else genuinely experiences things differently.
Neither of us was wrong about the furniture we liked. Our preferences were simply different. Yet at the time, we seemed to approach those differences as something that needed to be resolved by one of us changing our mind, rather than recognising that perhaps there was something worth exploring in both perspectives.
Fortunately, our approach gradually changed, although I don't remember there being one particular conversation or moment when we suddenly realised what we were doing.
For a period of our lives, we moved house every couple of years, and somewhere along the way we decided that with each move we would replace one significant piece of furniture. Rather than rushing into a decision, we would take our time looking at what was available, knowing that whatever we chose would need to be something we both genuinely liked.
I remember the search for a sofa. We looked at all sorts of possibilities, but the only one we both felt we could happily live with was leather. So that was what we bought. On another move it was a dining table and chairs, and gradually, over the years, we began creating a home filled with things we'd chosen together.
What I find interesting is that when we eventually agree on something, we tend to keep it for a considerable length of time. Perhaps that's because neither of us feels we've simply given in to the other's preference. We've found something that genuinely works for us both.
Looking back, I don't think our tastes necessarily became more alike. We simply became more willing to explore the possibilities without assuming that our own preference had to be the answer. We still see things differently, and I suspect we always will, but those differences no longer need to prevent us from finding something we both enjoy.
In fact, I've come to appreciate that having two different perspectives can sometimes lead us towards something neither of us would have considered on our own.
A recent conversation about a few days away for my birthday reminded me of this.
We were discussing where we might go, looking at different locations and how long the journeys would take. York was one of the possibilities, somewhere I've always enjoyed visiting. As we were talking, my husband commented that York was two and a half hours away, and from the way he said it, I had the impression that he was thinking it was quite a journey.
What made me smile was that I'd been having almost the opposite thought. I love York, and in my mind I was thinking how lovely it would be to go there, particularly as it was only two and a half hours away!
Same destination, same journey, same travelling time, yet two quite different experiences of the information.
Neither of us was wrong about how far away York was. The difference was in what that journey represented to each of us, and the thoughts we were having about it.
I wonder how often something similar happens in our everyday conversations, although perhaps we don't always recognise it quite so easily.
We might be talking about the weather, for example, and one person sees a rainy day as disappointing because they had hoped to spend time outdoors, while another welcomes the rain because the garden desperately needs it. Or perhaps two people attend the same event and afterwards describe completely different experiences. One remembers the atmosphere and the people they met, while the other recalls the noise, the crowds or how long they had to wait.
They were both there. They experienced the same event, but their attention was drawn to different things, and the meaning they attached to those things shaped their experience.
I've sometimes used the example of two people standing on opposite sides of a tree. One might describe the branches stretching towards the sunlight, while the other sees a large knot in the trunk and an area where the bark has fallen away. If they were asked to describe the tree, their accounts might sound quite different, yet both could be accurately describing what they can see.
The difficulty begins when either person assumes that because they cannot see what the other is describing, it cannot be there.
Of course, they could walk around the tree and discover something neither of them had noticed before. But to do that, they would first need to be willing to consider that their own view might not be the whole picture.
I think there's something rather interesting in that, particularly when we consider how quickly we can form opinions about other people and situations.
We hear something someone says, observe how they behave or notice a decision they've made, and almost immediately our minds begin interpreting what we've experienced. We may decide that someone is being unreasonable, difficult, inconsiderate or simply wrong, without necessarily recognising how much of that judgement comes from our own expectations and experiences.
And once we've decided what something means, it can become surprisingly difficult to see it any other way.
I recognise this in myself. There have been occasions when I've been quite certain about what someone meant by something they said, only to discover later that their intention was entirely different. The words hadn't changed, but the meaning I'd attached to them had created an experience that wasn't necessarily shared by the other person.
It makes me wonder how much of what we believe we know about a situation is actually what happened, and how much is our interpretation of what happened.
There is an important distinction here, because I'm not suggesting that every opinion is equally accurate or that two contradictory statements of fact must somehow both be true. There are circumstances where information can be checked, where evidence matters and where one explanation may be more accurate than another.
But many of our everyday disagreements aren't really about facts. They're about preferences, expectations, interpretations and the meaning we attach to what we're experiencing.
My husband and I weren't disagreeing about the number of hours it would take to reach York. We were experiencing those hours differently. And when we couldn't agree on a sofa all those years ago, neither of us had an objectively correct opinion about what a sofa should look like. We simply liked different things.
Yet it's remarkably easy to approach those differences as though one of us must be right and the other must be wrong.
I wonder whether part of that comes from how closely we identify with our own opinions. When we feel strongly about something, another person's disagreement can sometimes feel like a challenge to us personally, rather than simply an expression of a different experience.
We might find ourselves explaining, defending or justifying our position, even when nobody has actually asked us to. And while we're busy preparing our response, we may not be particularly interested in hearing what the other person is trying to tell us.
I can certainly recognise occasions when I've done that.
What has gradually changed for me is an increasing curiosity about why someone else sees something differently. Not because I necessarily want to adopt their view, or because I believe I should agree with everyone, but because I've come to recognise that my own perspective is inevitably limited by what I know, what I've experienced and what I'm paying attention to.
Someone else may be noticing something I haven't considered, or bringing an experience to the conversation that I simply don't have.
That doesn't mean their perspective must replace mine. It may be that after listening and considering what they've said, I still see things differently. But perhaps I've gained a fuller understanding of the situation, and perhaps they have too.
When I think about the way my husband and I gradually learned to choose furniture together, I can see something of that process. We didn't suddenly discover that we liked all the same things, and we certainly didn't need to agree about everything. We simply became more willing to keep looking, to consider possibilities and to recognise that something could appeal to one of us without necessarily appealing to the other.
Over time, that created space for us to discover choices we could both genuinely enjoy.
I think there's a difference between compromise, where we may feel we've surrendered something important to keep the peace, and discovering a possibility that neither of us had initially considered. Sometimes compromise is entirely appropriate, of course, but I wonder how often we reach for it before we've really explored what else might be possible.
And perhaps this isn't only relevant to our relationships with other people.
I wonder how often we become attached to our own interpretation of an experience and continue to see it in the same way, even when our circumstances have changed. We might carry an opinion about ourselves, another person or a particular situation for years without ever becoming curious about whether there is another way of looking at it.
Sometimes all it takes is a conversation, a new experience or a moment of awareness for us to notice something we hadn't seen before.
The tree hasn't necessarily changed. We've simply moved to a different position.
These days, when my husband and I see something differently, I'm more inclined to find it interesting than frustrating. That doesn't mean we never disagree or that every conversation results in a wonderful new understanding. We're still two people with our own preferences, experiences and ways of looking at the world.
But I've come to appreciate that our differences can be valuable, and that understanding another person's perspective doesn't require me to abandon my own.
Perhaps that's what interests me most about perspective. We can spend so much time trying to establish who is right that we overlook the possibility that there's something to discover in the difference itself.
And when I think back to our first home, with its rather unconventional television stand, I can smile at how determined we both were to find something that fitted our individual ideas of what was right.
We certainly found a solution, although perhaps not quite the one either of us had in mind.
I wonder what might become possible in our conversations, our relationships and even our understanding of ourselves if, instead of immediately deciding that another perspective is wrong, we became a little more curious about what the other person can see.
After all, we may be looking at the same tree, but that doesn't mean we're seeing the same side of it.