In my microbiology lab on Tuesday, we performed an experiment where we placed a drop of pond water onto a microscope slide and observed it under varying levels of magnification to see if we could identify any microorganisms—quite groundbreaking, I know. However, I was quite excited when, after messing around with a dysfunctional lens for quite a while, I flipped to a working one a discovered a vast expanse of green—various cyanobacteria, fungi, algae and other microorganisms intricately arranged on the slide. I paid less attention in lecture today than I’m proud of, so I couldn’t tell you exactly what they were. However, I was in awe of it all—the way some motile organisms would quickly shoot across the view as they moved back and forth, while others remained motionless, yet stoically magnificent in their web-like or chain-like appearance. My excitement was probably based partly on the fact that I’ve screwed up most of the more complicated labs this semester, so I wasn’t used to seeing the life that other students have probably been seeing all along, but hey, let’s not talk about that and just be thankful that photosynthetic organisms have a nice natural green pigment that doesn’t require staining—something that I can’t seem to get right for the life of me. However, this is beside the point.
After observing the slide for a while, I turned to my lab partner and stated something like: “And just think, they’re doing this stuff all the time, most of the time we just can’t see it.” My lab partner humored me and agreed, kindly looking past how trivial my statement was. However, this experience, combined with a couple conversations I had that night, got me reflecting on things (Quite a surprise, I know. Thankfully, if you’re reading this, you’re probably like my nice lab partner and don’t mind humoring me).
Anyways, I was lucky enough to have conversations with two of my best friends—one from here at OU, and one from home. We got to talking, and I was reminded of two things. The first is that I love deep conversations. I feel like in college especially, so much of what people talk about is superficial: memes, inside jokes, complaints about professors, etc. That’s why it makes me so happy whenever I’m able to dive below the surface with someone and see how things really are. It reminds me a bit of the joy I experienced early yesterday in the lab: while it might be slightly satisfying to see the green algae and other microorganisms on the surface of the pond, it is exponentially more enjoyable to observe them at a cellular level. Before you stop me, I do realize the problems with this analogy: people aren’t microscope slides, and that’s why the phrase “placed under a microscope” has a negative connotation. However, that’s not what I’m talking about here. I’m talking about a two-sided conversation that both parties participate in and benefit from. Now that I’ve seen the pond water on a microscopic level, I will probably be more likely to appreciate the life in it the next time I go to a pond and see it on a macroscopic level. I think deep human connections are the same way: the deeper you get into someone’s struggles, hopes, and dreams, the more you’re able to appreciate their public, everyday lives. And the more of these connections you make, the more you can appreciate the human experience in general, as even zoomed out views of people’s lives fill you with more empathy than they might otherwise.
The other point stemming from this analogy connects with what I said to my lab partner: the life in the pond water is always there, but outside of microbiology lab we’re usually just not aware of it. This applies to other things as well, and it can be a bit convicting. Of course, humans are biologically wired to hold only so much information in the conscious mind at one time. While us 21st-century humans like to think we’re a bit better at multitasking and processing information than our ancestors, we still cannot focus on all things at the same time. From a psychological perspective, we say that most of what we know is in the preconscious mind, available to be retrieved on command, but not in our conscious awareness until it’s asked for. There’s no need to fight this fundamental fact of human biology, but it can be a bit scary when you examine where your awareness is placed most of the time. Is it on yourself, your classes, your work? If you’re like me, it probably is, at least more than you’d like to admit. Our culture encourages individualistic ambition above all else, and being driven is certainly good, but do you ever feel a bit of sadness as you zoom out from this and discover everything its costing you, like an awareness of what’s going on “out there”? I felt that a bit on Tuesday. I’ve been so worried about finalizing internship plans this week, that it’s almost like I’ve had blinders on and missed important developments in the lives of my friends, at least to some extent. Also, I haven’t talked to my sister extensively since the semester started in early January, and if that’s not shameful, I don’t know what is.
It turns out my analogy was perhaps developed a bit inaccurately at first because it probably isn’t even possible for us to fully zoom out—we all are always using a microscope. Our limited awareness forces us to. However, we do have the choice of whether we will regularly switch out the slides we place under it, and thus do what we can to step outside the self-imposed boxes that we’d otherwise create for ourselves. We also have our choice of lens. I learned later that the reason why I couldn’t see anything under the microscope at first was that I had been using a lens that had been damaged by the excessive application of oil over the years. It seemed like all the rest, but it was fundamentally broken and would only allow me to see a small sliver of what was going on on the slide. The weird thing is it seemed right for the three or four minutes I was using it. Once I switched out the lens though, I realized that what I was seeing originally was literally just air bubbles. I think life is like that too—we get so used to viewing something from one perspective, and even if it’s flawed, it just feels right because it’s a habit. However, we never know what’s really out there until we change things up.
So, here’s my challenge to myself, and to you: talk to some people—like really talk to them, with your phone powered down and your schedule cleared, prepared to devote your full attention to the other person. Change your perspective a bit occasionally—if your view is usually that of a pessimist, try to think for at least a few minutes like an optimist might. If you usually think of societal problems from a liberal perspective, try to think about those problems as a conservative might for a couple hours. If you usually view a class as a stress-filled mess, try to view it as an outsider might for one class period—a chance to learn, to expand your perspective, and to enjoy the incredible opportunities you have in your life. Better yet, find some friends who can help you with all these things: I have some, and there’s nothing better. Have a great weekend everyone.