What We Don’t See

I got to walk to work today, and it afforded me my first real look around this new city. Fortunately, the weather cooperated. (We’ve been having massive rain and thunderstorms the last couple of days.) In fact, it was even a decent temperature—which is saying something, because I haven’t experienced a decent temperature here until today.

The street I live on sits tucked away, hidden by long forgotten homes overgrown by trees, vines, and bushes. The thought crossed my mind how that would bother a lot of people. It looks messy, almost like the apocalypse happened. Ancient wooden doors are splintered, warped, and cracked. Dark streaks run down exterior wall panels. Windows so old, the glass has shattered and vanished.

But among the forgotten lies the resilience of nature. As I walked down the street splashing through small puddles, I noticed the sound of bird calls—dozens of them, each one unfamiliar to my ears. This place looked decrepit and abandoned, yet I get the feeling that it’s the most alive it’s been in decades.

When I finally got to work, I put my bag down and prepared for the day as usual. Eventually, my first period class started, and I began a short review on various coding concepts. I don’t know how it happened, but we somehow started discussing the number zero.

“Zero doesn’t exist.” I told them.

I’m sure you can imagine their surprise, or at least their disgust. They looked at me like I was crazy—Let’s face it, I am… at least a little. Many of them rolled their eyes and told me to go try telling that to their math teacher. If you know me, I’m not dissuaded so easily. We stepped away from my lesson plans for a few minutes and discussed it.

See, my argument was that zero represents nothing, right? If that’s true, then it is nothing, and what is nothing? It’s the absence of something. Right? Therefore zero doesn’t exist.

Don’t worry, I see many flaws in the argument. Yes, the number zero as a symbol and important element of modern math exists, but philosophical debate on the matter provides some rather nourishing food for thought. That’s why I stuck to the topic for a few minutes. Not really to argue, but to try to help my students exercise their critical thinking muscles.

That’s one of my favorite parts about teaching coding so far—it makes you think differently. To be a good game designer, you have to change the way you look at the world. You’re not just a player anymore, you’re a designer. That means you look at every angle, every bump, every smooth line, and consider what, how, and why it is.

That’s the way I felt about my walk this morning. I noticed two distinct faces of the town I live in. One is old and forgotten, the other is fresh and alive. The contrast is beautiful. Yet, how much did I miss? That was just a single morning. If I walked it again tomorrow, what would I see? How would I feel? Would new insights creep into my mind? Or would I find myself fixed to my current frame?

That makes me think. How often do I get stuck in one frame of mind? I’m sure many people would walk down my street and miss the beautiful side. I may have seen through it this morning, but it begs the question—in what other areas of my life do I stand fixed, unable/unwilling to shift my frame of reference?

I’m going to try and make that my focus for the next little while. When I’m sure I’ve figured something out, I’ll question it. Once I find the answer, I’ll change the question slightly and question it again. Noticing the vibrant aspects of my street brought a sweet joy and satisfaction to my life and where I am. Something tells me if I try and apply this concept elsewhere, I’ll find similar results.

So, you made it all the way to the end of this post. Have you applied this concept before? How has it impacted you? Where have you found beauty in a place that others might not have? I’m all ears, and genuinely curious. Who knows, maybe if we start talking, we’ll find such a case together.