We zoom in to enlarge the font on our computer screens. We zoom in to find our homes on Google Earth. We zoom the view on our cameras; then we tweak our images to improve the picture.
What’s a few pixels among friends, right?
We zoom to aid exploration and discovery, with our telescopes and our microscopes. Likewise, we zoom to ponder our behaviors and motivations, to gain insight into what we’re doing.
How, and why.
The close-up has its place and its utility. But does it necessarily provide a superior look, or even a meaningful one?
Who isn’t at least a little fixated on appearances? On the face we present to the world? Women, especially?
But are we focused on details that are insignificant, as we obsess over our deepening laugh lines, our latest dating profiles, last week’s remarks to a friend, our interpersonal styles?
Is this all so much self-sabotage? Self-protection so we don’t have to truly think – or feel – or address consequences?
We seem to agonize (and second guess ourselves) over everything these days. Certainly, in our core relationships, searching for underlying causes and effects in endless streams of he said, she said. At times it’s helpful. At others, maybe we should simply take a few steps back.
Zoom out.
We examine our parenting – fretting over labels like helicopter parenting or attachment parenting – convinced that we’re not involved enough or possibly, too much, and most certainly, in the wrong way. We compare and contrast with other parents; we try harder, we try differently; we beat ourselves up.
Zoom out.
There are choices over dates and boyfriends, the hot girl or the “good” one; selections of schools and activities, neighborhoods and housing units, carpet swatches and paint chips. And what about finances? Jobs? Vacation venues if we can afford them?
Zoom out.
We zoom in, over and over, to degrees of dizzying detail that serves little point. We scrutinize, micromanage, discuss and deconstruct while focusing so tightly on our narrow view that we risk losing our orientation.
You know, the forest for the trees.
The big picture.
What we’re trying to accomplish.
I love an in-depth debate as much as anyone. I love to delve and dissect. But I hope that I do so within reason. And, with good reason. In a world where so much information (noise?) is available, where so many tools entice us, must we really autopsy each part of the patient while he is still alive? Must we dismember our relationships as they unfold? Must we applaud (or chastise) ourselves for each and every parenting maneuver?
Can we don our glasses so we may see more clearly – and leave it at that? Returning to a bit more “live and let live” – and cutting down on the zoom-and-gloom?
A powerful lens has its place, but I am reminding myself to zoom out. Way out. In daily dealings with my sons, my neighbors, my friends, my expectations of myself, my tendency toward an unachievable perfectionism in – I will grant you – select areas. My own magnifying mirrors are many, but I hope I know when to tilt the surface around and say: no, this is not the image through which to assess.
- Do you know when to zoom in and zoom out?
- Do you think we have placed too much spotlight on the internal workings of relationships?
- Have we gone overboard in our dissection of parenting styles?
Oh, my micromanaged list is driving me batty. Zoom out, Kate, zoom out! Wow, that’s a whole lot less stressful. Thanks!
It is less stressful, Kate. (I need to keep reminding myself, too.)
I was just zooming in on my laugh lines last night… lol! I am guilty of zooming in too much and trying to find that balance. I definitely should learn to zoom out sometimes.
I did in the beginning, and it led to a very difficult place, and then I just let it go. I really did, and I feel so much better now that I just let myself be the kind of parent that feels right, rather than what I’m told is right.
“… the kind of parent that feels right…”
I like that, Christine.
Knowing when to zoom in or zoom out is a function of pragmatism, which is the consolation prize that comes with laugh lines. I’m glad I have mine. So many things matter so much less when you zoom out and consider the big picture.
I like this idea of pulling back. I’m going to go around without my glasses for a day and see if it makes a difference.
Without your glasses, Wolf. Great idea. (Just not while driving, or… um, dealing with your patients?)
Zooming in too closely usually depresses me. I like the fuzzy edges.
I’m with you, TKW. There are times when “fuzzy” sounds just right.
If we all started looking at ourselves like a Monet painting, I believe we’d be happier with both ourselves and life. You can’t look at an Impressionist painting up close and see it’s beauty. You have to stand back and view every little brush dab and stroke as part of something bigger. While it’s fine to admire the nuances of technique up close, it’s not until you see it all working together that you can truly appreciate its beauty. Macro photography, detail and self-evaluation have their positives, but it’s hard on the eyes (and psyche) to only view things this way.
Wonderful way to put it, Lisa.
On the superficial level, this is why I don’t want HDTV.
More deeply, I agree. I think it’s important to think about what kind of parent, what kind of people we want to be, but when I take the step back, I realize that I already am. It’s the everyday small decisions that make up most of our story, and those decisions are based on our own instincts. I’m trying to allow myself the space to see that, while still questioning myself often enough where it leads to doing it even better.
“Based on instincts.”
I think you have a lot of wisdom, April.
“You used to be big,” someone says to Norma Desmond, a faded star of silent films, in “Sunset Boulevard.” Her reply: “I am big, it’s the pictures that got small.”
It’s such a great line, Bruce!