I was talking to someone the other day about perception (one of my favorite topics, whether it is life or literature, writing or dealing with customers) and was struck by one of those moments of insight that flash as an image and a statement so simple as to seem not only profound but suddenly so obvious you’re amazed you didn’t think of it sooner.

And yes, I know the word I should have chosen was “epiphany.” I chose to avoid that word because I wanted to keep this simple and not weigh it down with too much baggage. Words that relate to religion always carry baggage that gets in the way of clear discourse and examination: epiphany, sin, communion, ordained. (Take what you will from my list.) (Here’s where people use emotions; I don’t; if I did it would be a winking smiley face.)

So I had my little epiphany. See, I mentioned the half empty/half full glass of water cliché. Yes, cliches are overused because they are true beyond question. And so too the cliché of the half glass of water and perception. The negative perception sees it as half empty and the positive perception sees it as half full. We encourage people who are seeing their glass half empty to shift their perception (and their attitude) to the more positive half full view. Simple, really. A wonderful way to look at it.

Then there is one of my favorite homilitic images / statements. I’m paraphrasing because I don’t have a direct quote: “I lamented that I had no shoes until I saw a man with no feet.” That’s a startling and graphic way to imagine a change in perception caused by stepping outside of our parochial, self-pitying view of our “suffering.” (Some of you have heard me discuss this in regards to complaining to a person who practically daily has to give people bad news about themselves or family members. The day-ruining incident of the grumpy customer or the child who forgets to make their bed quickly pales in comparison to either telling or being told that a loved-one is dying. It, as the over-used phrase describes it, really puts it all in perspective.)

One more digression before we get back to the glass of water and my epiphany. Here’s a quote from the Talmud that I just read in Finding Water: The Art of Perseverance by Julia Cameron. “We do not see things as they are. We see them as we are.” Ah — that’s Alexander Pope’s “All is yellow to the jaundiced eye” that I have been quoting for many years. The eye-witness, as it is dramatized again and again (my favorite is in My Cousin Vinnie) is often unreliable — their accounts of the facts are often colored by their own expectations, mental states, emotions, etc. Not unlike the blind men and the elephant.

(How many of these things can I get in here? I told you I’ve been dealing with perception a long time. I want to do a discussion series on how literature has so often used the perceptions of the narrator to misdirect and mislead the reader. Poe in his short stories, Huckleberry Finn, Lolita, Mother Night (Vonnegut for you heathens) to name just a few texts I would use.)

So, my epiphany: you say your glass is half full or half empty. Fine. It can be either one that you want. But don’t forget to consider that another person would look at the same glass and, because theirs is empty, see your plenitude of water and envy that you have water while they have nothing to drink. Or the third person who doesn’t even have a glass. Not only is it about the way you look at the glass of water, it’s about the person looking at the glass. It’s no longer about you — it’s about others. You have a glass and you have water, but you complain. What about the guy without any water or without a glass to put water in if he had any water?

It’s about perspective. It’s about coming out of one’s parochial view of the world, the “it’s all about me” attitude, and being thankful you have that half-glass of water, thankful for the glass, thankful not to be so parched and thirsty that you gulp the water down without the time to think about it all. Yes, we all want more, want something else, want a full glass of water — and not just any glass, but a cut-crystal glass. (I jokingly boast that I drink out of crystal every day — which I do. It doesn’t make the Pepsi taste different. I just like the glasses.)

I get caught up in bemoaning my partial glass of water and don’t take the time to be glad for having it. And all of the other blessings in my life. (Now there’s a loaded word and a perception-changer. Try thinking about things as “blessings” and it really messes with  how you handle even the most mundane articles. TP is a blessing. A cell phone is a blessing. Clean jeans are a blessing. I’ll stop.) I need to step out of my little bubble of perception and look at my life and what I have from a different point of view.

Things look a lot better.

And if you were waiting for it:

“Could be worse. Could be raining.”