Have you ever felt stuck? Like you’re running on a treadmill, putting in the effort but going absolutely nowhere? I have. For years, I was convinced my happiness was waiting just over the next hill—a promotion, a bigger house, a slimmer waistline. I was viewing my entire life through a lens of lack, and let me tell you, it was exhausting.
Then, a few years ago, I had a conversation that cracked that lens wide open. I was having coffee with a friend, and I found myself in a familiar spiral, envying a mutual acquaintance’s seemingly perfect life—the luxury vacations, the designer handbags, the effortless glamour. My friend listened patiently, then said something I’ll never forget:
“You know, I house-sat for her last summer. That beautiful, silent home? She told me it feels like a museum. She’s terrified her husband married her for her family’s connections, and she spends most of her time wondering who her real friends are. She once told me she envies my noisy, chaotic dinners with my siblings.”
The world tilted. In that moment, I realized I wasn’t seeing her life; I was seeing my own story about her life. My lens was focused solely on what I perceived she had, completely blind to what she might lack or what she might secretly ache for.
That’s the thing about our personal lenses: they filter reality. They highlight certain things and obscure others, and we often forget we’re even wearing them.
The Comparison Trap: A Dirty Window
We all do it. We scroll through social media and see the curated highlight reel—the graduation, the wedding, the tropical sunset—and we compare our behind-the-scenes to someone else’s greatest hits. We see the neighbor’s new car and feel a pang, not knowing they’re up to their eyeballs in debt and constant stress. We envy the colleague with the seemingly boundless freedom, unaware of the profound loneliness that can sometimes accompany it.
It’s like looking at the world through a dirty, smudged window. We think the view is bleak, but maybe we just need to clean the glass.
What if the “poor” person, rich in love and trust, is living a life the “wealthy” person dreams of? The currency of joy isn’t always printed on paper.
So, How Do We Clean Our Lens?
Changing your perspective isn’t about slapping on a fake smile and chanting “good vibes only.” It’s a conscious, sometimes gritty, practice of reframing. Here’s what has worked for me, born from stumbles and small victories:
1. Practice “And” Thinking
This was a game-changer. I used to think in terms of “but.” “I love my job, but it doesn’t pay enough.” This negates the first part! Try switching to “and.” “I love my job, and I’m exploring ways to increase my income.” It allows two truths to coexist. Your life can be messy and beautiful, challenging and full of growth.
2. Conduct a “Reverse Envy” Audit
When you feel that green-eyed monster stirring, pause. Ask yourself: “What is the assumed narrative here?” Then, challenge it. If you’re envying someone’s seemingly carefree solo travels, flip the script. What might be the hidden challenges? Loneliness? Lack of deep roots? Now, look at your own life. What do you have in your “chaotic” family life or rooted community that provides what they might miss? This isn’t to diminish others, but to re-appreciate your own landscape.
3. Zoom In and Zoom Out
Our lenses often get stuck on one focal length.
- Zoom In: On a bad day, get microscopic. Find one tiny, good thing. The warmth of your coffee mug. The sound of rain. The way your dog sighs in their sleep. Gratitude lives in the details.
- Zoom Out: When you’re fixated on a problem, pull back. Ask, “Will this matter in five years?” Most often, it won’t. This crisis is a chapter, not the whole book.
4. Seek Out New “Light Sources”
Your perspective is shaped by what you feed it. If you only consume media that fuels anxiety or comparison, your lens will darken. Intentionally seek out:
- Stories of resilience and kindness.
- Conversations with people from different generations, cultures, or walks of life.
- The wisdom in books, nature, or art that challenges your usual way of seeing.
5. Embrace the “Temporary Lens”
When I’m overwhelmed, I use this trick: I imagine I’m viewing the situation as my 80-year-old future self. What would she tell me? She’d likely say, “Darling, this is just a moment. Feel it, learn from it, but don’t build a house here.” This temporary lens brings immense peace.
The View From Here
Cleaning my lens didn’t magically solve all my problems. Life still serves up its fair share of lemons. But I’ve gotten better at making lemonade—or at least laughing at the absurdity of getting hit in the head with a citrus fruit.
I now see that the life I was envying was often a mirage. The real treasure was in the messy, imperfect, authentic life I was already living—the deep talks with friends, the hard-won lessons from failures, the unconditional (and slobbery) love from my dog.
Your lens is not fixed. It’s a choice, a muscle you can train.
So, take a look around today. What if the thing you see as an obstacle is actually a stepping stone? What if the quality you see as a flaw is your most unique strength? What if the life you have right now, in all its imperfect glory, contains the very seeds of the joy you’ve been seeking elsewhere?
Wipe your lens. Adjust your focus. The world is waiting for you to see it—and yourself—in a whole new light. The best view might have been right here all along.