Perspective shifts don’t always have to be huge, all-encompassing, life-changing affairs. Sometimes it’s about the little things.
The old town area in my hometown is a UNESCO heritage site with loads of medieval buildings and cobblestone roads. I’ve walked the same route from the train station to the other side hundreds if not thousands of times over more than 30 years. I know the specific cobblestones that are a stumbling hazard, where the pigeons like to hang out (poop hazard) and which paths the tourists like to take (congestion hazard).
But this time I wanted to take the most direct route. So tourist alley it was.
I darted in between all the excitedly chattering and compulsively photographing islands of tourists. The loud school groups, the families, the umbrella-led guided tours, the endearing old couples who both looked like life-sized cue tips and everything in between.
When I finally reached the Old Town Hall Square, it was packed to the brim.
My plan was to rush on through like I always did. I just had to look at my feet and where I was going and everything would be fine. But then something caught my eye. There was an older couple with no phone or camera. In a sea of digital eyes, theirs seemed like the only ones taking in the pure, unfiltered reality. And they were looking up for some reason. So I looked up.
And it was as if I was walking around a completely new town. The old tile roofing, the gothic windows, the small towers and weather vanes hidden here and there. The silhouettes of the roofs against the summer sky. Usually I just saw… Cobblestone.
I reached the edge of the Town Hall Square. The sky was bright blue, but there was a singular cloud. It positioned itself right next to the tower of the Town Hall. I was certain someone would step out of the window of the tower and sail away on that cloud. It was a Grimm fairy tale view. A Disney movie view. And I was right there, living in it.
So now I look up more often.