The Art of Understanding Others (Without Losing my Mind)

What skills or lessons have you learned recently?

In an increasingly polarized world, it’s easier than ever to believe that our way of thinking is the only way. After all, we have algorithms to confirm our opinions, friends who nod vigorously at everything we say, and families who (for the most part) learned long ago not to argue with us at Thanksgiving dinner.

But here’s the thing: real growth happens when we step out of our cozy little bubbles and try to understand someone else’s perspective. I’s not easy. It’s messy, often awkward, and sometimes downright hilarious.

Take my neighbor, for instance. He’s obsessed with fishing. Not just the “grab a rod and toss it in a lake” kind of fishing—no, he’s the type who gets up at 4 a.m., speaks passionately about bait preferences, and uses phrases like “the fish were biting today” as if he’s negotiating peace treaties.

For 2 years now, I’ve nodded politely and thrown a smile his way when he told me the fish were biting, especially since often he came back empty handed. I wondered what could possibly be so exciting about sitting on a boat for hours, waiting for a fish that might never show up.

One day, this summer, I agreed to join him on one of his fishing trips. This, I figured, would be a relaxing day spent chatting, soaking up the sun, and waiting for a bite. What I didn’t anticipate was the sheer complexity of the whole ordeal. Did you know there are approximately 9,000 different kinds of lures, each with its own mysterious purpose? Neither did I. Or that fish, apparently, care whether the bait “matches the hatch”? Whatever that means.

As I fumbled with a fishing rod, my neighbor patiently explained his methods, grinning like some kind of angling philosopher. It wasn’t just about catching fish, he told me—it was about being present. Listening to the water, feeling the tension on the line, and learning to read the subtle signs of movement below the surface.

Somewhere between my third tangled reel and my fifth attempt to cast without hitting myself in the back of the head, I started to see what he meant. Fishing wasn’t just a hobby—it was a way of meditating, of finding peace in a world that never stops moving. I now had a better understanding of why he loved it.

This is the power of extending ourselves to understand others. It’s not about becoming a diehard fisherman or suddenly craving fried trout—it’s about showing up and trying to see the world from someone else’s perspective.

The act of stepping into someone’s world has a way of humbling us. It makes us realize how much we don’t know—and how much there is to learn. It’s not always comfortable, and it’s often ridiculous (I accidentally hooked the back pocket of my jeans while fishing), but it opens doors to connection and empathy that can’t be unlocked any other way.

You don’t have to love fishing—or knitting, or jazz, or whatever someone else’s “thing” is—to understand it. You just have to care enough to try. And maybe, in the process, you’ll discover something you didn’t expect—not just about them, but about yourself.

So the next time someone invites you into their world, even if it feels a little out of your depth, grab your metaphorical fishing rod and dive in. Who knows? You might not catch a fish, but you just might catch a better understanding of the people around you—and maybe even a good laugh at your own expense.