Your reality is as you perceive it to be. So, it is true, that by altering this perception we can alter our reality. – William Constantine
Imagine this: you’re being shoved into a 12-foot-tall metal gate; you’re stepping on other people’s shoes; others are crushing your smallest toes; the skies open up and suddenly you find your hair is damp; policemen and policewomen are shouting at the civilians who are blocking the bike path; the streets reek of horse shit—an odor so pungent it almost lands on your tongue; elbows of people around youth the sides of your abdomen, jolting you and causing you to throw your own elbow back at them; paranoia sets in about pickpockets—signs are posted everywhere surrounding the palace—so you clench your purse closer to your chest, knuckles white because your wallet and passport are in there. It’s an overwhelming scene for anyone standing there, or if you’ve been there long enough, you’re more likely to be sitting on the pavement by the time the ceremony actually begins. You’re tired of being shoved around, people are bumping into you left and right, trying their best to squeeze past you only to find there isn’t any room for them to go. But they’ll make room, don’t worry; anything to get a few inches closer to those tall gold and black metal gates that surround Buckingham Palace.
Now imagine this: picture the scene described above. Only this time, you’re 7 years old and no taller than 4 feet. You can’t see a thing besides shoes, kneecaps, and belts. And at the Changing of the Guard ceremony, the lower halves of civilians and tourists is not the sight you came to see.
Your grandfather notices your view, or lack thereof, and without a word, he scoops you up and rests you high up on his broad shoulders, your feet dangling in front of his chest. Your dad stands on the ground next to you as you’re hoisted 6 feet into the air, giving you the view you came for and the one you truly deserve. It’s an advantage: being this small and young. You laugh at the adults below you who have to stand there on the ground, with tired eyes and sore feet from being there for over an hour to ensure they snagged a spot with a worthy view. You taunt the shorter adults who need to stand on their tippy toes just to catch a glimpse of what is on the other side of the gates, and even then, seeing anything depends on how tall the people in front of them are.
You are the tallest one in your section outside of the gate—you have hands-down the best view of the ceremony. You see the Old Guard pass the key to the palace to the New Guard: the physical transfer of responsibility and duty between the protectors of Her Majesty. You are our eyes. You can see what we on the ground cannot. Cherish your perspective from up there. Your ankles won’t hurt from standing for hours. Your arm won’t hurt from having your camera phone extended through the gate to ensure a recording of the ceremony that is unobstructed by people and the vertical bars of the gate that surround the royal building.
You keep your dad close, making sure he is still standing next to you as you wrap your left arm around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you and your grandfather. It would be easy to lose him here, but his ash gray snowflake cap and round glasses make him easily distinguishable in a crowd where almost everyone is unrecognizable. Everyone looks similar to the person they’re standing next to: overtired eyes, shoulders slumping from the weight of heavy bags, rolling their ankles, and cracking their backs, an occasional rub to the temples from dehydration and caffeine withdrawal. You can even feel your grandfather’s shoulders begin to drop as you sit on top of them. You feel your own overtired eyes grow heavy. It’s still early in the morning and the ceremony doesn’t start for at least another half hour. You could’ve used another hour or two of sleep before venturing out into the crisp Westminster air with all these tall strangers. You rest your left cheek on the soft wool of your dad’s hat, the warmth a pleasant contrast with the cold rosiness of your cheeks.
From 8 feet in the air you can see the people on the ground below you, struggling to stay awake on their feet as they get pushed left to right, front to back. Some who started right against the gates now shuffled to the back, lost in the sea of bodies, with a view no longer attainable. You almost feel selfish that your biggest complaint is you need another hour of sleep. Don’t allow that selfishness to creep its way in. Take it in the view and allow yourself to see things from this new perspective.
Being eight feet tall may put you a head and a half above the rest of the crowd outside the gates of Buckingham Palace, but what about seeing the city of London run on for miles—north, south, east, and west—from the 35th floor of a postmodern Fenchurch Street skyscraper? Simply put, being 500 feet over London changes how you feel about the view of the city and its people. The River Thames does not run nearly as fast as it does when you are riding its waves, the London Eye resembles the size of an American dime, the regality of the Tower Bridge is enhanced, and the city doesn’t seem to end.
It almost sounds like being in a fishbowl or underwater: the sounds are muffled, people don’t speak as loudly, you don’t hear as many f-bombs, car horns, and police sirens. Instead, you overhear conversations about a girl wanting to marry her boyfriend in an accent that tickles the eardrum and sounds more like music than a casual “spill the tea” session between friends, or in this case— “spill the mimosas.” You hear coffee and drink orders. You can hear the cappuccino machine whirring and spitting. You can hear the toasted bread of the tomato and mozzarella panini crunch from the table behind you and the clinking of wine and beer glasses during a heartfelt “Cheers!” from the table to your left.
Time is slower in this fishbowl and this is the London we expect to experience: this romanticized utopia where people sound like royalty, offer you tea, cross their legs, and fold their hands. This assumption leaves you with the impression that the English don’t curse or use foul language (they do), are very subtle and polite (they are not) and will be welcoming of Americans (they are not). To get the experience of that Jane Austen, utopian, idealistic London, stay 35 floors above the city and never step down into its streets.
Thirty-five stories below is an entirely different experience. English people do and will curse, foul language is a part of their repertoire, they are extremely blunt and forward, even more so after a few too many (cups of tea, what did you think I meant?!), and sometimes, they aren’t very welcoming of Americans—especially when you ask for the bill to be separated by party before you order your meal. Car horns are loud, and police and ambulance sirens are piercing to the ears, nowhere near as satisfying as the accents they have. You don’t hear pleasant conversation, only a homeless man begging for spare pence and pounds outside the local Tesco Express. You’ll get honked at, you’ll piss people off, and you’ll get yelled at for it. People will flip you the bird and you’ll feel obligated to reciprocate in a similarly vulgar way. More often than not, you’ll do just that. Like any city, it’s fast and always moving. People, bicycles, and automobiles will run you over if you stop to breathe, which isn’t recommended in city streets, although London is seemingly tidy by city standards. Breathe, but keep walking while you do.
There seems to be a sense of insignificance when you’re on the ground. You’re surrounded by skyscrapers so you’re one of the smallest things. You’re surrounded by centuries of history making you one of the youngest things. Small and young: insignificant in the city streets but unreachable on your grandfather’s shoulders at Buckingham Palace. Appreciate the change in perspective. Recognize and take notice of the sights, sounds, and smells of the city whether it be from the streets, three feet above a sea of people who line the gates of Buckingham Palace, or 35 stories in the air. Because that’s the thing about changing your perspective: once you do, what you perceive becomes your reality.