How Our Assumptions Shape the Way We See the World
Photo by Ales Krivec on Unsplash
We all have something we think of when we hear certain words—conditioned thoughts amalgamated with personal associations. These words together form the lexicon from which our present unfolds, the boundaries within which we think and operate.
If something different—a new word, a new or unfamiliar meaning, or a contradictory meaning for an existing word—appears, we often reject it, especially when it somehow conflicts with something already defined and established in our lexicon.
This can be useful—such as rejecting something that relabels servitude as generosity, for example, or abuse as consequences.
But even more often, it isn't helpful. Our lexicons can prevent us from expanding the boundaries of possibility in our lives—the boundaries for joy and peace, contentment and gratitude. We become stuck and confused about why things aren't changing as much as we genuinely wish they would.
Here's a story from a conversation I once had with someone I was getting to know that demonstrates this clearly.
The topic of religion and beliefs came up with Baron, and I explained that I'm not Christian or religious, but deeply spiritual. I believe, in some ways, that all the world's religions are organized around the same principle: living with love in your heart and actions as a guiding principle.
Here was his response:
“I struggle with what all may fall into the basket of spiritual. It seems too vague for my tastes and is most often a lot of ‘woo-woo’ co-opted by stunningly affluent white folks. However, I’m an absolutely firm believer in ‘if it’s harmless to others and healthy for you, keep rocking out.’ Even if it’s a placebo, if rubbing a rock 3 times before you mentally run your hymn, then breathe out the bad keeps a person working towards their goal or find some modicum of peace, then I give it a green light. I remember talking to a woman about her crystals, reiki practices, and how she came to her beliefs. To be clear, while I don’t subscribe to the beliefs myself, I see no harm in it. On the contrary, if it helps someone or helps that someone help someone else find peace, I’ve got no dog in the fight. At the same time, I think there’s so much intolerance, we’re as a collective moving towards a baseline defensiveness. I shared with the woman that I don’t subscribe to energy work and crystals. Unfortunately she saw my stances as skeptical of her beliefs in general and specifically attacking her practice. The conversation broke down… I should be saying ‘smudge away, buddy!’”
Take a moment, or several, before continuing. Let the story sink in, and then ask yourself a few questions:
What is your initial impression?
Do you feel yourself pulled to one side or the other?
Did you find yourself automatically agreeing with certain parts? Which parts?
Did you find yourself automatically recoiling from certain parts? Which parts?
What is your reaction overall?
Now, using the information from your reactions to these questions, read Baron's response again—but this time, with an awareness of how you reacted. See if you can actively release those judgments and read from an unbiased, uninvested, neutral perspective.
Do you notice anything different this time?
What, if anything, would change in your responses to the questions above?
From the surface, there are two interpretations: Baron's, that the world and the woman are too defensive, and the woman's, that Baron was essentially being dismissive.
So which one is right?
Both.
And neither.
Both because Baron is being dismissive and the woman is being defensive, and neither because neither is seeing the full picture.
And that's normal. We naturally see things from our own perspective. It takes intentional effort and practice to also view things through a zoomed-out lens that isn't identified with or attached to any one perspective. Doing so makes it possible to understand both perspectives—or all of them, if you're dealing with more than two.
Let's break this down by following my actual real-time internal flow of reaction to Baron's message.
I bristle and feel immediately dismissed by his use of the word “woo-woo.” This directly connects to years of having my interests and curiosity in spiritual expansion ridiculed by friends and family as woo-woo, fake, and ridiculous, as well as my attempts to destigmatize my own conditioning so I can fully embrace my curiosity.
I soften slightly because at least he's not trying to push his own beliefs onto me, which is often what I encounter.
I read the part about the other woman's response and think, “Well, no shit, Sherlock—you DID dismiss her beliefs.” But I have the uncomfortable dissonance of also agreeing with him about baseline defensiveness.
I step away, allow myself to feel annoyed, then let it go—and yes, I did this by exhaling it from my body—leaving me with only the dissonance. I didn't rush to resolve it, and the next day, I read through the message again.
I see both sides and my dissonance dissolves. They're not opposing perspectives, simply both incomplete. Baron uses language that is casually dismissive and somewhat condescending. The woman—and myself, initially—became immediately defensive without considering the whole of what was being communicated, which was an attempt to communicate a kind of openness and acceptance. Baron showed genuine curiosity about how she arrived at her beliefs and what they were. Additional communication might have resolved the tension here.
On the surface, this is what the unraveling looks like, from my initial bristly reaction over the next day and a half. Fortunately, I've learned that when I have a strong reaction like I did in this example, it's usually better to pause and take some time before responding.
Usually, anyway. I'm by no means any more perfect than the next person.
Like trees, however, what's visible on the surface is only part of the story. Beneath the surface, supporting what's visible, is a vast and intricate network of roots.
So let's get our hands—not more efficient tools like trowels or shovels, because they also sever as they go and we want to preserve—in the soil and start digging, shall we?
Let's put this into the context of word usage and get back to how this relates to our lexicons in life. We'll do this using a simplified example.
Imagine your child comes up to you excitedly with something in their hand and presents you with a dandelion.
To you, that dandelion is a weed. To the child, it's a beautiful flower.
If you respond with something like, “Thank you, but that's just a weed,” or “just a dandelion,” you have communicated not only your opinion about that dandelion, but a diminution of the child's excitement—that it isn't warranted and that there is no gratitude for what the child has done by picking something they find beautiful, thinking of you, and gifting it to you.
If, on the other hand, you look through the child's eyes and see the magic of something yellow sprouting from the grass, feel their desire to share that magic, to give that special find to you, you likely will respond differently—with excitement and gratitude—and see the child's eyes light up.
Does that require you to decide that you love dandelions or want them in your yard?
No.
You can still choose to see the dandelion as a weed while understanding why the child doesn't.
The first provides a judgment. The second removes the judgment.
The first is what Baron—and even the woman—did in the example I provided earlier. He said you can believe what you want, even if that thing is silly and fake, which is dismissive and not accepting at all, really. And her response was that if you don't agree with her, you're intentionally attacking her, which was clearly not his intention.
Both occur because of a restrictive lexicon.
Baron says x, y, and z practices are fake, full stop.
The woman's lexicon says anyone who doesn't agree is intentionally belittling me, full stop.
And so they arrive at an impasse.
If their lexicons were expanded so Baron's allowed for the possibility that not understanding something doesn't mean it isn't real, and the woman's allowed for the possibility that a person's intentions aren't always well expressed, this story likely would have ended differently for them.
So how do we expand our lexicons?
Taking your time to understand this article and what it’s teaching is one step in that direction.
Intentionally practicing pausing before you respond to ask what assumptions might be hiding in your reaction is another.
Asking yourself why—what's underneath your first strong reactions, especially when they're negative.
Assessing before you speak how your own words might feel if they were spoken to you instead.
And more.
Ultimately, though, it comes down to a desire to expand and a willingness to practice and cultivate presence.
That's it.
The ways in which you can practice are practically unlimited, but all of them require presence. And when you begin to cultivate your ability to remain present, you are automatically expanding your toolkit for creating a broader lexicon.
Perhaps that's the real invitation: not to abandon the lexicon we've built, but to become curious about where its boundaries came from—and whether they still serve us.
Because sometimes the most important thing we can discover isn't that we were wrong.
It's that there was more to see.