I will continue to insist that the real purpose of h2g2 is for us to share the view from our own windows. I mean that both literally – I frequently point the camera in that direction, and encourage you to do the same – and figuratively. By figuratively, I mean that you should begin by acknowledging the particularity of your own viewpoint. You're here, and not there. You know what you know. Or at least, you think you know it. Recognise the limitations of your own horizon.

Robbie Stamp is fond of reminding people that his friend Douglas Adams liked to talk about a sentient puddle. In this parable, the puddle discovers how well it fits into the hole it's in. Well, duh: water is kind of, er, fluid. But Douglas Adams' puddle is insufferably egocentric: it makes ridiculous claims about its 'destiny'. It is a puddle with delusions of grandeur. It decides the hole was designed to fit it. People tend to fall into that puddle fallacy. Don't be like the puddle.

If we want to understand the world better – and do each other any good – we need to be aware that the boundaries of what we're seeing may be at least partially determined by the hole our puddle is in. The hole can be physical: especially during the current pandemic, we may not be getting out a lot. The hole can also be metaphysical: we may be limiting our mental and spiritual horizons by our conformity to the various communities we belong to. Those communities may be partly our choice. They may also be imposed on us by circumstance.

When younger, I chose to study and work in other countries. I'm a professional foreigner, anyway: I have never felt completely a part of any landscape, no matter how much I like it. Living in Germany or Greece, or staying in another country, was convenient for me. Other people didn't expect me to share their experiences or outlook. Usually, they'd be glad to show me around their puddle, and I'd enjoy learning about it. I didn't feel pressured to conform, only to be respectful.

Might I suggest that this, too, is a habit that can be cultivated? Thinking of yourself as a tourist in other people's experiential worlds does two things. First, it relieves you of the responsibility of objecting to every little thing you disagree with. 'The annual Big Game is a really important event? That's interesting!' Rather than having to exclaim, 'I hate sport and all its works and pomps.' You don't have to mark your territory because you're not being threatened. Second, it helps remind you that you aren't always the centre of the conversation. It's not always about you.

That second point is a good one. More people than I care to think about seem to be playing a little private game in which they earn points for shifting the subject of any conversation to themselves in fewer than four moves. This is a terrible habit, people. If you do that, you rob yourself of the joy of learning. You will also find that people avoid talking to you. A coworker of mine did that so often that you could tell she was doing it at a distance: the knot of people at the water cooler would disperse as if by magic within 30 seconds of her joining the circle.

Apropos of that point: could you try this experiment for me? Just to see if it helps. If you read an ongoing thread in the Post, and feel you'd like to comment, stop and think: is my comment about what's being discussed, or am I changing the subject? And then, if you're changing the subject, start a new conversation thread under the same article. I'm sure everybody would appreciate it. They might enjoy discussing the new topic, and the author and original poster won't feel you've 'hijacked' the old thread. This is a way to exercise good cyber-citizenship and contribute to increased happiness among hitchhikers.

Years ago, I was riding on a bus in Bonn. A well-dressed middle-aged couple got on. They bought tickets, but they didn't seem to understand that they were supposed to stamp them in the machine. Another passenger kindly showed them how.

'Well! Whoever heard of such a thing?' remarked the man in American-accented English.

His wife laughed. 'We've seen a lot of strange things in this country, but since we're leaving tomorrow, I don't want to learn anything new.'

The whole bus laughed, because the whole bus understood them. Bonn was the capital at that time, and the bus was headed for the government-and-diplomat section of town.

We can be good tourists of each other's territory. Or we can be bad tourists. It's up to us. We can also be good tour guides, or bad ones. Bad tour guides bully the tour group. They tell the tourists things they never wanted to know. They accuse them of having attitudes they don't have, like the motivational speaker in Leverkusen who jumped to the conclusion that I supported the Vietnam War or the Romanian television interviewer who assumed I really liked Ronald Reagan. I'm fairly sure that interview ended up on the cutting room floor.

When sharing your world with others, try to find out what they would like to know. Don't bully them. Try not to overshare. If you feel they are trying to bully you, just go away. Don't try to convert them to your point of view.

Between being good tourists and better tour guides, we might just improve the internet landscape. We also might manage to carve out bigger puddles for ourselves. Or better-shaped ones.

Dmitri Gheorgheni

15.03.21 Front Page

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