We like to believe we see things “as they are.” But often, what we see is shaped by the lens we’re looking through.
Take something as ordinary as a desk.
Some days I look at mine and see nothing but clutter — papers stacked, pens scattered, a coffee cup that should have been washed yesterday. On those days, the desk feels like chaos, a mirror of my own inner restlessness.
Other days, I hardly notice the clutter at all. The same desk becomes background noise, something I can work around without much thought. And sometimes, I even see it as “organized enough.” I know where things are, even if they’re layered under other things.
The desk hasn’t changed. What’s shifted is me — my mood, my energy, what I’m carrying inside.
This is the quiet truth mindfulness reveals: our perception isn’t fixed. It bends and shifts with the lens we’re looking through in the moment.
And just as it’s true with a desk, it’s true with people.
One day, someone’s words might feel sharp or dismissive. Another day, the very same words might land as neutral, or even caring. Sometimes we see someone as difficult; other times, we see their effort, their humanity. The person hasn’t necessarily changed — but our lens has.
Mindfulness helps us notice the lens itself. Instead of asking, “Is this desk messy or not?” or “Is this person difficult or not?” we can ask, “How am I relating to this right now?”
That subtle shift opens the door to compassion.
When we recognize that our inner state colors what we see, we can soften. We can pause before judgment. We can remember that what feels like “truth” in the moment may simply be a reflection of our own condition.
At Magnolia Pathways, this is the heart of our practice: creating space to notice the lens, to meet ourselves and others with steadiness, and to remember that life is rarely black and white. It’s a spectrum — of moods, of perceptions, of possibilities.
The desk will always have papers. People will always have complexities. But when we see through the lens of mindfulness, we discover that compassion is always within reach.
What’s something in your life that looks different depending on the lens you’re seeing through?