After checking my son into his recreational class, I headed to the bleachers to sit with the other parents. Not long after I sat down, a mom in front of me turned and said, “I bet Amy will know.”
I’d only met this person in passing—just enough to exchange polite smiles while settling in to watch class—but I’m always up for small talk and making new friends.
“I’m intrigued,” I said. “What do you think I’ll know? No guarantees, but I’ll do my best.”
Turns out, the question was about Minot’s flood protection plan—specifically the construction currently interrupting some of our city’s most beloved summer pastimes: Roosevelt Park Pool, the skate park, the playground, and the zoo. She followed it with a side note about detours and the road construction currently blocking some major intersections.
I’ll admit, I was flattered that she thought I might have an inside scoop. And while I know the basics (and by basic, I mean the information gathered from watching local news and doing some light Googling), my real wheelhouse is more about playground slides, free ways to have fun, and knowledge of often-overlooked community resources.
Soon, a few others joined the conversation—each chiming in with their own grievances about construction, overcrowded splash pads, and days that were just too humid. More than answers, it seemed like everyone was simply looking for a place to air their frustration—and for someone to affirm their complaints. Like all humans, they wanted to be heard and understood—we can all relate to that. The inconvenience in front of them loomed so large that they couldn’t see anything good, and couldn’t quite pivot to a different topic.
The negative camaraderie was spiraling. And since I couldn’t offer meaningful answers or a helpful way to reframe the conversation, I quietly excused myself to watch class from a different vantage point. From there, I watched the class while also replaying the conversation in my mind.
Why wasn’t I as bothered? Why do some of us see construction projects as personal attacks on our plans and commutes, while others can overlook them entirely? Why do small annoyances sometimes spark a flood of complaints, and other times, even tough situations barely rattle us?
I think it comes down to vantage point.
Once I moved positions, I not only had a better view of my son running and jumping—I had a clearer mind and a sense of peace after removing myself from the negativity.
When my nephew was a toddler, he’d do just about anything to see construction trucks. He was mesmerized by the machines and the people who knew how to operate them. From one perspective, construction zones were messes and sources of inconvenience. From his perspective, they were open-air museums—entertaining, inspiring, awe-inducing.
My niece, on the other hand, was a preschool train fanatic. She’d cheer whenever my sister got stopped at a railroad crossing—especially if the train came to a complete stop. From the driver’s seat, that train meant delay and rerouting. From her vantage point, it was a game, a spectacle, and even a chance to take a new path home.
I love an object lesson, and that’s what I got on the bleachers that day. It wasn’t a comfortable conversation, but it was a beautiful reminder: when we can’t control the circumstances around us, we can control our vantage point.
We can’t dictate how others think or speak, but we can fine-tune our own perspective. We can choose to see the good—to look forward to a smooth road, an improved park, or a community project completed. We can choose our vantage point so our vision isn’t blocked by frustration.
We can’t control how others think or speak, but we can fine-tune our own perspective. We can choose to see the good—to look forward to smoother roads, improved parks, or completed community projects. We can adjust our vantage point so our vision isn’t blocked by frustration.
And isn’t that life? Holding on to hope that today’s inconveniences are shaping us for tomorrow’s challenges? That the bumps and slowdowns are smoothing out our rough edges, allowing us to grow into more gracious, present humans—ones who might even enjoy the ride of life more than we did the day before?
Next week, I’ll share another story about shifting perspective—this time, my own. When I began treatment with Cornerstone Chiropractic, I was seeking relief from back pain. What surprised me most wasn’t just how effective the care was, but how it made a meaningful difference in areas of my health I hadn’t expected at all.
For more on mindset, living well in Minot, and plenty of encouragement, join me online at amyallender.com or find me on Facebook and Instagram @HeyMinot.
