The World Through Your Eyes Is Just One in a Billion

Introduction: Territory Beyond the Map

It was eleven o’clock at night, and the conference room at “Singularity Infinite” was still brightly lit, but the air was as cold as ice.

CEO Li Zhe, once a visionary who could ignite the entire team with his passion, now leaned wearily back in his chair, his coffee long since cold. Opposite him sat the company’s technical soul, CTO Zhang Yi. Zhang Yi’s fists were clenched tightly, veins bulging on the back of his hands, utterly silent. Chen Jing, the marketing partner, sat between them, trying to bridge the invisible, bottomless chasm at the conference table with gentle words.

Three months ago, they had just secured their Series A funding; the investors’ celebratory banquet felt like yesterday. Back then, they were comrades-in-arms, the closest allies who had emerged together from a garage cafe. They had jointly sketched out the grand blueprint for “Singularity Infinite” on a blank sheet of paper, firmly believing they understood each other better than anyone else in the world.

Now, the “war” was ignited by the investors’ “military order” for a threefold user growth in the next quarter.

In Li Zhe’s view, this was the only path to the company’s survival. He had to seize this window of opportunity and capture the market at all costs. He fully supported Chen Jing’s aggressive marketing plan, which meant rapid product iteration, even at the expense of some stability and technical elegance. His perspective was firmly fixed on the capital market, competitors, and that steep growth curve.

But in Zhang Yi’s eyes, this was tantamount to drinking poison to quench thirst. He believed the product’s soul lay in its excellent technical architecture and perfect user experience. To pile up a bunch of crude features for short-term market data was to “murder” the company’s future. He could not tolerate his proud code becoming a buggy “marketing tool.” His perspective was deeply rooted in the engineer’s value system, the product’s long-term vitality, and the defense of the team’s technical culture.

“You’ve changed, Li Zhe,” Zhang Yi finally spoke, his voice hoarse. “All you see are numbers now.”

“You’re too naive, Zhang Yi!” Li Zhe suddenly sat up straight. “We have to survive first! Survive! Do you understand? Your perfectionism will drag us all into the grave!”

They both believed they were acting in the company’s best interest. They both thought the other was unreasonable. They both felt they saw the truth, while the other was blinded by something.

This argument had no winner. It was like a drop of strong acid, corroding the core trust of the team. Their once-proud “brothers united in heart” was torn to shreds under the immense tension of differing perspectives.

The predicament of “Singularity Infinite” is a microcosm of countless organizations, families, and even individual fates. It reveals a cruel truth: the strongest fortresses are often not destroyed by external enemies, but by the “perspective differences” that none of us can escape from within.

Human cognition is essentially a continuous struggle between the powerful gravity of “egocentrism” and the eternal desire to “understand the world.” Each of us lives in a “reality tunnel” constructed by our own experiences, positions, and emotions, mistakenly believing that the scenery in this tunnel is the entirety of the world.

This article aims to provide you with a complete “cognitive prison break” guide. It is not an easy read, but a challenging intellectual expedition. We will start from the most microscopic self-awareness and move upwards layer by layer, like an astronaut breaking free from gravity, flying towards an ever-expanding cognitive universe.

We will explore this leap in four parts:

• Part One: The Self Universe, where we will deconstruct the “self” we know best yet are most unfamiliar with, seeing how it is constructed and how it traps us.
• Part Two: The Bridge of Empathy, where we will learn to deeply dive into others’ worlds, not just superficial sympathy, but truly walking a mile in their shoes.
• Part Three: The Observer’s Eye, where we will train ourselves to transform from confused “actors in the play” to clear-headed “play-watchers,” discerning the invisible patterns of interaction in relationships.
• Part Four: Grand Coordinates, where we will zoom out to the farthest extent, learning to reposition ourselves in the vast rules of systems and the long river of time.

The destination of this journey is to help you build a “panoramic mindset.” It is not about abandoning yourself to become a detached, emotionless “god,” but about growing “soft boundaries” while maintaining a “solid core.”

Now, put away your old map. For we are about to venture into territory beyond the map.

Part One: The Self Universe: Construction and Deconstruction of the First-Person Perspective

Chapter One: I Am Me – The Origin and Illusion of Self-Awareness

Before all stories began, there was an “I.”

This “I” is the singularity of our cognitive universe. All perceptions, thoughts, emotions, and memories revolve around this core, forming each person’s unique mental galaxy. We are so familiar with it that we rarely question: Where does this seemingly solid, constant “I” come from? Is it really what we think it is? To break free from the gravity of “egocentrism,” the first thing we must do is, like an astrophysicist, trace the origin of the universe to examine the birth and construction of this “singularity.”

From Chaos to Order: The Stranger in the Mirror

A newborn’s world is a chaotic ocean. Here, there is no distinction between “I” and “not-I.” The mother’s embrace, the warmth of milk, its own cries, the light and shadow of the external world—all blend into a flowing, boundless holistic experience. The infant exists, but it does not know of “itself.”

The first glimmer of “self” awareness usually occurs around the first year and a half of life, accompanied by a famous milestone—the “mirror test.” Developmental psychologists have found that an 18-month-old infant, when a red dot is placed on their nose and they are brought before a mirror, will begin to point to the red dot on their own nose, not the image in the mirror. This is a revolutionary moment. In that instant, the infant for the first time realizes that the “object” in the mirror is “I,” the “subject.” An independent self, for the first time, separated from the chaotic ocean.

Immediately thereafter, the acquisition of language provides the most powerful shaping tool for this newly born “I.” When a child learns to say the word “I,” they gain a symbol that can anchor all personal experiences. No longer a vague “hungry,” but “I am hungry”; no longer pure “happiness,” but “I am happy.” Every sentence beginning with “I” continuously strengthens, outlines, and solidifies the boundaries of this self-concept. Language, like an invisible thread, connects scattered, momentary experiences into a coherent story with a protagonist.

This process from chaos to order is a necessary journey for everyone. It gives us a stable core personality, allowing us to orient ourselves in complex social interactions. But we must also recognize that this “I” is not an innate, pure entity, but a product jointly constructed through external mirroring (others’ reactions) and internal language (self-narrative). It is more like a program than a chip.

The Weaver of Memory: The Embellished Protagonist

If language builds the framework for the “I,” then memory fills this framework with flesh and blood, making it appear vivid. We usually think of memory as a high-definition camera that faithfully records everything that happened in the past. But modern neuroscience and psychology have long ruthlessly revealed the truth: our memory is more like a skilled and extremely narcissistic screenwriter.

Memory is not “retrieval” but “reconstruction.” Every time we recall the past, the brain re-”assembles” that past event based on the current context, emotions, and beliefs. In this process, many details are forgotten, key plots are modified, and causal relationships are reshaped, all for the sole purpose of serving our current “self-identity.”

Psychologist Daniel Kahneman’s “Peak-End Rule” is an excellent example. Our memory of an experience is almost entirely determined by the feelings at the “peak” (the most intense emotional point) and the “end,” while most information during the process is ignored. An experience lasting an hour, painful during the process but with a surprising ending, will be remembered as much “better” than a bland, uneventful two-hour experience.

What does this mean? It means that our proudly held “life story” is actually a film that has undergone extensive “artistic processing.” We are the protagonist, director, and editor of this film. We unconsciously embellish our motives, downplay our faults, exaggerate our achievements, and find a reasonable, self-elevating explanation for all misfortunes.

This “I,” woven from selective memories, is a coherent, self-consistent, and usually more “glamorous” heroic image than our true selves. We rely on this story to derive a sense of meaning and value in life, but we also become prisoners of this story, unable to accept any information that might challenge this “protagonist’s halo.”

The Body as Anchor: The Silent Language of Emotion

Beneath the high-level narratives of language and memory, self-awareness has an older, more fundamental foundation—our body.

“Embodied Cognition” theory tells us that our thoughts do not exist independently of the body; on the contrary, our bodily state profoundly shapes our cognition and emotions. Feeling “heartbroken” is not just a metaphor; the brain regions processing emotional pain highly overlap with those processing physical pain. Making a “warm” decision might simply be because you are holding a cup of hot coffee.

Our interoception—the perception of internal bodily signals (such as heart rate, breathing, gastrointestinal motility, muscle tension)—forms the most primitive background sound of self-awareness. This is a silent language that, before our consciousness perceives it, has already painted our world with a layer of emotional undertones.

A person who is constantly stressed and whose sympathetic nervous system is active will have their body continuously sending “danger” signals to the brain. Consequently, in their perception, the world truly becomes full of threats; a casual remark from a colleague might be interpreted as a provocation; an unknown task might be seen as an insurmountable challenge. Conversely, a person whose body is relaxed and whose parasympathetic nervous system is active will more easily interpret the same situations as goodwill and opportunity.

We think “I” am thinking rationally, but often, it is just our body making emotional decisions for us. This “I,” anchored by bodily sensations, is full of raw, unexamined impulses and biases.

Recognizing this threefold construction of the “I”—linguistic construction, fictionalization by memory, and bodily anchoring—is not to fall into nihilism and deny the existence of the self. Its true purpose is “deconstruction.”

When we can clearly realize that the “I” is not an indestructible diamond, but more like a fluid energy field aggregated from various elements under specific conditions, we gain the possibility of changing it. We begin to examine our language, rewrite our memories, and attend to our bodies.

This is the first step out of the self’s prison, and the most difficult one: to take the “I” we once revered off its pedestal, and, like a curious engineer, begin to study its internal structural diagram.

Chapter Two: The Subjective Barrier – The “Reality Tunnel” Surrounding Us

If the “self” we personally construct is the center of a prison, then surrounding this prison is a deep, winding, and seemingly boundless tunnel—our subjective reality. Each of us lives in such a tunnel, dug out by personal beliefs, biases, and emotions. We peer at a glimmer of the external world from one end of the tunnel and firmly believe we have seen the entire universe.

This concept of the “Reality Tunnel,” proposed by writer Robert Anton Wilson, accurately describes the core dilemma of human cognition: we can never directly experience the objective world itself; what we can perceive is always a version filtered, interpreted, and reconstructed by our own brain, this complex “processor.” And this processing is influenced by countless invisible barriers.

The Invisible Web of Cognitive Biases

Imagine your brain comes pre-installed with an efficient “information processing software.” Its primary task is not to pursue “absolute precision,” but to make judgments “fast enough” to ensure your survival. This software is our innate cognitive biases. In ancient times, they helped our ancestors make quick decisions in information-scarce jungles, a valuable evolutionary legacy. But in today’s information-explosive society, they often weave an invisible web, firmly trapping us in our subjective world.

Let’s get acquainted with some of the main “weavers” of this web:

• Confirmation Bias: This is the most powerful and pervasive bias. It acts like a loyal guard, only allowing information that conforms to our existing beliefs to enter the brain, while ignoring or misinterpreting all contradictory evidence as “exceptions” or “conspiracies.” A person who firmly believes “all crows are black” will be deeply impressed by every black crow they see, and for an occasional white crow, they will suspect it is “sick” or “dyed.” In the “Singularity Infinite” conference room, Li Zhe’s brain would automatically search for all business cases supporting “aggressive growth,” while Zhang Yi would unconsciously filter out all lessons from failures due to “technical recklessness.” They were both looking at the same world, but confirmation bias found “irrefutable” support for each of their views.

• Anchoring Effect: When making decisions, our brains are highly susceptible to the first piece of information received (the “anchor”). A classic experiment involved psychologists asking two groups of students to estimate Gandhi’s age at death, but before asking, they separately asked an irrelevant question: “Was Gandhi older or younger than 9 when he died?” and “Was Gandhi older or younger than 140 when he died?”. The result was that the first group estimated an average age of 50, while the second group estimated 67. The seemingly absurd “9 years old” and “140 years old,” like anchors, fixed people’s thinking in a narrow water area around them. In business negotiations, the party who makes the first offer often sets an unshakeable “anchor” for the entire negotiation.

• Availability Heuristic: We tend to overestimate the importance of information that is easier to retrieve from memory. Constant media reports of plane crashes make us nervous when flying, even though statistics show that the risk of car travel is thousands of times higher. Because images of plane crashes are so vivid and “available” in our memories, they distort our judgment of real probabilities. A manager who has just been exhausted by a project will unconsciously exaggerate its potential risks and difficulties when evaluating a new project, because the memory of “failure” is currently occupying the center of their thoughts.

This vast web, woven by countless cognitive biases, customizes a unique “reality filter” for each of us. Through it, we see a world that has been filtered, distorted, but logically highly self-consistent. We firmly believe our judgments are objective and rational, yet we are unaware that the “facts” foundation beneath our feet has long been riddled with holes by these invisible weavers.

The Dye of Emotion: The World Changes Color with My Heart

If cognitive biases are the engineers constructing the tunnel, then emotions are the artists painting its walls. They color every experience we have with intense subjective hues in a way we can barely perceive.

Neuroscientist Antonio Damasio’s research shows that human decisions are never purely rational. Any seemingly calm decision is deeply influenced by emotion. A person annoyed by rush-hour traffic, entering the office, will be more likely to interpret a neutral greeting from a colleague as a “malicious” interrogation; the project report they see will also appear more “flawed” than usual. Their world, in that moment, is dyed with a gloomy color by the emotion of “annoyance.”

Emotions are like a pair of “colored glasses” we constantly wear but often forget are there. When we wear “anxiety” glasses, the world is full of uncertainty and threats; when we wear “joy” glasses, the same world becomes full of opportunities and goodwill.

The problem is that we often make a serious attribution error: we mistakenly believe that it is the attributes of the external world (“this project is terrible,” “this person is annoying”) that cause our emotions. But often, the opposite is true—our internal emotional state determines how we perceive and interpret the external world.

The Birth of the “Egocentric”: Closing Eyes in a Self-Consistent Tunnel

Now, we can understand more deeply how the “egocentric” mentioned in Part One is born in their “reality tunnel.”

They are not morally corrupt; they are simply deeply hypnotized by their own efficient “brain software” and intense “emotional dyes.” Their “confirmation bias” makes them only hear praise and not see criticism; their “availability heuristic” makes them generalize a single successful experience into a universal truth; their emotions of “anger” or “pride” provide the simplest, most direct explanation for the imperfect world in their eyes—“you are wrong, not me.”

The most terrifying thing about this tunnel is its “logical closed loop.” Within the tunnel, everything is self-consistent, reasonable, and causal. Any light from outside the tunnel (different perspectives) will be regarded as “heresy” or “threat” because it cannot be explained by the logic within the tunnel. To maintain the tunnel’s stability and the unity of the “self” at its core, the “egocentric” will choose to close their eyes, refusing to see, refusing to hear.

This tunnel provides them with a false sense of security and certainty. But the cost is gradual isolation from the real world.

Deconstructing this tunnel does not mean we should completely abandon biases and emotions—this is impossible and unnecessary. Its purpose is to cultivate a “metacognitive” ability, that is, “thinking about thinking.”

When we can realize that we are in a tunnel, we have a choice. We can choose to stay in the familiar darkness, or we can choose to be brave, walk to the entrance of the tunnel, and experience the sunlight, air, and colorful scenery of the outside world that we have never seen before.

This is the “Bridge of Empathy” that we will embark on in the next part.

Part Two: The Bridge of Empathy: Deep Diving into the Second-Person Perspective

Chapter Three: Walking in Their Shoes – The Art of True “Perspective-Taking”

The only way out of the “reality tunnel” is to build a bridge to another person’s world. This bridge is “empathy,” or what we call the second-person perspective. However, in an era where the word is often misused, “empathy” is frequently misunderstood as cheap sympathy or sentimental self-pity.

True empathy is far deeper and more challenging than that. It’s not standing on your own shore, expressing sympathy for someone drowning; it’s bravely plunging into their icy, bone-chilling water, to feel their struggles and desires. It’s an art of cognition and a practice of emotion. It requires us to temporarily shed our rigid armor, put on someone else’s soft shoes, and walk a completely unfamiliar path.

Three Levels of Empathy: From Contagion to Compassion

To master this art, we first need to dissect its internal structure like a precise engineer. Psychologists Daniel Goleman and others divide empathy into three interconnected yet distinct dimensions. Understanding these three levels helps us calibrate our “empathy” compass and see where we are.

• Level One: Emotional Empathy This is the most primitive, instinctive form of empathy. It is rooted in our brain’s “mirror neuron” system. When you see a friend cry tears of joy, your eyes unconsciously well up; when you hear a colleague angrily complain, you feel a surge of irritation in your chest. You’re like a sponge, unconsciously absorbing the emotions of those around you.

  Emotional empathy is the basis for establishing emotional connections between people; it allows us to “feel what others feel.” But if we only stay at this level, empathy can also lead to tremendous exhaustion and even harm. We can fall into “emotional burnout” by being unable to separate our own emotions from others’. A counselor too immersed in emotional empathy will eventually be consumed by the client’s pain.

• Level Two: Cognitive Empathy This is the core of empathy and the key to our cognitive leap. It requires us to go beyond mere emotional feeling and actively, rationally “understand” another person’s inner world. This is an intellectual effort, attempting to answer the core question: “If I were them, what would I think? What would my world be like?”

  Cognitive empathy is the main structure of the bridge we need to build. It requires us to use all the tools mentioned earlier to reconstruct the other person’s “reality tunnel”—their beliefs, their pressures, the information they possess, their unmet needs. In the “Singularity Infinite” case, if Li Zhe and Zhang Yi could engage in cognitive empathy, they might understand that behind the other’s “stubbornness” was a self-consistent and reasonable logic.

• Level Three: Compassionate Empathy / Empathic Concern This is the highest level of empathy. Building on “feeling what others feel” and “rational understanding,” it naturally gives rise to a genuine desire to act for the well-being of the other person.

  A doctor, if only possessing emotional empathy, would tremble with excessive nervousness during surgery; if only possessing cognitive empathy, they might act like a cold machine, precisely analyzing the illness but unable to provide warm care to the patient. But a doctor with compassionate empathy deeply understands the patient’s pain (cognitive empathy) and feels their fear (emotional empathy), but more importantly, all this transforms into a powerful, calm, and focused drive to use all their lifelong knowledge to relieve the patient’s suffering.

  Compassionate empathy is the ultimate outcome of empathy. It is not an overflowing emotion but a clear, powerful benevolence. It allows us, after understanding the complexity of the world and the difficulties of others, to choose to reach out and do what we can.

Reconstructing Information and Circumstances: Empathy’s “Detective Work”

Evidently, moving from emotional empathy to cognitive empathy is the decisive step towards true “perspective-taking.” And this step, rather than being a talent, is a disciplined “detective work.” It requires us, before judging, to patiently gather and piece together “evidence” about the “suspect” (i.e., the person we want to understand), much like a detective.

Here’s a “checklist of information” for self-examination. When you try to understand others, you might want to mentally go through these questions:

1. Factual Level (Facts):

   • What are the objective facts I know about this matter?
   • Are the objective facts known by the other person exactly the same as mine? Is there an “information gap”?
   • Is it possible that what I consider a “fact” is actually just my “opinion”?

2. Situational Level (Context):

   • What physical and psychological environment are they currently in? (Public or private setting? High-pressure or relaxed state?)
   • To whom are they accountable? (Superior, family, client, team member?)
   • What resources do they have? What limitations do they face? (Time, money, power, skills?)

3. Needs Level (Needs):

   • Beneath their surface words and actions, what are their deep-seated, unmet basic needs? (According to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, is it security, belonging, esteem, or self-actualization?)
   • What are they most afraid of losing right now? What do they most desire to gain?

4. Historical Level (History):

   • How might their past life experiences have shaped their current beliefs and behavioral patterns?
   • Does our interaction repeat some pre-existing pattern from the past?

This checklist is like a detailed map that can guide us out of our narrow path to explore the vast territory of another’s world. The more complete the “evidence” we collect, the closer our “profiling” of the other person will be to reality.

The Power of Story: Encountering Others in Narrative

Besides rational checklists, there is an older and more powerful way to help us bridge the gap between people—through stories.

A good story is, in itself, an immersive “second-person perspective” experience. When we follow the protagonist of a novel, experiencing their loves, hates, successes, and failures, our brains are actually undergoing a profound “empathy exercise.” Neuroscience research has found that when listening to stories, our brain activity patterns become highly synchronized with those of the storyteller, a phenomenon called “neural coupling.” One could say that stories allow us to briefly “become” another person on a physiological level.

I recall a friend who used to be a “keyboard warrior” with strong stereotypes about the Middle East. Until one day, he stumbled upon “The Kite Runner” by Afghan author Khaled Hosseini. He said that as he followed the protagonist Amir’s footsteps through that war-torn land, experiencing friendship, betrayal, fear, and redemption, he felt a part of himself forever remained on the streets of Kabul.

From then on, he could no longer simply label the people of that country in news reports as “terrorists.” In his heart, they were no longer a vague, distant other, but concrete individuals, like Hassan, with flesh and blood, who cried and laughed, and longed for dignity and peace.

A story, just like that, effortlessly shattered a wall built by years of prejudice.

This is the power of empathy. It may not solve all problems, but it can change the person “seeing the problem.” It invites us to lay down our weapons of judgment, lower our shields of defense, and with a humble and curious heart, listen carefully to others’ stories.

Because behind those seemingly disparate stories, we will ultimately find that the desires, fears, loves, and losses that drive all people are so similar, so… relatable.

Chapter Four: The Trap of Projection – When “For Your Own Good” Becomes Harmful

Empathy is a bridge, but any bridge can be misused, even becoming a path to disaster. When our exploration of the second-person perspective is not deep or conscious enough, a psychological defense mechanism called “projection” can quietly take over this bridge, transforming it from a channel of “understanding” into a tool of “control.”

Projection, simply put, is when we unconsciously “throw” our own unwelcome thoughts, feelings, or motives onto others, firmly believing they belong to the other person. This is an extremely common psychological phenomenon; it can temporarily alleviate our inner anxiety, but in the long run, it acts like a toxin, eroding the foundation of relationships. And “I’m doing this for your own good” is the most common and destructive “curse” of the projection mechanism in intimate relationships.

The “Victim” in the Psychological Theater: A Carefully Choreographed Monologue

Let’s return to the “victim” archetype mentioned in Part One. They appear to be the most empathetic people, constantly thinking of others and putting others’ needs above their own. But if we delve into their inner world, we will find a completely different psychological drama unfolding.

The “victim’s” inner world often hides an unmet, immense craving for “being loved” and “being recognized.” However, directly expressing this craving is dangerous and shameful for them. This is because, in their upbringing, they may have learned an implicit belief: “My needs are unimportant; I am only valuable and lovable when I give to others.”

So, the “projection” mechanism steps in. They project their own inner “child craving to be cared for” onto their partner, children, or friends. They begin to “care” for the other person meticulously, but this care doesn’t stem from a clear insight into the other person’s true needs; instead, it arises from their own imagination of how they wish to be treated.

• A mother who lacks inner security might constantly call her child, asking about their well-being. She is projecting her own need for “attention” but might be depriving the child of space for independent growth.
• A husband who feels a lack of value at work might desperately buy expensive gifts for his wife. He is projecting his own desire for “affirmation” but might be overlooking that what his wife truly wants is a quiet, undisturbed deep conversation.

In this carefully choreographed monologue, the “victim” plays the role of the omnipotent “giver,” and casts the other as the “weak” person who always needs care. They immerse themselves in this feeling of “being needed,” temporarily satisfying their own sense of worth. But the person being projected upon often feels a vague sense of suffocation and guilt. They cannot refuse this “love,” because once they do, they will be labeled as “ungrateful” or “hurting the other’s feelings.”

Ultimately, this projection, in the name of “empathy,” exhausts both parties. The giver resents that their “sacrifice” didn’t receive the expected return (i.e., the other’s unconditional love and gratitude); while the receiver, whose true self was never seen or respected, chooses to distance themselves or rebel.

The Misuse of Empathy: The Violence of the Second-Person Perspective

When projection combines with power dynamics, its destructive power increases exponentially. In parent-child, teacher-student, and even some romantic relationships, the dominant party often uses their “right to interpret” the “second perspective” to engage in a subtle, irrefutable form of “mind control.”

“I’m doing this for your own good.” “I know you don’t understand now, but you will later.” “I know what you need better than you do.”

The underlying logic of these statements is: “I have already entered your second perspective for you, and I have come to a conclusion that is more ‘correct’ than your own.” This is outright cognitive violence. It denies the other person their basic dignity as an independent individual with the right to self-interpretation and decision-making.

In this relationship pattern, the weaker party gradually loses trust in their own feelings. They begin to doubt: “Am I really wrong? Am I really ‘ungrateful’?” Over time, their self-boundaries become blurred, their personal independence is severely weakened, and they ultimately become an extension of the dominant party’s will. This is the tragic root of many “mama’s boys” or “people-pleasers.”

This misuse of empathy stems from a deep-seated “desire for control” and “insecurity.” The dominant party cannot bear the anxiety of the other person being an independent, uncontrollable “other.” So, they “devour” the other’s second perspective, incorporating them into their controllable cognitive map, thereby gaining a false sense of security.

Breaking Free from Projection: From “You” to “I”

To break the spell of projection, whether as the projector or the projected, we need to undertake an exercise of “returning to self.” The famous “Nonviolent Communication” (NVC) model offers an excellent path. Its core is to clearly separate four elements: observation, feeling, need, and request.

When you want to express concern, try to abandon “you”-statements that are full of judgment, and instead use “I”-statements that describe your own state.

• Don’t say: “You’re again coming home so late; do you even care about this family anymore?” (This is a judgment, full of blame and projection.)
• Try saying: “I see (observation) that you’ve been coming home after 11 PM every day for the past three weeks. I feel (feeling) a bit lonely and worried, because I need (need) more companionship and communication between us. Would you be willing (request) to set aside an evening this weekend for us to talk properly?”

This shift in phrasing, seemingly simple, is in fact a profound cognitive revolution.

It shifts the focus of communication from “blaming the other person’s problems” to “expressing one’s own state.” It abandons the invasion and speculation of the other’s second perspective (“you don’t care about this family”) and instead genuinely opens up one’s own first perspective (“I feel lonely”).

This communication style is almost impossible to trigger the other’s defensiveness or resistance, because it doesn’t attack anyone. It’s merely an invitation, inviting the other person into your real world, and together finding a solution that can meet both parties’ needs.

For those who have long been in the role of “victim” or “projected upon,” practicing this is especially difficult, because it challenges our deepest fear—“If I truly express my needs, will I still be loved?”

But only when we dare to risk “not being loved” to truly take responsibility for our own first perspective, can we break free from the trap of empathy and build a truly equal, mutually respectful, and nurturing healthy relationship with others.

Part Three: The Observer’s Eye: The Clarity and Wisdom of the Third-Person Perspective

Chapter Five: The Freedom of Detachment – From “Actor in the Play” to “Play-Watcher”

After the self-examination of the first-person perspective and the empathetic dive of the second-person perspective, our cognitive journey is about to enter a more expansive and cooler dimension—the third-person perspective. If the first two perspectives allowed us to experience deep emotional entanglements in the interaction between “I” and “you,” then the third perspective invites us to temporarily withdraw from this entanglement, like a “play-watcher” sitting high above, quietly observing everything happening on stage.

This ability to “detach” is one of the most remarkable endowments of the human mind. It allows us to find a stable “mental anchor” amidst the turbulent waves of emotion, thereby gaining a precious inner freedom. However, like empathy, “detachment” is often misunderstood. It is not indifference, nor is it avoidance, but a clear observation imbued with compassion.

The Transcendence of the “Aloof Critic”: From Judgment to Observation

We all encountered the “aloof critic” in Part One. They are abusers of the third perspective. They seem objective, analyzing everything eloquently, but their “detachment” is often a defense mechanism. They are afraid of investing in real emotions, afraid of getting hurt in chaotic relationships, so they hide behind a safe barrier constructed by rational analysis, making cold judgments about others’ lives (and sometimes their own).

This kind of detachment is “isolation,” not “transcendence.” While it can bring temporary security, the cost is disconnection from the living experience of life, ultimately leading to inner desiccation and loneliness.

True third-person perspective, at its core, is not about “judgment,” but “observation.” It doesn’t ask “who is right or wrong,” nor does it rush to offer “solutions.” It simply, purely, and impartially “sees”—sees how “my” emotions arise, how “your” reactions are triggered, sees the constantly repeating, exhausting “dance of the relationship” between us.

This observation is compassionate. Because when we see clearly enough, we will find that the two “actors” on stage (you and I) are merely driven by their respective fears, traumas, and unmet needs, and they are all trying their best to play their roles with their limited cognition. This seeing, in itself, is a profound understanding and acceptance. It allows us to hold gentle sympathy for another person’s predicament, even when we don’t agree with their actions.

“Noise Reduction” Exercise for the Mind: Befriending Your Thoughts

To achieve this compassionate observation, we first need to learn to distance ourselves from the never-ending “thought-generating machine” within us. Our minds are constantly producing thousands of thoughts—judgments, worries, memories, fantasies… These thoughts are like an incessant “inner monologue,” constituting the main noise of our mental world. We often equate ourselves with these thoughts, letting them drag us into emotional whirlpools.

Modern psychology, especially Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) and Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), offers many powerful “cognitive defusion” techniques to help us detach from the “actor” role.

• Naming Thoughts: When a thought arises, try to label it in your mind. For example, when the thought “I’m such a failure” emerges, you can say to yourself, “Oh, my brain is playing an ‘I’m a failure’ story.” Or, “Look, the ‘self-judgment’ thought is here again.” This simple act can instantly create a tiny gap between you and your thought. You are no longer the “failure”; you are just a “person observing a ‘failure’ thought.”

• Imagine Thoughts as Passersby: Imagine your consciousness as a vast sky, and all thoughts and emotions are just passing clouds. Whether the clouds are white and light, or dark and heavy, they are merely “passersby” in the sky, coming and going. The sky itself is not harmed by the coming and going of clouds. You are that sky.

• Repeat in a Funny Voice: When you are troubled by a negative thought (e.g., “I’m doomed”), try repeating it in a very funny voice (like Donald Duck’s voice or a slow-motion playback voice) in your mind a few times. You will find that the heavy emotional power associated with that thought will quickly dissipate. It’s still there, but it can no longer control you.

The core of these exercises is to break the false equation “I = my thoughts.” Thoughts are just thoughts; they are products of your brain, your inner “weather forecast,” but they are not you. When you can create a slight distance from your surging thoughts and emotions, you create the necessary inner space for the third perspective to emerge.

Role-Playing the “Wise Advisor”: Consulting the Inner Sage

Once this inner space is opened, we can go a step further and actively “invite” a permanent “wise advisor” into it. This is a more advanced “mind theater” exercise, aimed at internalizing the third perspective from a temporary “refuge” into a stable aspect of personality.

This “inner advisor” can be any wise figure you respect. They can be a historical philosopher (like Socrates, Wang Yangming), a mentor you admire, a kind elder, or even your imagined future, more mature, wiser self.

When you face difficulties, feel lost, or are overwhelmed by emotions, you can, in your mind or in a quiet room, genuinely engage in a conversation with this advisor.

1. State Your Problem: First, as yourself (first-person), clearly state the dilemma you face and your inner feelings to your advisor.
2. Switch to the Advisor’s Chair: Then, like in the “mind theater” exercise, physically sit in another chair representing the “advisor.”
3. Respond as the Advisor: Take a deep breath and imagine you are that sage. From their height, wisdom, and compassion, what would you say to the anxious “you” from before? How would you help “them” see the whole picture? What perspectives would you remind “them” to pay attention to that have been overlooked?

The marvelous thing about this exercise is that deep within each of us lies wisdom far more profound than we imagine. It’s just that this wisdom is often obscured by our daily anxieties and mental noise. Through the ritual of role-playing as the “wise advisor,” we provide a safe and legitimate opportunity for this suppressed wisdom to “take the stage.”

By regularly practicing this, you will find that you no longer need to rely on external authority to guide you. Your inner self already possesses a constant, always available, most understanding, and never betraying “life mentor.”

This is the freedom of detachment. It allows us to find an eternal, inner “home” in a chaotic world.

Chapter Six: The Dance of Relationships – Discerning Invisible Patterns of Interaction

As we practice and gradually gain the ability to detach from emotions and thoughts, we become like a “thought drone.” Now, we can control this drone to survey the complex “battlefield” of interpersonal relationships from above, to scout out the hidden “terrain” and “formations” that ground troops (us, in the first and second perspectives) can never see.

These “terrains” and “formations” are the invisible patterns in human interaction. From a third-person perspective, many seemingly independent, accidental conflicts are actually just repetitions of a larger, deeper systemic cycle across different times and scenarios. Each of us is like a dancer, guided by an invisible piece of music, performing a “relationship dance” that has long been choreographed. If we can’t see the steps of this dance, we can only repeatedly stumble and collide, exhausting ourselves.

Introduction to System Dynamics: Seeing the “Invisible Spring” Connecting Us

To discern this dance, we need the help of a powerful thinking tool—System Dynamics. This theory, initially used to study complex organizations, is equally applicable to interpreting interpersonal relationships. Its core idea is that elements within a system do not influence each other linearly and unidirectionally, but rather form an interconnected, mutually shaping whole through a series of “feedback loops.”

Imagine an invisible “spring” between you and your partner. Every action you take pulls on this spring, affecting the other person; and the other person’s reaction, in turn, influences your next action through the spring. Seeing this “spring” and how it operates is the beginning of systems thinking.

Let’s look at two of the most common interpersonal “dance steps”:

• “Pursuer-Distancer” Pattern This is one of the most common and destructive patterns in intimate relationships. One party (the pursuer), feeling anxious or unloved, seeks connection and security by constantly “pursuing” (e.g., repeatedly communicating, questioning, demanding reassurance). However, this “pursuit” often makes the other party (the distancer) feel suffocated and controlled, triggering their defense mechanism—“distancing” (e.g., silence, avoidance, changing the subject). The distancer’s avoidance further exacerbates the pursuer’s anxiety, making them pursue even more intensely.

  From above, you would see a comical and tragic scene: one person running desperately ahead, the other desperately chasing behind. Both believe the other is the root of the problem (“Why do you always avoid me?” “Why do you always pressure me?”), yet neither sees that it is this “you chase, I run” cycle itself that has them firmly locked together. The harder they try to “solve the problem,” the tighter the noose of this pattern becomes.

• “Karpman Drama Triangle” This model, proposed by psychologist Stephen Karpman, reveals the dynamic of roles behind most dramatic conflicts. In this “triangle,” three roles constantly rotate:

  • Victim: Their catchphrase is “Poor me,” “It’s not my fault.” They avoid responsibility by playing weak and attracting sympathy and help from others.
  • Persecutor: Their catchphrase is “It’s all your fault.” They hide their inner vulnerability and fear by blaming and controlling.
  • Rescuer: Their catchphrase is “Let me help you.” They gain a sense of self-worth by constantly “saving” others, but their “help” often deprives the victim of the ability to solve problems independently, thus making the victim forever dependent on them.

  The brilliance of this drama is that the three roles constantly shift. You, playing the “Rescuer” today, might, after a failed “rescue,” become the “Persecutor” blaming the other person due to frustration; and the “Victim” you blamed might, feeling wronged, attack you in return, instantly dropping you into the “Victim” position.

  In a family, the mother who constantly complains about her husband (Persecutor) and children (Victim) might unconsciously be playing the “Rescuer” role. She confirms her importance by “saving” this chaotic family. And her husband and children “tacitly” cooperate with her, playing their respective roles, jointly maintaining the family’s painful yet stable “dramatic balance.”

Case Study: Rehearsing Life in Literature and Film

To train our eyes to identify these patterns, the best way is to analyze highly distilled samples of human relationships—excellent literary and cinematic works. They are like “flight simulators” for interpersonal relationships, allowing us to rehearse and gain insight into the various dilemmas we might encounter in real life, all within a safe environment.

Take the classic novel “Dream of the Red Chamber” as an example. From a third-person perspective, the relationship between Jia Baoyu, Lin Daiyu, and Xue Baochai forms a complex and fascinating “drama triangle.”

Lin Daiyu often occupies the “Victim” position; her sensitivity, frequent illness, and dependent status make her feel helpless, “poor me.” Jia Baoyu often plays the “Rescuer,” using meticulous care and promises of “don’t worry” to soothe Daiyu’s anxieties. However, his “rescue” is not always successful, and when he feels powerless, he falls into the “Victim” role of self-blame. Xue Baochai, on the other hand, often appears as a mature, rational “Persecutor” (or more accurately, a “maintainer of rules”); her “reasonable” admonitions often make Baoyu and Daiyu’s “true emotions” seem “imprudent,” thereby exacerbating their pain.

When we can “watch the play” with such a systemic perspective, we no longer simply argue “who is better” or “who is more worthy of love.” What we see is a tragic system: three young people trapped in their respective roles, under the pressure of the larger system called “feudal etiquette,” involuntarily enacting a love tragedy destined for no happy ending.

Leverage Points for Breaking Cycles: The Butterfly that Flaps Its Wings

The ultimate goal of discerning patterns is to change them. Systems thinking tells us that the most effective way to change a complex system is often not to “treat the symptom,” but to find the “High Leverage Point”—a small action that can trigger a chain reaction throughout the entire system.

In the “pursuer-distancer” pattern, where is the leverage point? It’s not whether the pursuer should stop pursuing (which would only make them more anxious), nor whether the distancer should stop avoiding (which would only make them more suffocated). The leverage point lies in whether the pursuer can bravely translate their “pursuit” behavior into the vulnerable “first-person” feelings behind it.

Imagine the pursuer no longer saying, “Why do you always ignore me?” but instead saying, “When you’re silent, the scared child inside me who fears abandonment comes out, and I feel very afraid. I pursue you just to confirm you’re still there.”

This sentence, like a stone dropped into a calm lake, has a high probability of instantly breaking the original cycle. Because it is no longer an “attack,” but an “act of vulnerability” and an “invitation.” It invites the distancer to step out of the “defender” role, where they feel suffocated by being chased, and to play a new role—that of “comforter” and “protector.”

This is the ultimate wisdom that the third perspective brings us: it allows us to see that both we and others are merely unconsciously speaking lines assigned to us in a larger “script.” And when we can clearly “see” this script, we gain the freedom to rewrite it.

We can choose not to speak the old lines, but to say something new, heartfelt, and capable of leading the entire plot towards a brighter ending. This is the small yet powerful wing that can cause a “butterfly effect” in the storm of relationships.

Part Four: Grand Coordinates: Reshaping the Self in Systems and Spacetime

Chapter Seven: The Invisible Chessboard – How System Rules Shape You and Me

If the third perspective allowed us to see the “dance steps” of interpersonal interaction, then the fourth perspective requires us to zoom out the lens again, to see the entire “ballroom”—the invisible “system rules” constructed by culture, institutions, and power structures. Each of us is like a dancer in this huge ballroom; our dance steps seem free, but in reality, they are already limited by the boundaries of the ballroom, the material of the floor, the brightness of the lights, and the never-ending background music.

This ballroom is a series of nested systems. Family is our first ballroom, school is the second, the workplace is the third, and the entire socio-cultural context we live in is the ultimate dome that covers everything. Shifting to the fourth perspective means learning to be a clear-headed “architect,” examining the blueprints of these ballrooms, understanding their rules, and ultimately deciding whether to conform to the rules or try to transform them.

From “Role” to “Actor”: A Conscious Social Performance

Role Theory in sociology tells us that we are assigned different “social roles” in different systems. At home, you are a “son” or “daughter”; at work, you are an “employee” or “boss”; among friends, you might be a “listener” or the “life of the party.” Each role comes with an unwritten “script”—that is, society’s expected behaviors, language, and emotional patterns for that role.

Most of the time, we unconsciously and passively play these roles. We are like sleepwalking actors, reciting lines already written, making reactions that fit the “persona.” A man assigned the role of “eldest son” might unconsciously bear the burden of “taking care of the entire family,” even if it far exceeds his capabilities. A woman who has entered the “teacher” role might unconsciously exhibit a tendency to “preach” to her partner and friends in daily life.

This unconscious role-playing provides us with a “navigation map” for social life, letting us know “how to act” in specific situations. But it also acts like a “straitjacket,” limiting the development of other aspects of our personality.

The awakening of the fourth perspective begins with our “self-awareness” of the roles we play. It requires us to be like a good actor, who, while immersed in the role, always has a clear “observer” deep inside who knows: “I am playing a role, but this does not equal my entire self.”

When Li Zhe, the CEO of “Singularity Infinite,” can realize that he is not just Li Zhe, but is also playing a “CEO role” defined by the capital market and competitive pressure, he gains a freedom of choice. He can choose to remain 100% invested in this role, or he can choose, at certain moments, to temporarily shed this “CEO coat” and, as “Li Zhe the friend,” have a sincere conversation with his partner Zhang Yi that doesn’t involve KPIs but only feelings.

From a passive “role-player” to a conscious “life actor” is a crucial step in breaking free from systemic constraints and gaining inner autonomy. An actor knows the script and can perform creatively based on understanding it; a role, however, can only be controlled by the script.

Decoding “Unwritten Rules”: Seeing the Iceberg Below the Surface

Every system contains two types of rules: “formal rules” written openly (like laws, company bylaws), and “unwritten rules” hidden beneath the surface (like social etiquette, power dynamics, cultural taboos). What truly governs the system’s operation is often the latter.

The fourth perspective is like a “sonar” that allows us to see the iceberg below the surface. It requires us to look beyond grand slogans and formal institutions, to decode the true, unwritten operating logic of a system.

• In corporate culture: A company might have “innovation, flat hierarchy, openness” banners on its walls, but its “unwritten rule” might be “whoever can guess the boss’s intentions gets more resources.” A “blunt” person who doesn’t understand this “unwritten rule,” no matter how capable, might face obstacles everywhere because they are “imprudent.”
• In regional culture: In some collectivist cultures, “fitting in” and “not bothering others” are supreme “unwritten rules.” An individual raised in such a culture might severely suppress their individuality and needs, because “being oneself” is considered “selfish” within this set of unwritten rules.
• In online communities: Every online community has its unique “political correctness” and “pecking order.” The “jargon” you use, the “way” you express your opinions, determine whether you are seen as an “insider” or an “outsider.” If you don’t understand this set of “unwritten rules,” your comments are likely to be attacked by the group.

Decoding “unwritten rules” is not about becoming cynical or complicit. Its true purpose is to “gain the right to interpret.” When we can see the true rules of a system’s game, we can understand that many “injustices” or “frustrations” we experience may not be personal attacks, but simply the system operating according to its inherent logic.

This understanding can liberate us from needless self-doubt and anger. We no longer ask, “Why am I always the one who gets hurt?” Instead, we ask, “Under these rules, what is my best strategy for survival and development?”

Swimming Against the Current: Dancing on the Edge of Rules

Of course, understanding rules is not just about adapting to them better. For those with greater courage and wisdom, the ultimate goal of understanding rules is to “redefine the game.”

All great social changes in history stemmed from a small group of people who deeply understood and bravely challenged the “unwritten rules” of their time. Martin Luther King Jr. saw the hypocrisy and inhumanity of the “racial segregation” unwritten rule; Gandhi saw that “nonviolence” was the most brilliant “leverage point” capable of shaking the intricate machine of the British Empire’s colonial rule.

They were all people who danced elegantly and firmly on the edge of system rules. They knew where the boundaries were, and at which weakest point they could apply the smallest force that could cause the entire system to undergo a fission.

In our daily lives, we can also become a miniature “swimmer against the current.”

• In a department accustomed to “overtime culture,” the first person who dares to leave on time and proves their value with efficient work results is challenging the system’s “unwritten rules.”
• In a traditional family that favors sons over daughters, the mother who insists on giving her daughters and sons equal educational opportunities and emotional support is injecting new possibilities into the old system.

This requires immense courage and great wisdom. You need to clearly assess risks, unite forces that can be united, and introduce new behavioral patterns in a “creative” rather than “destructive” way.

Shifting to the fourth perspective ultimately leads us to a profound philosophical question: the eternal interplay between the individual and structure. We are both products of the system, shaped by it; and we possess the potential to change the system, becoming its “shapers.” In this interplay, finding that delicate balance—neither being swallowed by the system nor being cast aside by it due to blind resistance—this, perhaps, is the ultimate mark of a person moving towards true maturity.

Chapter Eight: The Telescope of Time – Locating the Present in the River of History

If the fourth perspective unfolded a vast “spatial map” for us, allowing us to see our systemic coordinates, then the fifth perspective hands us a powerful “telescope of time.” It invites us to shift our gaze from the “cross-section” of the present to the “longitudinal line” of history, learning to locate our current selves within the long river of time.

This is the ultimate grand perspective, and also the most comforting wisdom. It can temporarily free us from daily anxieties, attachments, and conflicts, granting us a sense of bird’s-eye relief and humility. When we learn to examine the present on a scale of “centuries” or even “millennia,” many seemingly insurmountable problems reveal their small and fleeting true nature.

Cultivating a “Sense of History”: Discerning the Future in Recurring Rhymes

The term “historical sense” is often misunderstood as an indulgence in old papers. But its true meaning is far more powerful. To possess a historical sense means you have acquired a unique ability—to view present events as a “middle chapter” in a larger, longer narrative.

Philosopher Hegel once said: “The only thing we learn from history is that we learn nothing from history.” The profoundness of this statement lies in the fact that history indeed never simply repeats, but it always rhymes with similar patterns. Human greed and fear, the rise and fall of power, technological breakthroughs and their loss of control, the clash and fusion of civilizations… these grand themes, on the stage of history spanning thousands of years, merely don different costumes and are repeatedly performed.

Cultivating a sense of history means identifying these constantly recurring “rhymes.”

• When you see the social anxiety caused by a new technology today (like AI), you can, through the telescope of history, see almost identical fears of “mass unemployment” and “ethical collapse” when printing presses, steam engines, and the internet were born. This insight won’t make you complacent about current challenges, but it can help you maintain a more long-term, cautious optimism amidst popular fervor or fear.
• When you rejoice at the rise of a nation or lament the decline of a civilization, a sense of history will remind you that the Roman Empire once considered itself the “Eternal City,” and the British Empire once boasted of being “the empire on which the sun never sets.” This insight allows you to transcend narrow nationalistic sentiments and view the ebb and flow of great power dynamics with a broader, more cyclical perspective.

Possessing a historical sense is like having a “wise advisor” who can travel through time. It helps us filter out the “noise” from daily news and identify the “signals” that truly determine the future. It gives us a calm and steady demeanor when facing uncertainty, born from extensive experience.

Rewriting “Personal History”: Giving New Meaning to Your Past

This telescope of time can not only look out at the vast external world but also turn inward to our subtle inner selves, to re-examine our own “personal history.”

Each of us is the sum of our past experiences. The traumas of childhood, the glories of youth, the frustrations of adulthood, all collectively shape our current beliefs and behavioral patterns. However, as we discussed in Part One, our “memories” of the past are not objective records, but a film that has undergone repeated “editing” and “re-creation.”

The fifth perspective invites us to become the “ultimate director” of our own personal history. It gives us the opportunity to look back at this film about “me” from a more distant, wiser future, and give it a new, more powerful “director’s cut” meaning.

• Re-evaluating Trauma: That childhood event that once made you miserable, viewed through the telescope of time, might it also be like a bitter “vaccine” that injected you with “immunity” against greater future setbacks? Did it make you more sensitive and empathetic than your peers, thus becoming the source of some unique talent later in your life?
• Reconstructing Failure: That entrepreneurial failure that ruined your reputation, viewed from a decade later, did it provide you with a costly but invaluable “cognitive upgrade”? Did it help you see the limits of your abilities, allowing you to walk more steadily and further on your future path?
• Repositioning Glory: That “highlight moment” you are still proud of, viewed from the scale of your entire life, was it truly the “peak” of your talent, or merely a memorable, beautiful “landmark” in your long journey?

Rewriting personal history is not about denying past pain or indulging in cheap “spiritual victories.” Its core lies in “reframing.” Facts cannot be changed, but the “meaning” we assign to facts has infinite plasticity. When we can reshape ourselves from a “victim” determined by the past into a “learner” who draws nourishment from all past experiences, we cut the invisible chains history has cast upon us and gain true inner freedom.

Contemplation of the Cosmic Perspective: Above the “Pale Blue Dot”

Now, let’s adjust the telescope of time to its maximum magnification for a final, ultimate intellectual journey.

In 1990, the Voyager 1 probe, 6 billion kilometers from Earth, looked back at our planet and took a famous photograph—the “Pale Blue Dot.” In that photo, Earth was just a tiny, almost invisible, lonely blue pixel suspended in cosmic dust.

Astronomer Carl Sagan wrote immortal words about it: “Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.”

This is the ultimate fifth perspective—the cosmic perspective.

It invites us to engage in a similar contemplation within ourselves. Imagine, from the singularity of the Big Bang, enduring 13.8 billion years of expansion and evolution, nebulae gathering, stars being born, planets forming. On an inconspicuous spiral arm of the Milky Way, a blue planet, by chance, nurtured life. After billions of years of evolution, a species called “Homo sapiens” appeared on this planet. And you, one of these countless Homo sapiens, are currently on the surface of this planet, deeply troubled by that job, that relationship, that worry that keeps you awake at night.

What happens when you engage in such contemplation?

Everything you are attached to will not disappear. But their “weight” in your mind will fundamentally change. They will transform from “leviathans” occupying your entire mental universe back to their original form—a tiny, insignificant speck of dust suspended in vast spacetime.

This insight brings a profound, almost Zen-like sense of relief and humility. It allows us, when facing the myriad disputes and anxieties of daily life, to always maintain a deep-seated, ultimate “equanimity” born from the “stars and the sea.”

This is the final gift the telescope of time gives us. It allows us, after seeing the rhymes of human history and rewriting the story of personal life, to ultimately find our truest, freest, small self in the vastness of the cosmos.

Conclusion: Becoming a “Panoramic” Person

Our cognitive expedition, starting from that cold conference room at “Singularity Infinite,” has traversed the mists of self-awareness, crossed the bridge of empathy to others, ascended to the clear heights of the observer, and finally, completed this long intellectual leap within the grand coordinates of systems and spacetime.

Now, it is time to return to the starting point of our journey and re-examine the true meaning of this exploration.

We have systematically deconstructed these five progressively deeper cognitive perspectives, from first to fifth. But the destination of this journey is not for us to abandon the lower levels and rush to the higher ones. It is not a linear substitution process of using a “cosmic perspective” to disdain “personal troubles,” but a continuous process of integration, inclusiveness, and expansion.

A person who truly possesses a “panoramic mindset” is not a cold “god” forever floating in space, but a highly skilled “thought astronaut” capable of “extreme skydiving” and “instant switching” between the five dimensions.

They possess a solid “return capsule” capable of clearly perceiving the self (first perspective), which is the starting point and destination of all their explorations. They can bravely don the “empathy” spacesuit, leave the return capsule, and visit others’ planets (second perspective), feeling their distinct gravity and scenery. They can also switch to the “space station” perspective (third perspective) at any time, observing the interactive orbits between themselves and others’ planets. They further understand how to place their space station within the operating rules of the entire “galaxy” (fourth perspective) and, ultimately, can look back at the full meaning of their tiny planet from the vast background of the “universe” (fifth perspective).

The ultimate goal of this journey is to help us become complete individuals with a “solid core” and “soft boundaries.”

A “solid core” means we deeply understand and accept our first perspective. We do not deny our needs, suppress our emotions, or sugarcoat our history. We hold a clear and compassionate honesty towards ourselves. This core is the “stabilizing needle” of our personality, preventing us from easily losing our way in a world of conflicting opinions.

“Soft boundaries” mean we deeply understand that beyond our “reality tunnel,” there exist countless equally real and reasonable parallel universes. This understanding allows us, while holding firm to our own stance, to always reserve a soft space for others’ existence, where dialogue and connection are possible. We no longer rush to conquer others’ “wrongness” with our own “rightness.” We learn to listen, to be curious, and, when necessary, to gracefully “agree to disagree.”

And the ultimate fuel driving this eternal practice is not some profound wisdom, but a quality we are born with yet often forget—curiosity.

An unquenchable curiosity about the enigma of “me.” A genuine exploration of the world through “your” eyes. A puzzle-like enthusiasm for the “dance of relationship” between us. A sociologist’s keenness for the “rules of the game” we are in. Ultimately, an astronomer’s ultimate reverence and wonder for our brief existence on this “pale blue dot.”

How do we see the whole world? The answer is, we can never see it all. But when we carry this never-extinguishing curiosity and bravely push open one new perspective door after another, what we see will be more than just an increasingly three-dimensional, increasingly rich world.

More importantly, it is ourselves, constantly reshaped, expanded, and deepened along this path of continuous exploration, ultimately becoming more open, more composed, and freer.