《A Shift in Perspectives》


 Part 1 of 3

    The quarter mile jog from my office to the subway platform for Boston''s Orange Line was the furthest I had run in years. Out of breath and sweating, I hopped into a seat in the nearly empty train car.


    My phone rang. It was my assistant, scrambling to ensure I had everything I needed for my flight.


    "Ericke, your flight is confirmed, and I''ve checked you in. Lydia says the budget projections will be ready in twenty minutes."


    "Email the new projections," I told her. "I''ll swap them out later."


    I ended the call and reviewed the printed presentation notes for the umpteenth time. My right leg bounced restlessly, burning off nervous energy. The car rattled and shook violently when the train hit a rough patch of rail. I dropped half the sheaf of papers I''d been juggling while hitting the email refresh button on my smartphone.


    Two pages fluttered across the train, landing at the feet of one of the most bizarre men I''ve ever seen.


    I realize how bold that statement is for anyone who regularly commutes via mass transit. Boston''s mass transit is used equally by eccentric super geniuses from the Ivy leagues schools or the numerous tech companies, and by crazy people. Conversations with either can be a mix of enlightened conversation and equally profound nonsense. I couldn''t decide which description fit my fellow passenger.


    The man retrieved the pages and held them out in a gloved hand.


    That''s when I noticed the pair of unusual goggles concealing his face. The frame was fabricated out of heavy gauge wire bent into the shape of goggles. The eye lenses, for lack of a better name, were two blocks of wood. In the center of each wood block was a security peephole lens.


    "Sounds like an important presentation," the man said.


    "Easily the most important presentation of my life," I replied, reassembling the scattered papers with a sigh of relief. "The culmination of years of work, and only the future of my career on the line."


    "I''m sure you''ll do fine. No need to be nervous."


    Realizing I was bouncing my leg, I stopped. "I wish it was just stage fright," I admitted. "After this long, I could cite every line in my sleep. I''m worried about nothing. It''s silly really."


    The man crossed his right leg over his left and placed his folded hands in his lap. "No one worries about ''nothing''. What troubles you, friend?"


    He was wearing dark brown oxfords, pressed brown slacks, and a matching jacket over a starched blue cotton dress shirt. Too well-dressed for a lunatic, so a harmless eccentric. "The presentation is in Houston tomorrow, which means I have to fly. Airliners absolutely terrify me, which is ironic since I work for NASA."


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    "Ah, aerophobia, the fear of flying. I have several phobias myself as you might have guessed from the odd eyewear."


    "Are they some kind of Steampunk cosplay goggles?"


    "They are my own invention. My greatest fears are claustrophobia--a fear of enclosed spaces--and being too physically close to other people, among other social anxieties. The eyepieces are peepholes cut from doors. They make everything appear distant, and safe."


    "That''s an ingenious solution," I admitted. "I''m a bit of an inventor and expert on optics myself. My presentation is a pitch for Project VOY-R. It''s a constellation of small space telescopes. Their combined resolution can image details the size of small cities on distant exo-planets. I''m flying to NASA Houston to pitch the project to the budget committee. Assuming I don''t die of fright first."


    "My many phobias have made me a reluctant expert on fear. What I can tell you is there are only two reactions to fear. Imagine two people on a cliff''s edge. One will recoil in terror of falling, while the other will peer over and say, ''I want to jump.'' The difference is how they perceive the danger. The first surrenders to fear and flees, while the second embraces fear to feel alive."


    "Isn''t the purpose of being afraid of falling off a cliff what keeps the first person alive?"


    "Yes, fear is good for our survival when our lives are at risk. Irrational fear, however, keeps us from enjoying our lives. I''ve struggled with anxieties that made even simple tasks, like grocery shopping, feel overwhelming. For hours, I''d agonize over leaving the house. I''d peer through the peephole, watching until I felt calm enough to open the door. Then panic would overtake me, and I''d rush back inside."


    "What, uh, motivated you to leave your house, if you don''t mind my asking?"


    "I read a quote by Dale Carnegie that changed my way of thinking. ''If you want to conquer fear, do not sit home and think about it. Go out and get busy.'' I realized the calming effect was in how the peephole changed my perspective of the world, so I constructed these goggles."


    The man held aloft a paper bag with souvenirs inside. "Without them, I''d miss out on Boston''s many museums and historic attractions."


    "If only there were goggles to cure a fear of flying."


    "The power in the goggles resides not in their physical presence. It is in their ability to change my mental state. Fear originates in our mind so that is where we must confront it. You must change your negative thinking into positive thinking. Imagine not being afraid or not being in the fearful situation."


    "How do I do that at thirty thousand feet when all I can think about is the plane crashing or coming apart in the air?"


    "The physical sensation of flying is not much different than being on this train. Close your eyes for a moment. Go ahead, close them."


    Despite the voice in my head warning me, this is when I get stabbed, mugged, or both, I played along. "Ok," I said. "Now what?"


    "Feel how the bumps jostle us about. Hear the metal cab creak and groan. The sensation is the same on a jet. When you feel anxious on the airplane, close your eyes, and remember being on the train."


    The train bell dinged as we entered the station. "This is our stop. Follow my advice. Shift your perspective. One last tip. Sit in an aisle seat, especially if your phobia stems from a fear of heights."


    "Thank you," I said as he stepped off the train and disappeared into the crowd.


    While waiting for my next train, I contemplated the man''s words. Then I realized we hadn''t exchanged names. I decide to name him Mr. Peep Holes.


    The Blue Line arrived, and I continued to the airport. The new experiences of checking in and security checkpoints distracted me from thinking about what came next.


    Until I took my seat on the airplane and the engines roared to life.

 Part 2 of 3

    The deafening banshee wail of the engines as the plane taxied to the runway surprised me. I glanced around, wondering if the other passengers felt the same dread. I was thankful the aircraft designers chose to use metal when they made the seats. My sweaty hands held a death grip on the armrests that would have crushed anything weaker. A powerful urge to flee overcame me. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe, but my heart was pounding like a caged beast trying to escape from my chest.


    With a rush of acceleration, the plane leapt into the sky. Time froze as I counted down the seconds until gravity''s inescapable grip dragged the plane from the sky. A jolt ran through the cabin. I squeezed my eyes shut, convinced gravity had won and waited for the worst. But then came a ding, and a voice over the intercom, shattering the tense silence.


    Here comes a tearful, but meaningless, apology for dooming us to a fiery end.


    "Ladies and gentlemen," the pilot''s voice crackled over the intercom, "to make up for our delay on the ground, we will take a direct route to Houston. There is a large storm system ahead. We expect moderate turbulence. The seat belt sign will remain lit until we pass through it. Thank you for flying with us today and we''ll see you on the ground in two more hours."


    How can it be safe to fly toward a storm? Why would anyone unfasten their seat belt? Was everyone resigned to their fate?


    Another bout of turbulence rocked the plane, and a wave of nausea and panic washed over me. I was thankful I hadn''t eaten since breakfast. My mind rebelled at the loss of control over my mortality. The sheer helplessness of being tossed around like a rag doll.


    The most dreadful aspect was the uncertainty - not knowing when the ordeal would end, or how much worse it might get. Passengers gasped as the metal frame creaked and rattled, and morbid curiosity compelled me to open my eyes. Daylight was replaced by ominous black storm clouds. Lightning flashed, followed by a violent shaking of the plane. We were going to be electrocuted, then blown to pieces when the fuel ignited. That would take seconds. It wouldn''t be an instant death, but a drawn-out, terrifying end.


    My vision narrowed to a blurry tunnel, and I found myself hyperventilating, seconds away from losing consciousness. I''m going to miss the crash. The unexpected thought wasn''t a comfort, but a bitter disappointment - a twisted desire to experience every last moment, even as my rational mind recoiled in horror. Some insane part of me demanded to bear witness to its own demise.


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    Apparently, it took over because a calmness swept over me. Was this a stoic resignation to my fate? The jolting was continuous and rhythmic. Like the familiar sway of a Boston subway train.


    It was then that I remembered the advice of the man on the train¡ªto challenge my negative thoughts and replace them with positive ones. I must face my fear and control it, rather than let it control me.


    Closing my eyes, I pictured myself back on the subway, the turbulence merely the bumps and jolts of the train. I concentrated, willing myself to transform into a time traveler, escaping into the familiarity of hundreds of past subway rides.


    The fear subsided and panic faded away. Shortly afterward, so did the turbulence.


    I looked around, noticing the nonchalant passengers watching movies, reading, or chatting. My fear had blinded me to the calm around me.


    Checking my watch, I saw I had ninety minutes left. I took out my laptop to revise the presentation. Before I knew it, the intercom chimed, and the pilot announced we were descending to land.


    The calm shattered as I recalled a former astronaut''s joke about landings being controlled crashes. The recollection filled me with dread. After coming so far, were we doomed to end our journey in tragedy in the final moments?


    My heart beat against my ribs in a frenzy as a suppressed childhood memory surged to the surface. It played out in my mind like a vivid movie, one I couldn''t look away from.


    Mother and I were on a commuter flight to visit grandma before she died. An unexpected blizzard tossed our small airplane about like a toy. Mom gripped my hand until it hurt. The co-pilot yelling, "Brace for impact!" The terror on the face of the flight attendant as our eyes locked onto each other.


    A hard landing and the aircraft skidding sideways. The terrified screams and sobs of mother as we came to a sudden stop. The tearful flight attendant shakily directing us to the emergency slide.


    My ears popped as the plane descended, thrusting me out of the memory. Everyone was putting away their books and electronic devices. Outside the windows there was no snow. It was a beautiful Texas spring day.


    The plane glided to a landing and taxied to the arrival gate. Soon I was standing in line with the other passengers to deplane. At the front of the jet, I waited my turn to mumble a goodbye to the flight attendants and pilots and thank them for a great flight.


    A wave of relief washed over me as I stepped off the plane. The terminal bridge deposited me into a world both familiar and new. I was in a bustling transportation hub, not unlike a subway station. Contrary to my apprehensive, thankful-to-be-alive self, thousands of carefree travelers appeared oblivious to the multitude of dangers we had collectively survived. Like Mr. Peepholes, their experience was no different from that of riding a subway train.


    Pride puffed up my chest as I strode through the crowd to the taxi stands. I had accomplished something commonplace to them, but formerly impossible for me. My world was less fearful than when I left Boston. Now I was excited for my three days of public speaking and debate, acts that terrified most people.

 Part 3 of 3

    Elated from obtaining approval for the space telescopes, I quickly boarded my return flight three days later. Eager to celebrate with my team, a cautious excitement for the return flight filled me. Had I fooled myself into believing I''d eradicated my phobia?


    "Excuse me. Is this buckled correctly?" I asked the older woman next to me, fumbling with the locking mechanism.


    She stopped rummaging through her carry-on bag. "What''s that?"


    I pointed to my lap belt. "It''s my second time flying. I want to make sure I''m doing everything right."


    "Looks right. A flight attendant will check everyone, just in case," she reassured me.


    "Thank you," I replied as I removed the safety placard from the seat pocket. I traced the routes to each exit with my finger in relation to my seat location in the diagram.


    My seat neighbor chided me. "What took you so long to fly?"


    Embarrassed, I shoved the chart back into the seat pocket. "I am, or was, deathly afraid of flying until three days ago."


    Her silver eyebrows shot up. "How did you get over your fear so fast?"


    Had it been only three days ago since the subway train? I smiled and said, "I met the most interesting man on my way to the airport. He gave me a new perspective that changed how I experience air travel."


    As I told the story, she nodded along, eyes bright with interest.


    "Well, isn''t that something," the woman said while patting my arm. "You were destined to have that encounter, I''d say."


    Before I knew it, the captain announced our descent into Boston. I thanked the woman for making the flights so enjoyable for me before we went our separate ways.


    * * *


    Crime scene tape and blood-stained concrete at the transit station platform made the hair on my neck stand up.


    "Never would have happened if transit cops did their job," the woman standing beside me remarked.


    "What happened? I''ve been out of town."


    "It was all over the news yesterday," she said. "A mentally ill guy brutally attacked a man wearing weird glasses. He claimed the victim is a time-traveling spy from another planet. The news said the victim is in a coma, might never wake up."


    The news hit me like a gut punch. ''Weird glasses.'' I prayed it was someone else.


    I pulled out my phone with shaking hands. Searched the news sites. A recent article featured an old photo of the victim, a slender man in a fine suit and bowtie.


    It was him. Mr. Peepholes. I had not known his name until now. The headlines proclaiming the vicious assault of former MIT professor Niles Bryant.


    I rushed home and called the hospital. After waiting forever on hold, they said he was out of the coma and recovering. I inquired about visiting hours. Only family members could visit, although no one had.


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    Unable to do more, I sent flowers and a card with my phone number and then waited. The next day, I set my team to work on the VOY-R project. Meanwhile, I started a side project for a new idea.


    The next three weeks went by in a blur until Mr. Peepholes, Niles, called me. He wanted to meet me that weekend.


    * * *


    I knocked on Nile''s apartment door, carefully balancing the box tucked under one arm. My palms perspired as I paced in eager anticipation of meeting him.


    My heart skipped a beat when a shadow blocked the light coming through the peephole. I heard multiple deadbolts slide free. A thin voice instructed me to wait five seconds and then to enter.


    ¡­.one thousand four. One thousand five. I entered the apartment.


    A voice echoed down the hallway, guiding me to a room deeper inside. A frail figure sat at the opposite end of a long dining table, his face and arms covered with small bandages.


    His voice was low and raspy. "Please, have a seat, Ericke. Thank you for coming. I have wanted to personally thank you for the unexpected well wishes during my hospital stay."


    Scarcely trusting my voice, I said, "Hello, Niles. I don''t know if you remember me. We met on the subway a month ago. I had a terrible fear of flying. You helped me by telling me that fears gain power by avoiding them."


    Niles coughed weakly into a handkerchief. "Ah yes. Facing fears and accepting how we feel is how we conquer them." He paused for a moment''s reflection. "I do remember you now. You stated you ''had'' a fear of flying meaning you no longer do?"


    I leaned forward, eager to describe how he had impacted my life. "The flight was terrifying journey through a thunderstorm. I was convinced I was going to die in a fiery crash. However, the plane stayed airborne, and I used your advice. The fear drained away." I grinned as my chest puffed up with pride. "I now make regular flights for the project and have even accrued frequent flier miles."


    "That is wonderful news. Now I am the one who sits across from you in fear. Without my goggles, I have been unable to work up the courage to leave my home to buy parts for a new pair. If I don''t go soon, my anxiety meds prescription will run out, and I''ll be incapable of leaving the house."


    I patted the box on the table and grinned. "I have something I hope will solve your problems. You may recall that I work with optics and displays. Your old goggles inspired me to make these."


    I pulled a slim pair of VR goggles from the box and presented them to him. "There are four tiny outward-facing cameras in the frames that feed video to four internal screens. You''ll have a full one-hundred-eighty-degree field of view."


    Niles examined the goggles, his fingers tracing the sleek design. "They look very professional. Like a real consumer product. I appreciate the gesture."


    His expression darkened, a shadow passing over his features. "Although I know my attacker was mentally disturbed, I''m now afraid of being assaulted again for wearing goggles."


    I turned the headset on and pressed it to my face. "An internal camera displays your eyes on a screen so people feel more comfortable engaging with you." I lowered the goggles. "Would you care to try them on?"


    "Yes. Can you please help me put them on?" Niles asked while averting his gaze.


    I gently guided the straps over the bandages swathing his head. "Tug on the side straps to get a snug fit. There are independent scroll wheels on either side to adjust the perceived distance for each eye."


    Niles''s hands shook as he adjusted the goggles. He looked around the room and gasped. There was a tremor in his voice as he said, "Thank you. Despite my phobias, I enjoy being among people. I have been depressed being stuck indoors since the attack."


    Choking up with emotion, I told him with teary eyes, "I hope the goggles can do for you what you did for me. If you use the adjustment controls to bring the world closer a little each day, perhaps someday you will no longer need them."


    Struggling to stand, he asked, "Can you help me to the door? I want to see the world again."


    Wrapping an arm around him, I helped him walk down the hallway. He fumbled for a few seconds, trying to find the handle with the goggles on. He turned the handle and nudged the door open with his foot. Sunbeams fell on him, and he soaked them in before stepping outside.


    Niles turned towards me and gripped my hand. I saw his tear-filled eyes on the headset screen. "My friend," he said, "you have given me far more than a technical aid. You have given me hope, courage, and a better friendship than I believed possible."


    Looking at his tearful face, I marveled at how he had once again reshaped my perspective. Over the past few weeks, I had come to see him not as an eccentric oddball, but as an exceptionally wise and courageous friend.