It was an absolutely stunning morning in sunny Bournemouth, England. Then again, most of them are.

This was just one particularly memorable day.

It wasn’t because of the brisk morning clear air. Nor was it because of the unique scent of sea breeze rushing past, carrying with it the omnipresent gulls and occasional songbird.

No, it wasn’t because of the sight of brick buildings that make England o so England, nor the windy, curvy, hilly streets that barely equal the width of a sidewalk in downtown Houston, Texas.

Neither was it the smells of the food wafting from the open shop doors as I walked my way past them to the work shuttle waiting area.

It certainly was not because of the sounds of people quietly but busily murmuring in many many different languages as they selected their breakfasts and the occasional biscuit or packet of cigarettes, and as they picked up one or two of many many many options with regards to printed news.

Those were just the wonderfully ordinary, usual experiences one would encounter on a normal morning in Bournemouth.

What captured my attention was something that was out of place in this calm but bustling place.

Something that seemed to stop time for a spell, and blotted out all sounds save one, while thoughts raced through my head…

Shouting. Girl.

Young girl running.

Hair flailing in the wind, arms raised

Panic.

Man. Large man

Man running after the girl.

My heart beats in time with her panic

Help her

But I’m a foreigner in a strange land

Confrontation. Deportation.

Me with no income? My kids with no money.

Girl shouts again.

Man still running

Girl running quickly. Not as fast as man.

What will happen when he catches her?

Decision. Make it now.

I have kids to take care of.

Ugh.

If this were MY kid being chased, what would I do?

Who would help then?

Ugh.

Decision made.

I run.

Wait, I see more.

I stop.

I laugh.

Heart pounds, then calms… but the chuckle and laughter continues for awhile. Other sounds of the world slowly fade back into focus. Color comes back to a momentarily-bleached background of people, buildings, trees, and birds.
That particular morning was very very memorable not so much of the man chasing the girl, nor even the girl herself really. What stands out in my mind was what I didn’t see from my original viewpoint.

Viewpoints are important. They kind of define what we think, since we use the input from our various senses to help make decisions.

In this case, after my viewpoint was adjusted a little when I stepped forward to help what seemed to be a dire situation, I could see the full picture.

The man was indeed running.

The girl was indeed running.

The girl was indeed shouting in a panic.

She was not shouting because she feared the man.

The man was probably not even aware of the girl.

They were both running because of what I didn’t see.

I didn’t see the bus they were both chasing, and for which she was shouting.

It was indeed a memorable day in Bournemouth.