Observers and Participants
Sports. I love playing them. Unfortunately, I dislike watching them just as much.
Oddly enough, the rest of my family are avid sports watchers. That means for some of my life, I have powered through watching them watch sports. This, as far as I can remember, was my first encounter with what I will term observers and participants.
An observer watches, but does not participate in the moment they are watching. They also tend to make a lot of comments—critiques, even—on what the participants are doing or not doing.
Sports fans can be thought of as observers. They have a lot of comments to make (‘That jersey looks really good’; ‘What they’ve done with their hair makes no sense’; ‘I heard they’re always partying whenever they’re off the pitch’). They make a lot of critiques (‘They must be blind to not have seen that pass’; ‘They must be losing their touch to not have made that basket’; ‘Only someone past their prime would cause a turnover like that’).
It is worth repeating that an observer does not participate. And while it’s true that some observers do occasionally participate, they are rarely ever participants in the moment that they are observers. The general effect is that observers tend to make idealistic observations, which tend to be unaligned with the participants’ experience—the participants’ reality.
A participant engages, but does not observe their actions in the moment of their engagement. They have no time to make observations—they’re too busy being engaged.
Athletes can be thought of as participants. They are the ones who have to serve, to keep the volley going, to bluff a set to 2 and send the ball to 8, to stop the striker from making the goal, to make the free throw, to pin their opponent, to duck and jab at the right time, to offload at the right time, to hold the ruck, to, to, to…
It is worth repeating that a participant does not observe. And while it’s true that participants get to observe, they are rarely ever observers in the moment they are participating. The general effect is that whether the participant makes a mistake or the right choice, they are making the only choice they can see at that moment, based on what little they can see and bound by what little time they have.
Observers and participants are often at odds because observers have a tendency to forget that neither has the other’s field of view. Observers forget that while they’re in the stands, able to see practically all elements of the game, the participants only have so much attention they can allocate to each of those elements. Participants forget that while they only have so much time to weigh all their options and choose, observers have access to more information and more time and thus an array of options the participants couldn’t have considered in the moment.
Most importantly, observers and participants rarely engage each other with an understanding for each other’s unique outlooks. The most compassionate, empathetic, and fair participants or observers tend to be those who have put themselves—realistically and without fanfare—in each other’s shoes and tried to understand what it entails.
In this somewhat long-winded metaphor about life, I am both the participant and the observer.
As a participant, I must practise prudence in my decision making, no matter what the choices presented to me at any moment may be. I must remember that observations made in regards to my participation in life, whether well-meaning or spite-driven, are never made with a full understanding of what it means to be me—that ultimately, how I choose to apply those observations to my life and whether or not I even choose to is up to me.
As an observer, I must practise kindness in the way I make my observations and in the way I perceive the world around me. I must remember to be kind in how I state the observations I make, which extends to choosing whether an observation is worth saying out loud. I must remember that I will never have a full picture of how anyone else is participating in life, from big things like work being put into landing a dream job to small things like taking an extra minute to enjoy the sun on their face.
As both, I must remember compassion and patience. I must remember that when participating gets overwhelming, I can step outside of myself and observe my current situation—it’ll often point me to paths I had not considered before. I must remember that when observing, the point is not self-punishment or to criticise and pick apart and leave myself feeling small, but to better understand the parts of which my whole being is composed.
Without this balance, I will find myself at odds with myself. Wouldn’t that be odd?
~Sylkhi