What Does It Mean to Put Yourself in Someone Else's Shoes?

Since I was a child, there is a phrase I have heard over and over again.

“Put yourself in someone else's shoes.”

It is a very common moral lesson that parents and teachers repeat. Of course, I never thought the words themselves were wrong. Rather, I accepted them honestly as something correct.

However, for a long time, at least for me, that teaching only came across in a very simple way: “Do not do to others what you would not want done to yourself.”

It is easy to understand, and it is not wrong. But that understanding was always based on myself somewhere along the line.

In other words, I thought that “putting yourself in someone else's shoes” meant, first of all, placing myself in their position. Do not do to others what you would not want done to yourself. This is easy to understand, and it is certainly not largely wrong.

However, this teaching is far too strong as an entry point, and it leans on the assumption that “the other person must feel the same way I do.” In that, while it seems like I am imagining the other person, in reality, I am merely superimposing my own sensations onto them. To put it bluntly, I think it was a projection of the self in a quite strong sense.

When I was young, I was probably looking at people with that kind of assumption.

I felt a sense of closeness to people who laughed the same way I did, and I felt at ease with people who believed in the same kind of righteousness.

That is why I think I got angry every time I met someone who did not understand that.

Why would they say such a thing? How could they behave like that?

While I thought I was looking at the other person, I might have been searching for a face similar to my own in the mirror the whole time.

However, after I started talking more with people of different ages and positions, I began to notice a different kind of interest little by little.

Even when talking about things with similar meanings, there are people who use idioms I would not choose. There are people who use strangely quiet phrasing, and people who capture things with metaphors I do not have. Those differences, which I would have ignored in the past, now intrigue me instead.

I find myself wanting to imagine what kind of books this person has read, what kind of time they have spent, what they have been hurt by, what has encouraged them, and how they arrived at this way of placing words.

Putting yourself in someone else's shoes might not mean thinking that the other person must feel the same way you do, but rather starting to think that they are viewing the world from a different stratum than your own.

When this way of seeing things becomes a part of you little by little, your reactions when you encounter unreasonable people in daily life also change.

In the past, if I saw a car ignoring traffic rules and repeatedly passing dangerously, I might have burned with a sense of justice and gotten angry. Thinking, even though the arrival time would only change by a few minutes, why are they so desperate to get ahead?

But now, I structurally observe it as a human psychological mechanism under those circumstances, thinking, “Ah, that person is desperate for a petty competitive spirit (the pursuit of superiority) of ‘not wanting to lose,’ or to maintain a sense of control to move the situation as they wish.”

Or, as is often said in society, guessing that “they must be holding in a bathroom break and are at their limit” is much more convincing and can even make me laugh to myself.

It is similar even in face-to-face interactions where there is no escape.

Due to the nature of my work, I sometimes encounter people who make unreasonable demands, people who repeatedly confirm the same thing while slightly changing their angle each time, or people who show an attitude of trying to gain the upper hand.

If I were to take it all head-on, I would certainly be exhausted.

However, when I take a step back and look into the depths of that attitude, I can sometimes see through to a strong sense of anxiety or a defensive instinct, such as 'I don't want to lose out,' 'I don't want to be deceived,' or 'I don't want to lose control.' The moment I can think that way, even if the other person's attitude itself doesn't change, my internal reaction changes.

It doesn't mean the anger disappears completely. It just gradually gets replaced by observation.

Understanding is not the same as agreeing with the other person. Perhaps it is closer to say that you are reading the context behind that person so that you don't inadvertently step into their ring.

I imagine the other person's background, read their cognitive habits and where their fears lie, and try not to collide head-on. Writing it this way might make it sound like some kind of survival strategy.

But for me, it is not just a way to get by. I think it is a very practical method to avoid unnecessarily wearing myself down in situations where I have no intention of cultivating a relationship.

When I can stop exhausting myself by confronting every instance of 'correctness,' a little bit of margin remains in my heart. That margin is likely not a technique for not getting angry, but a space for protecting something more important.

So, what is that conserved mental energy and the quiet margin created within used for?

For me, the answer is surprisingly clear.

It is for that time at the end of the day when I return home and pet P-chan.

Because I don't have to let my heart be disturbed more than necessary by the noise of the outside world, I can direct my attention straight to that small being.

Reading complex human psychology, the backgrounds of others, and the shadows behind their words—perhaps those things were not for some noble understanding, but in the end, to avoid wearing out my own heart unnecessarily and to quietly return to what is truly important.

For a long time, I took the phrase 'put yourself in someone else's shoes,' which I had been hearing since I was a child, quite simply.

But now, that phrase seems more troublesome, deeper, and a little more interesting. It means accepting the other person not as a being similar to yourself, but as someone who has lived on a different stratum than you.

By doing so, anger softens a little, the world becomes slightly more complex, and in return, a margin remains within me.

Beyond that margin, P-chan is purring.

Thinking that, I can now feel, just a little, that the irritation of my youth and the time that seemed like a detour might all have been a process to arrive at this quiet touch.