Lately I’ve been on a bit of a C.S. Lewis kick, revisiting and treasuring some of his most notable words. It’s funny how lines I read years ago feel brand new when I hold them up to the light of today’s experiences. One in particular stopped me in my tracks this week:
“What you see and what you hear depends a great deal on where you are standing. It also depends on what sort of person you are.” — C.S. Lewis, The Magician’s Nephew
I keep coming back to this quote when I think about the workplace—specifically leadership. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in every office, breakroom, and boardroom, it’s this: ten people can sit through the exact same meeting, hear the exact same words, and still walk out with ten completely different stories about what just happened.
Why? Because we don’t listen from a blank slate. We listen from where we’re standing, and we filter it all through who we are.
The employee who’s been burned before might hear the new restructuring plan and assume it’s the prelude to layoffs. The new hire might hear the same words and think, “Cool, opportunities for growth!” The manager might hear it as a logistical nightmare in the making. And the executive might hear it as the only logical next step for sustainability.
Same words, four wildly different realities.
And if you’ve ever watched a group try to “align” after a meeting, you know it can feel less like a professional debrief and more like a game of workplace telephone. By the time you get to the end of the chain, “We’re exploring new software to streamline our processes” has somehow become “Your jobs are being replaced by robots.”
Photo by Jen Theodore on Unsplash
The truth is, C.S. Lewis had leadership figured out long before LinkedIn made it trendy: perception isn’t just about what’s said—it’s about the lens of the hearer. And as leaders (or even just as people trying to be decent coworkers), this means two things: we need awareness of where we’re standing, and we need compassion for where others are standing.
I remember once sitting in a meeting where leadership announced a big change to our org structure. From my seat, I was cautiously optimistic. It sounded like a chance to address some of the growing pains we’d all been feeling. But across the table, I watched a coworker’s face fall. For them, it wasn’t opportunity—it was threat. Later, when we grabbed coffee, they admitted it triggered memories of a past job where “restructuring” was code for “your days are numbered.”
Same announcement. Two reactions. Neither one wrong. Just different standing places.
And that’s the hard thing about leadership—you can’t always control how people hear you. But you can work on being the kind of person who creates space for those multiple perspectives. You can say, “Here’s what this means, here’s what it doesn’t mean, and here’s space for you to ask questions.” You can acknowledge the reality that people are bringing their own stories, biases, and fears into the room. And you can check your own blind spots, too, because let’s be honest—most of us assume we’re standing in the “right” spot, when really we’re just standing in our spot.
One of the most frustrating things in any workplace is when someone assumes their vantage point is the only one that matters. We’ve all had that boss who thinks they’re delivering inspiration while their team is secretly eyeing the exit signs. Or the coworker who insists, “Well, that’s not a big deal,” while completely overlooking the fact that for you, it is a big deal. That lack of perspective-taking can crush morale faster than a broken Keurig machine on a Monday morning.
On the flip side, the best leaders I’ve known are translators. They can stand at the top of the hill, see the big picture, and then climb down to the trenches to understand how that picture looks from the ground. They don’t shame people for hearing differently; they help bridge the gap. They ask, “What did you hear me say?” not because they’re insecure, but because they know perspective shifts everything.
Here’s the other piece of Lewis’s wisdom that can’t be ignored: “It also depends on what sort of person you are.”
That one stings a little. Because it means our character is in play here. The cynical person will hear a compliment and assume it’s manipulative. The hopeful person will hear the same words and feel encouraged. The bitter leader will take feedback as a threat; the humble leader will take it as a gift.
And I don’t know about you, but I’ve had seasons where who I was shaped everything I heard. When I was exhausted, insecure, or burned out, everything sounded like criticism. A harmless question felt like an attack. A neutral email read like a novel-length insult. Looking back, the problem wasn’t the message—it was me.
But there have been other seasons where I was grounded, confident, and healthier, and suddenly I could hear feedback without spiraling. I could sit in a meeting without assuming every sideways comment was about me. Same workplace. Same words. Different Rachel.
That’s the thing Lewis is trying to get us to see: you don’t just need awareness of where you’re standing—you need awareness of who you are while you’re standing there.
So, what does this mean practically for leadership?
It means: before you react, pause long enough to ask yourself—am I hearing this through my insecurity, or through reality?
It means: when you communicate, don’t assume everyone is standing in the same place as you. Spell things out. Repeat yourself. Clarify what you mean and what you don’t mean. Yes, it feels redundant, but trust me—repetition is a kindness when the alternative is confusion.
It means: be curious about what other people heard. Ask your team, “How did that land for you?” or “What are you taking away from this?” And then actually listen.
It means: remember that character matters as much as competence. Because no matter how brilliant your strategy is, if you’re the sort of person who’s closed off, defensive, or dismissive, people will hear you through that filter. And if you’re the sort of person who’s consistent, kind, and humble, people will hear you through that, too.
Perspective isn’t just a leadership skill; it’s a human one. We all bring our standing places and our personalities into the room. And if you’ve ever had a fight with your partner that turned into, “That’s not what I said!” followed by, “Well, that’s what I heard!”—you know this isn’t just a workplace thing. It’s a life thing.
The invitation, I think, is to be people who do the work of moving. Step into someone else’s vantage point for a moment. Try to hear it the way they do. Not to invalidate your perspective, but to understand theirs. The more we do this, the more generous, patient, and effective we become.
Because at the end of the day, leadership isn’t just about standing in the right spot. It’s about being the sort of person who can see beyond their own.
And maybe that’s the quiet challenge Lewis leaves us with: don’t just pay attention to the view. Pay attention to the viewer.
Rachel L. Richard is a small-town farm girl turned suburbanite, a delightfully irreverent optimist, Mrs & Mama, floppy dog ear scratcher, lifelong learner, channel surfer, wanderer, believer, occasional creative, out-of-practice musician, cupcake addict, book devourer, and lover of all people.
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