Recently, at a conference in Las Vegas, I was looking out my 29th floor window at the desert and some mountains. A storm was moving slowly toward the North. There was a clear patch over a large park, but the storm would soon be there and the impending deluge was quite apparent. I thought about how different this was from our usual experience of weather, on the ground.

如果我们看到晴朗的天空，我们可能会打包一些食物，带家人去野餐。当乌云“突然”出现，并给我们带来大雨时，我们可能会感到不安。天气似乎是残酷和反复无常的，我们可能会开始觉得宇宙“对我们不利”。通常情况下，我是“脚踏实地”的，只关心自己的利益、目标和问题。事情有时会发生在我身上，但我不知道它们来自哪里，也不知道它们为什么会发生。例如，我可能会听到一个关于新想法的TED演讲。如果演讲人的论点看起来连贯，而且演讲人看起来权威，我可能会相信他的演讲所支持的任何东西。我对这个问题没有其他的观点除了在TED演讲中向我展示的观点。

But, as a philosopher (looking at things from the 29th floor), I might see the new idea in a very different light. It might be obvious why this TED talk was presented at the time it was presented, and what sort of person the presenter was. I might be able to place the idea in the context of similar and/or competing ideas on the same topic in the same time and space. From this perspective, it would be easier to maintain objectivity (the weather is not cruel) and wisdom (the weather is not capricious).

Philosophers see things coming a mile away. From the 29th floor, we see that our varying metaphors for reality over time all refer to the same "stuff:" stuff that has not changed in the face of our shifting descriptions of it. Several clichés apply here: Korzybski's "The map is not the territory," Magritte's "Ceci n'est pas une pipe," and the classic "Don't eat the menu." I want to stay on that metaphorical 29th floor as much as possible. Sometimes I will miss the passion and excitement of being on the ground, committed to some group advocating this or that cause as if it was the only thing that mattered. But this seems like a small sacrifice for the gift of perspective.