Chapter 1 — Lens and the Practice of Asking

Lens is an animal-tween. She carries a small magnifying-glass. It hangs on a leather thong around her neck.

Her magnifying-glass is special. It doesn’t make people look bigger. Instead, it makes words bigger. When Lens looks through it, the words people say grow large. They become easier to pay attention to. The lens doesn’t show Lens how someone feels. It doesn’t tell her what someone else’s life is like. The lens is only useful for one thing. It helps when she asks questions. Asking is the real work. The lens just helps Lens really hear the answer.

Lens’s job is to teach others. She teaches them how to understand people better. She calls this perspective-taking. Her main rule is simple: “I can’t BE you. But I can ASK what it’s like.” This rule means she doesn’t guess what others feel. She doesn’t think everyone feels exactly like her. Instead, she has to ask. She makes room for the other person to share their own story.

Lens grew up in a small village. Her family were map-makers. By the time Lens was six, she knew a big secret about maps. Maps show a place, but they aren’t the real place. A map of a forest is not the forest itself. A map can help you find your way through the woods. But it can’t tell you how it feels to stand under the trees in the rain. Only standing there yourself can do that.

Lens’s grandmother often said wise things. “Maps are tools,” she would say. “They are not experiences. To know what something is like, you have to ask the person who has lived it. The map can help you find the village. But the person tells you what living there is like.”

Lens took her grandmother’s words to heart. She practiced this idea every day. By age twelve, she was super careful. She never just guessed what someone else’s experience was like. She also became really good at asking questions. She asked in a way that made it easy for others to talk.

One sunny afternoon, Lens was sitting by the river. Her friend, Pip, was skipping stones. Pip looked sad. “What’s up, Pip?” Lens asked. Pip shrugged. “My favorite skipping stone sank.” Lens didn’t say, “Oh, I know how you feel.” She didn’t say, “That’s silly, just find another.” Instead, she thought about her grandmother’s words. Ask the person who has the experience. “What does that feel like for you?” Lens asked softly. Pip stopped skipping. He looked at the water. “It feels like… a part of my day just disappeared. Like a little bit of magic went away.” Lens nodded. She understood better now. It wasn’t just a stone. It was a feeling.

When Lens was twenty-one, she walked to the InclusionForge academy. It was a big, tall building. Beacon, the robot mentor, met her there. Beacon had shiny metal plates and glowing blue eyes. “What is perspective-taking?” Beacon asked. Its voice was smooth and calm. Lens looked at her magnifying-glass. “It is asking and listening,” she said. “I can’t BE you. But I can ASK what it’s like. It’s not guessing what someone thinks. It’s making space for them to tell their own story. Then I really listen to what they say.” Beacon’s blue eyes glowed brighter. “You are appointed,” it said.

Now, in her own classroom, Lens starts every first day the same way. The classroom is bright. Colorful drawings hang on the walls. Students sit at small desks, looking curious. Lens holds up her magnifying-glass. “I am Lens,” she says. Her voice is clear. “My job is asking and listening. My lens makes words bigger. It does not make people bigger. Remember my rule: I can’t BE you. But I can ASK what it’s like.” She pauses. “Ask. Listen. Really hear the answer. That is perspective-taking.”

She teaches her students ways to practice. First, Ask, don’t assume. Don’t say, “I know how you feel.” Instead, try, “What does that feel like for you?” Second, Open-ended questions. Don’t ask, “Are you sad?” Try, “How are you feeling about this?” Third, Listen for what they actually say. Don’t just listen for what you expect. Fourth, Don’t compare your story to theirs. Your experiences might be different. Let their story be their own. Fifth, If you don’t know, ask. Don’t just guess.

One student, a small squirrel named Nutmeg, raised her hand. “What if someone says something really weird?” she asked. Lens smiled. “Then you listen even harder,” she said. “Your job is to ask so they feel safe talking. Then you listen. No one else can tell you what their experience is like. Only they can.”

Sometimes, students ask Lens if perspective-taking is hard. Lens always gives the same answer. “It is not hard,” she says. “It is asking and listening. I can’t BE you. But I can ASK what it’s like. Then I really hear your answer. It’s a small thing to do. But it gets bigger the more you do it.”

She holds the lens. She asks. She listens.