The "resolution" of experience

At a Yankees spring training game years ago, I sat beside a colleague who had played baseball at Dartmouth. We were working across the street from the field, and it was an easy lunch break diversion.

For me, the game was light entertainment: sun, chatter, crack of the bat. For him, it was something else entirely. He could see where the fielders were shifting before a pitch. He could predict the breaking ball about to come, how a batter’s stance telegraphed his intentions. He wasn’t just watching baseball; he was reading a coded language written across the diamond.

It was a startling realization: we were in the same seats, looking at the same scene, yet inhabiting different worlds. His was layered with strategy and foresight, mine was flat by comparison. That moment planted an idea I’ve returned to often—the world comes to us in varying levels of resolution.

It’s like watching a movie in standard definition and then seeing it again in 4K HDR. The plot doesn’t change, but the experience does. Suddenly you notice details you missed before: the expressions on faces, the texture of fabric, the subtle play of light and shadow. Once you’ve seen in higher resolution, it’s hard to go back.

Living at Different Resolutions

That’s how the world works, too. Some people move through it at 480p: they see enough to follow the story. Others operate in 1080p or 4K: they notice more, anticipate more, connect more.

Baseball was one example, but sailing gave me the reverse experience. I look out at the water and don’t just see blue. I see wind patterns traced like handwriting across the surface, currents curling around invisible obstacles, boats interacting like chess pieces. When friends join me on the water, they see a postcard; I see a living film in high definition.

We all have these domains. The chef who can taste a dish and know instantly whether it was sautéed in butter or oil. The architect who walks down a street and sees not just façades but materials, load-bearing choices, echoes of earlier movements. The birder who hears what the rest of us hear as a generic “tweet” but can distinguish a warbler from a finch, can tell whether the song is mating call or warning.

The point isn’t that some of us are smarter. It’s that experience trains the eye and ear to turn the quality up—to move from standard definition into HD.

Practices of Resolution

So how do you upgrade your resolution? For me, the key is curiosity—and the habit of asking why, again and again.

When I notice something strange, I try not to leave it alone. Take the Lincoln Continental’s door handles. At first glance I thought they were ugly: awkward loops perched on the window sill. But when I dug deeper, I found they echoed a mid-century design intended to make the car’s lines sleeker. I still don’t love them aesthetically, but knowing the reason behind the choice changed my experience of the car. That’s like clicking the gear icon and turning the quality up a notch: you’re watching the same scene, but now in higher definition.

Books taught me the same lesson, albeit the hard way. In high school and college, I often felt behind in literature classes. My classmates seemed to intuitively catch symbols and references that I missed. In discussions, I’d freeze up, embarrassed that I didn’t see what was supposedly obvious. I gravitated toward STEM subjects partly because of that insecurity. But over time I realized that not seeing a symbol doesn’t mean you’re incapable—it just means you’re watching in standard definition.

Take The Great Gatsby. At the surface level, it’s a doomed love story. A bit clearer, and it’s a beautifully written snapshot of the Jazz Age. Sharpen the picture further, and it’s a web of symbols—the green light, the eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleburg, Gatsby’s parties—each opening to questions about class, longing, and illusion. And at its highest resolution, the book becomes a cultural artifact: Fitzgerald’s attempt to grapple with the hollow promise of the American Dream. None of these levels cancels the others; they’re simply different definitions of the same film.

Curiosity is the remote control that lets you switch resolutions. Sometimes it’s as simple as looking up a word you don’t know. Sometimes it’s asking why something was built the way it was. Sometimes it’s leaning on guides—teachers, critics, or even AI—that can help you see what you’ve missed.

A Table of Multi-Resolution Experiences

DomainStandard Definition (480p)High Definition (1080p)Ultra HD (4K)Immersive (IMAX / HDR)Painting (Van Gogh’s Starry Night)“A pretty picture of a night sky.”Recognizing Van Gogh’s style: swirling brushstrokes, bold colors.Understanding Post-Impressionism, how Van Gogh painted emotion not realism.Reading it in context: painted from asylum window, capturing mental state, with echoes of astronomy and spirituality.Book (The Great Gatsby)“A love story gone wrong.”Noticing Fitzgerald’s lush language, Jazz Age parties.Seeing the green light, the eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleburg, themes of class and longing.Understanding it as critique of the American Dream, a cultural artifact of 1920s America.Song (The Beatles’ Yesterday)“A sad, pretty melody.”Noticing the string arrangement, Paul’s voice, simple lyrics.Understanding the groundbreaking shift: first pop song with solo + string quartet.Reading it as cultural artifact: Paul’s dream composition, symbol of nostalgia, covered 2,000+ times.Nature (Hike in Yosemite Valley)“Pretty cliffs and waterfalls.”Recognizing Half Dome, El Capitan, wildlife.Understanding glacial history, geology, ecological networks.Immersing in Indigenous history, conservation battles, and spiritual resonance of wilderness.Film (The Godfather)“A crime movie about the mafia.”Noticing famous lines, performances, music.Seeing Coppola’s choices: lighting, symbolism, Shakespearean family tragedy.Understanding its critique of American capitalism, immigration, and its place in film history.Sport (Baseball)“Fun game with hits and outs.”Learning basic rules and stats.Recognizing defensive shifts, pitch sequencing, sabermetrics.Seeing baseball as cultural history: Jackie Robinson, moneyball analytics, baseball as metaphor for America.

The table is a reminder: in every domain, you can always turn the quality up.

The Joy of Resolution

Why bother? For me, the answer is awe.

Psychologist Dacher Keltner defines awe as the feeling we experience when confronted with vastness and mystery that transcend our current understanding. Resolution is a path toward awe, because when you see more, you marvel more.

Nature makes this obvious. To the casual hiker in Yosemite Valley, the cliffs are simply spectacular. At higher resolution, they acquire names—Half Dome, El Capitan—and each has stories of climbers and explorers. Higher still, you realize the valley itself is the work of glaciers, carved over millennia. At the highest definition, you see the valley as layered history: Indigenous stewardship, John Muir’s writings, Ansel Adams’ photographs, battles over conservation. Each layer is like switching from SD to 4K: the shapes were always there, but only in higher definition do they come alive.

Art works the same way. Standing in front of Van Gogh’s Starry Night, you might first see a pretty night sky. With a bit more knowledge, you recognize his distinctive brushstrokes. A bit more, and you understand that he wasn’t painting realism but emotion—his turmoil swirling in oil paint. At the highest resolution, you know he painted it while institutionalized, capturing both his inner state and echoes of cosmic order. The same canvas becomes a different movie depending on what setting you’re watching it in.

This is the gift of resolution: the more you know, the more there is to be amazed by.

The Burdens of Resolution

But higher resolution isn’t always better. Sometimes it can intrude.

As a hobby guitarist, I find it hard to watch live music without staring at a player’s hands, trying to decode the chords and techniques. It’s a different kind of enjoyment, but it competes with simply losing myself in the sound.

Other domains I’ve opted out of. Wine tasting, for instance: I’ve surrendered. I can’t discern the oak and tannins, and I don’t care to. For me, “not terrible” is enough. The same with coffee—I don’t drink it, and I’m not interested in parsing flavor notes. Not every show needs to be in 4K; sometimes 480p is fine if all you want is the gist.

And sometimes, as Susan Sontag warned in Against Interpretation, resolution veers into over-analysis. Dig too hard for meaning, and you can strip art of its vitality. At a dinner party, asking “why” too many times can shift from curiosity to interrogation. Resolution has to be tempered with judgment.

Toward a Philosophy of Resolution

The goal isn’t to live at maximum definition in every domain. That way lies exhaustion and pickiness. It’s about knowing when to sharpen the picture and when to simply let it blur.

Philosophers have circled this idea from different angles. Michael Polanyi wrote of tacit knowledge—the expertise we act on without words. Ludwig Wittgenstein showed how the same picture can be seen as a duck or a rabbit: perception itself is layered. Robert Pirsig, in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, called this quality—a sensitivity to the excellence woven into things.

Resolution is a more everyday version of these insights. It’s the recognition that we live at different levels of clarity in different domains, and that each level has its own rewards. At the low end, you can still follow the story. At the high end, you can still be surprised. What matters is realizing that higher resolutions exist—and that you can choose to pursue them.

Conclusion: Back to the Ballgame

I go back to that Yankees game. My friend didn’t ruin the sport for me; he revealed its hidden depth. He showed me that there’s always another layer, another definition, waiting to be seen.

That’s what I want to offer readers:

1. People are seeing the world in higher resolution than you are. Don’t resent it—learn from it.
2. You can improve your experiences by turning the quality up. Curiosity is the practice that moves you from SD to HD to 4K.
3. Connect with others who see differently. Each person’s perspective is like borrowing their settings for a while.

The world is not standard definition. It’s an IMAX theater. And every day, if we choose, we can tune our eyes to see more.

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