One of my favourite walking routes though London goes from Waterloo Bridge to the London Eye, across the Thames to Big Ben, up Whitehall, and on to Soho for much-needed refreshment. But this spring, when a friend was visiting me from the United States, something happened on that familiar walk that made me see my home city with fresh eyes.

At a crossing by Trafalgar Square, she stopped in her tracks, though the lights were green. ‘What’s that?’ She pointed to the light flashing, not with the usual walking man, but with two female symbols, intertwined. ‘Oh that,’ I said shrugging. ‘The gay traffic lights of London.’ They’d gone up years ago, for the annual Pride Festival, and were so popular, they’d stayed – a little like my friend and I, who had a blast running back and forth between crossings so she could photograph all the LGBTQ+ symbols. Though she lives in San Francisco with her wife, these lights tickled her pink – and now they had the same effect on me.

This is an example of what the social psychologist Clayton Critcher at the University of California, Berkley calls the ‘vicarious construal effect’. By seeing an experience through someone else’s eyes, you can capture a feeling you’ve lost – or one you never even had. In an interview, Critcher said: ‘Simply trying to think about what someone else might see actually changes the way we see and interpret what we’re doing, changes the emotions we feel.’

This effect works whether rediscovering your hometown or more fully understanding another’s lived experience. So next time you notice yourself becoming oblivious to the place where you live, try to see it through the eyes of a visitor. Or better still, invite one over and share their perspective.

Occasionally, I have what feels like an extraordinarily talkative day, loaded with meetings, calls or friendly chatter. Maybe you can relate. It seems natural enough to wonder, then: what’s an ‘ordinary’ amount of talk?

If you look up how many words we speak per day, you’ll find varying estimates online. Often, they’re linked to gender – specifically, whether it’s true that women talk more than men. A widely cited 2007 study of university students suggested not.

However: scientists recently published an update based on a more diverse sample of talkers. Their data comes from previous studies in which people of various ages – in the United States, Australia, Serbia and Switzerland – were audio-recorded as they went about their days. On the whole, they found that women (at an estimated 13,349 words per day) did tend to speak more than men (11,950), on average. The evidence was ‘conclusive’ only for adults aged 25 to 64 (women: 21,845 words per day; men: 18,570).

It’s tempting to mention this finding to my wife and our couple friends to see what sort of debates (or nods of recognition) ensue. But another key finding is huge variation, regardless of gender: one man produced fewer than 100 words per day, some people more than 120,000; the overall average was around 13,000. This makes me wonder where I’d fall on the wide spectrum between mime and telemarketer. Short of my own personal electronically activated recorder (or EAR) study, I’ll never know for sure.

Finally, with eyes affixed to our screens, we might wonder if people do less actual talking than they used to. Well, for each year that passed between 2005 and 2018, study participants spoke about 300 fewer words per day. If that finding holds up, it could mean we’ve shed thousands of words per day in recent years.

Lately, I’ve been trying to be a better listener by using Carl Rogers’s technique of ‘unconditional positive regard’ (UPR), an idea I learned about on a recent psychology course. UPR refers to nonjudgmental acceptance of, and care for, a person – regardless of whether you agree with the things they say, think and do. It doesn’t suggest that you ignore or permit harmful behaviour, only that an individual should not have conditions they need to meet for them to be worthy of warmth and support.

When I first heard about UPR, it struck me that one reason it might be so powerful is that we very rarely come across this nonjudgmental approach in our daily lives. From socialising to contributing in meetings, it can often feel as though we’re being assessed in various ways. I thought about how comforting it is when you know you’re being held in a positive regard that isn’t going to waver, even if you have an off day or make an error – and whether this was something I could more intentionally foster for the people around me.

In practice, this has meant resisting the urge to jump in with advice, which I’ve noticed is often infused with judgment, and attempting to listen without necessarily looking for a solution. It’s revealed more of my own biases and thought patterns – such as the way I sometimes default to ‘I would/wouldn’t have done X’, rather than understanding where the other person is coming from. It’s meant asking more questions and being increasingly mindful of my nonverbal communication, such as avoiding facial expressions that communicate surprise or disagreement. Granted, I fail every day to uphold the aims of UPR, but the process of attempting it has increased my capacity for compassion – and a happy side-effect is that I seem to judge myself a little less now, too.