When catching up with friends from different parts of the world, it quickly becomes clear how differently people view global events depending on where they live.
Here in Europe, conversations often revolve around Russia’s war of aggression and the security concerns it has brought to our doorstep. But elsewhere, people might be focused on entirely different issues—another conflict, an environmental disaster, or the economic instability affecting their daily lives.
My own network is largely built around a shared passion for classic American cars, hot rods, and kustoms. It’s a surprisingly diverse and international community. That common interest brings people together, even when their backgrounds, life situations, and worldviews are vastly different. Time and again, I’ve found that this shared hobby opens up conversations that might otherwise never happen. It creates a connection, even when politics, culture, or daily realities seem worlds apart.
Some of my friends, for instance, live in small, declining towns in the U.S.—places that lost their manufacturing jobs to cheaper labor markets decades ago. In these communities, the future often feels uncertain, even hopeless. The biggest concerns tend to be illegal immigration, economic inequality, and growing political polarization at home. In those conversations, Europe’s security challenges rarely come up—not because they’re seen as unimportant, but because everyday life is shaped by different realities.
Here in Europe, we worry about our safety, the threat posed by Russia, and tend to see the world through a lens we believe is “Western”—when in truth, it’s more accurately Western European. It’s the worldview we were raised in, and it often feels like the only right one. But to a working-class American living in the Midwest, things look different. They also consider themselves Western, but that identity has fragmented in recent decades. We’ve drifted far from the shared reference points of World War II or the Cold War without even noticing.
Sometimes it’s worth pausing to reflect on the mutual stereotypes and assumptions our respective cultures create. To Europeans, Americans may appear—if not outright foolish—at least simplistic or indifferent to Europe’s security concerns. To many Americans, we can come across as privileged, even arrogant “free riders” in matters of defense and security. It’s not uncommon in the U.S. to hear frustration about why American taxpayers are footing the bill for European security by acting as the world’s police. For the average American worker, there’s little time or headspace to grasp the threats we in Europe see as part of our everyday reality.
These kinds of conversations are a powerful reminder of how much our environment shapes what we consider important. It’s easy to assume we’re viewing the world from some universal perspective—and to treat our own values and concerns as self-evident. But the truth is, each of us sees the world through our own bubble, filtered through history, media, upbringing, and social context. It’s surprisingly difficult to recognize that bubble unless you’re regularly exposed to life outside it.
And yet, despite our differences, many people—regardless of background—share the sense that we’re living through extraordinary, transitional times. There’s a growing awareness of the need for sustainable solutions: in economics, resource use, and international cooperation. The emphasis and viewpoints may differ, but the underlying concerns are often shared. To make progress, it’s crucial to realize that no single perspective offers the full picture. And it doesn’t have to.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from the classic car community, it’s that real connection can grow across even deep divides. A shared passion can open the door to conversations where people truly listen—not because they agree on everything, but because understanding can only emerge through genuine human interaction. Maybe that’s what we need more of in public discourse, too: the willingness to look beyond our own bubbles and accept that there are many valid ways of seeing the world—without dismissing anyone’s lived experience.
In the end, only hindsight will reveal which of today’s moments, decisions, or events turned out to be true turning points in history. Maybe decades from now, historians will pinpoint the spark that set larger changes in motion—when the world’s direction shifted for good. For those of us living through it, the forest often gets lost among the trees. But that’s exactly why it’s worth taking a look toward someone else’s forest, too. It deepens our view—of both our own reality and theirs.
Ps. Apologies for the title and the header image mismatching. In Finnish, the word “kupla” means both a bubble and a nickname for the VW Beetle