The Parking Lot Mirror

A Tale of Two Days

Yesterday, Tom was so close. His car’s battery was flashing a desperate warning, but he spotted the perfect parking space—right by the charging station. Phew, he thought, made it just in time. Fifty meters to go, one final turn, and he’d be set. The scent of rain hung in the air, and he could almost hear the hum of the charger kicking in. But as he rounded the corner, tires crunching, another car—a sleek SUV—swooped into his spot. Bold and unapologetic, it stole his moment.

“Damn it!” Tom muttered, hands tight on the wheel. “He beat me, that idiot!” The word slipped out, sharp with frustration. He pictured the other man—smug, careless, probably laughing as he walked away. It felt personal, like a small theft in the chaos of his day. The spot wasn’t just a spot; it was a moment of control he’d been chasing.

A Turn of Fortune

Today, the universe flipped the script for Tom. He pulled into the lot and spotted the perfect parking space—right by the charging station, open and waiting like a gift. He slid his car in, plugged the charger, and stepped out with a grin, savoring the small victory. As he walked away, he caught a glimpse of another car circling, its driver scanning for a space, just missing the one he’d claimed. A chuckle escaped him. “Ha! I beat him, sucker!”

The Hidden Reflection

But here’s the twist: the person who lost the spot yesterday and the one who won it today are both Tom. The “idiot” he cursed yesterday and the “sucker” he gloated over today are also him. In the heat of the moment, he didn’t see it. His mind carved the world into a battle of us versus them, winner versus loser, without pausing to notice the mirror staring back.

Where We Stumble

This is where we often stumble. Life moves fast, and we get caught in our own heads—our wants, our frustrations, our little battles. We see someone take our spot, cut us off, or disrupt our plans, and we assume we know their intent. They seem selfish, rude, against us. In psychology, this is called projection: we pin our own feelings, fears, or flaws onto someone else. Tom didn’t just see another man stealing his spot; he saw someone who didn’t care about him. And when he snagged the spot today, he didn’t just feel lucky—he felt like he’d triumphed, as if the other man’s loss was his gain.

A Philosophical Insight

Jiddu Krishnamurti, the philosopher, put it simply: “We are the world, and the world is us.” It suggests the lines we draw between ourselves and others aren’t as solid as we think. That other man who took Tom’s spot yesterday? He wasn’t some villain in his story. He was just another person, perhaps late for work or stressed about his own low battery, chasing his own version of that parking space. But in the moment, Tom couldn’t see it. He was too busy feeling cheated.

The Root of Conflict

This disconnect is the root of so much human conflict—big and small. We don’t see others as they are; we view them through our own lens. When our desires—what we want right now—dominate, we forget the principles that ground us. The most important? Recognizing others as ourselves. Tom wanted that spot, not just for the charger but for the ease it promised in a hectic day. Yesterday, he felt robbed. Today, he felt like the king of the lot. Both times, he missed the bigger picture: the other man was just another version of him, navigating the same messy, human struggle.

A Shift in Perspective

What if Tom had paused yesterday, taken a deep breath, and thought, Maybe he’s just having a rough day, too? What if today, instead of chuckling, he’d glanced at that circling car and remembered how it felt to lose the spot? It’s not about giving up what he needs or being a pushover. It’s about seeing the man in the other car as someone like him—flawed, trying, human.

The Power of Projection

Projection is subtle and pervasive. It’s not just about parking lots; it’s the coworker who “always” slacks off, the stranger who “rudely” bumps into us, the friend who “obviously” meant to slight us. We assume we know their intent, but we’re often just seeing our own frustrations reflected back. The driver who cut us off might be rushing to pick up a sick child. The coworker might be drowning in stress we can’t see. We don’t know their story, but we can assume it’s as complex as ours.

A Path to Awareness

Unlearning this habit begins with awareness. We can catch ourselves when we’re quick to judge—when we’re ready to label someone an idiot or a sucker. We can ask, What are we feeling right now? Are we seeing him, or are we seeing ourselves? It’s not about perfection; it’s about staying awake. Krishnamurti’s idea isn’t abstract philosophy—it’s a call to look closer. The world isn’t just out there; it’s within us. Every person we encounter, every small clash, is a chance to see ourselves more clearly.

A Call to Pause

So, next time we’re circling for a spot—or waiting for a promotion, or arguing with a friend—let’s pause. Let’s smile at the chaos of it all. That person in our way? He’s not our enemy. He’s us, in a different moment, trying to find his own place to land.

Compassionate Accountability: A Tie, a Ticket, and a Teachable Moment

A Speeding Violation… and a Funeral

Deputy Dustin Byers was patrolling Highway 21 near Bogalusa last weekend when he stopped a vehicle going 20 miles over the speed limit. A routine stop, perhaps—but the situation quickly revealed deeper layers.

The driver was visibly flustered. He was on his way to a funeral, struggling emotionally and practically. Amid his grief and haste, he couldn’t even tie his necktie.

An Act of Kindness, Right There on the Road

Courtesy : St. Tammany Parish Sheriff’s Office

Deputy Byers didn’t just issue instructions or rush through the process. He listened. And then, with quiet dignity, he helped the man tie his tie—right there on the side of the highway.

That small act of kindness, captured in a photograph later shared by the St. Tammany Parish Sheriff’s Office, has since touched thousands across the country. But what makes the story powerful is what followed: the driver still received a citation.

Yes, He Still Got the Citation

Lieutenant Carli Messina explained it clearly: “Deputy Byers still has a job to do. And public safety is still a high importance to us.”

It would have been easy to let it go. The man was grieving. He had a reason. But good intentions don’t cancel out danger. Driving 20 miles over the limit can end a life in seconds.

And what if—just what if—this man, rushing to honor the life of someone he lost, had ended up losing his own?

Love Doesn’t Always Say ‘It’s Okay’

It’s tempting to think that kindness means letting people off the hook. But punishing in excess is often a way to release frustration. Letting go too easily, though, invites costly mistakes to repeat.

The real middle path—the path of love, care, and firmness—lies in compassionate accountability. It sees the person, honors their emotion, and still holds the line.

A Tie and a Ticket—Why That Matters

Deputy Byers didn’t choose between empathy and enforcement. He chose both. He tied the tie. He wrote the ticket.

That’s not contradiction—it’s integrity. He upheld the law and uplifted a man in pain.

A Moment to Remember

Hopefully, the driver takes a defensive driving course and moves forward. But more than that, he may carry with him the deeper lesson: that accountability can come wrapped in kindness. That someone can see your pain, honor your dignity—and still protect you from harm.

Because the best protection doesn’t always feel good in the moment. It feels right in hindsight.

The skill interactions taught me that books could not replace

June 25, 2025

Hi Kanna (Dear one),

Sometimes I wonder: What if someone had gently whispered to me at a young age — “Books will teach you a lot, but people will teach you more.”

Would I have approached life differently?

This letter isn’t meant to undo the past — I value every part of it. But I do wish I had understood earlier that the most important lessons are not found on pages, but in the spaces between people — in a glance, a conversation, a misunderstanding, a helping hand, or even silence.

So here I am, putting into words something I never learned in school, never fully understood from stories, but discovered through living — slowly, sometimes painfully, but deeply.

Seeds of Both Worlds

Although by experience I had mostly introvert tendencies till age 10 — there were also seeds of extrovertism as part of my family was very social.

A couple of elders, for fear that I may be harmed, wanted to keep me by their side all the time. But fortunately, being the first grandson in the family and being with so many people — relatives who handled me till age 3 — left seeds that could grow later after age 10.

Ages 3 to 10 were dominated by introvert tendencies — lots of books, story books, school books — and I was always dreaming with books. That built a solid literary foundation but left some filters through which I saw the world that required undoing.

Life Kept Breaking Open the Shell

And every life phase actually pushed me to interact with people.

Every school change — although I dreaded it — opened up a new world. Going from a village school to a town school and then to a city school and then to a city college and then to the most happening city in India, Mumbai, to work — each stage demanded growth. I had to talk to people who spoke a different language than mine, and I had to learn that language. Then came the biggest shift — landing in New York.

So every step of the way — that new experience and the need to interact with people — created challenge and opportunity both.

But because I was not experienced — in other words, because my early life and my early introvert-leaning life were shaped more by what I believed about people and what I had learned about people only through stories and movies — those impressions occupied a lot of my headspace.

That’s how I related with people. And that required a certain separation, a certain undoing. That is why I believe early on, learning how to interact helps a lot. And how do we know how? Just by doing.

The People Who Lit the Path

So many friends and teachers identified what I had in me and pushed the envelope.

• In fifth grade, a teacher put me in the middle of the stage as the main character after she watched how I performed as a side character.

• A Tamil teacher found that I have the unique gift of poetry and taught me how to write — to change essays into poetry using grammar and freestyle.

• A friend introduced me to meditation.

• A friend in college helped me overcome my shyness in talking to girls.

• Saints I met in my twenties quietly shifted my inner compass.

• And countless well-wishers, colleagues, and friends enabled me to dive deep into human relationships and do well in striking a conversation and holding it — especially since I entered the U.S. when I was 25.

We Learn to Relate — Not Just to Know

Just knowing facts and opinions from the internet does not give us the experience to hold a conversation with a person.

Ultimately, even on the internet, you experience the product of people.

In a sense, our entire human experience is based on relationships that we can create — with people, objects, animals, everything.

A relationship is not a static thing — it’s dynamic, ever-changing throughout our lives. We relate — and perhaps relating is the better word, because relationship can make it seem like a fixed state.

The Complicated Side of Connection

There are people we need to let go of —

not because they are bad, but because they do bad things.

And then there are those who genuinely believe they are helping us, while quietly — even unknowingly — undermining us. This is a difficult personality to grasp and even harder to deal with.

But over time, and with a careful, aware — not stiffly self-protective, but genuinely aware — mind, we begin to spot them. And when we do, we simply let them sing their song alone — or with anyone else who chooses to listen.

These are often people who shy away from putting their own work into the world.

They convince themselves — and others — that it’s just not for them.

But somewhere deep inside, they’ve buried a longing so thoroughly that it resurfaces as cynicism disguised as feedback — often by subtly undermining others’ efforts.

And the truth is: they’re not even aware they’re doing harm — to you, or to themselves.

Then there are the outright opponents — the ones who call you names.

In a strange way, they’re easier to deal with — their intent is plain to see.

And yes, there are willfully cunning people who work against you in calculated ways.

They’re difficult to face too — but with clarity and time, you will.

No harm wished for any of them. No headspace given either.

We just move on.

But There’s Light Too

Amongst all these, you will also find people who love you for who you are and who want to journey with you.

They work equally — or more. They share the little they earn. They are grateful for what you bring.

To find such a set of people also takes experience — to weed out what is not suitable and to keep what is.

All this requires coming forward gradually — learning to interact, learning from interactions, holding on to some for life, and releasing others forever.

This is the ultimate need of the hour skill for anyone in the world — irrespective of age, caste, creed, and whatnot.

If You Learn It Young

And when you learn it young, and keep learning, you will make your life a beautiful garden.

And around you, there will be a lot of peace and joy.

Even the ones who knowingly or unknowingly harm you will remember you — through love or hate.

But in that very remembrance, they recall an ideal — their own, long buried — and hopefully, that memory will serve them in this life or beyond. May they change for their own sake, and may they do well in life.

To My Younger Self — And Today’s Sons and Daughters

I suppose I’d like to call this a letter to my younger self.

But more than that, it’s for all the sons and daughters of today’s world.

Learn to relate. Keep learning.

It’s the skill life will keep testing you on — and the one that makes life worth it.

With affection,

Citizen KK