Grey sky, wet pavement, with a coffee I don’t need and calendars I can’t keep. Across from me, a nurse nods off between night shifts; a student edits a slide deck on 4G; I outline a feature that might matter to someone I’ll never meet. Three lives, one bus, one city. Understanding, as another, starts here: sharing a seat with parallel missions and choosing to move with care.

I meet myself by trying on other skins. Understanding is a mirror I borrow.

There's the me who ships and the me who writes. The me in the lecture hall and the me in the mosque. The founder in the pitch, the grandson on the call, the friend who shows up late but tries. Understanding as another is a test: can I hold two truths and still make one move?

I keep a small ritual: ask, "What would Future‑Me say?" and "What would the person affected say?" If both answers rhyme, I act. If they fight, I listen longer. Empathy isn't softness; it's precision. It makes my aim clean and my ambition humane.

Before decisions: try on two perspectives—Future‑Me and the Other. Note the overlap. Move there.

I borrow your eyes to fix my aim.

I try on your story to loosen my pride.

Two truths, one step—the foot that lands is mine.

If I’m changed by the walk, that’s the point.