Three hours of rhythmic kicks to my airplane seat became an unexpected meditation on empathy. On a recent Mexico City to Austin flight, a child behind me turned my seat into a drum, while the parents seemed oblivious. With each thud, judgment rose inside me like a wave.

I shot glances backward, crafting silent accusations. How could they let this continue? What kind of parents ignore their child's disruption? My frustration built with every kick, until a strange thought surfaced: If I were them—exactly them, with their entire life history, their precise neural wiring, their current state of mind—I would do exactly what they were doing.

The thought stopped me cold. In that moment, I glimpsed this truth—these strangers were not separate from me, but reflections of myself in different circumstances. My righteous anger dissolved into curiosity. What exhaustion might these parents be carrying? What battles had they fought before boarding? The kicks continued, but now each one reminded me: given their exact circumstances, I would be just as absorbed, just as unaware.

This insight extended beyond the flight. You know how you are supposed to wait for your turn to exit the plane? Well, in Mexico, passengers surge forward at landing, ignoring row order. On one hand, annoying. On the other, I see myself in their impatience. I recognize my own potential for thoughtlessness.

As ancient wisdom traditions teach us, when we truly understand others, we understand ourselves, and when we truly understand ourselves, we understand others. We are all doing exactly what we would do, given our complete context.

The kicks against my seat became a teacher, each thud reinforcing that judgment softens when I truly accept that, placed in another's shoes (not just their external circumstances, but their entire being) I would act exactly as they do.