Stuck in the relentless traffic on Nyerere Road in Dar es Salaam, the heat rising off the tarmac and patience running thin, we all find ways to escape the stillness. Some people lean on music, flipping through radio stations like they’re trying to tune out their own thoughts. Others catch up on calls, scroll through Reels, or stare blankly at the chaos outside. And then there are moments when you just… pause.

That’s what happened to me.

I paused. Not out of choice, but because everything else had run out. No more distractions, no more noise, just me, the road, and a long, heavy-duty lorry in front of me.

It had one of those safety warnings painted across the back. Not the usual “Keep Distance” or “Horn OK.” This one was different.

“If you can’t see my mirrors, I can’t see you.”

It was meant for drivers. For safety. A message crafted in practicality. But for some reason, it lodged itself in my chest like a question I hadn’t yet asked.

What if people are just like that lorry?

What if all of us are carrying something long, wide, and heavy memories, traumas, responsibilities, expectations? What if we’re built in a way that makes it hard to see what’s right behind us unless someone positions themselves just right within the narrow field of our emotional mirrors?

Think about it: that lorry isn’t ignoring you. It’s not arrogant. It’s not careless. It’s just busy carrying weight you can’t see, and its design makes it blind in certain places. The only way it can acknowledge you is if you align with the places it’s built to see.

People are no different.

Some people are so consumed by their journey, by the load they bear, that they genuinely can’t see you unless you’re reflecting back through the angles life has allowed them to watch. It’s not rejection. It’s not ignorance. It’s mechanics. Design. Survival.

And maybe… maybe the same applies to us.

How often have we failed to see someone else, simply because they were in our blind spot? How often have we mistaken distance for disinterest, or silence for absence?

We forget that everyone’s carrying something. That some are built for long hauls. That visibility, emotional, spiritual, or literal isn’t always mutual or effortless.

So keep moving. Stay present. Stay kind. But above all learn who’s capable of seeing you, and who simply isn’t built to.