Objects in the Mirror

Every single day while driving, we see this one small line written somewhere in front of us, whether consciously or unconsciously. And even if we don’t read it every time, we remember it. It quietly becomes part of our memory. It’s what is written on our side mirrors:

“Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear.”

It is such a simple instruction that we almost stop noticing it. A small warning reminding us that what we see behind us may look distant, but it isn’t as far as it seems. And yet, we rely on it constantly.

Every time we change lanes, every time we judge distance, every time we decide whether it is safe to move forward, we glance at that mirror. We know it distorts distance. We know it plays tricks with perception. Still, we use it, carefully translating what we see into what might actually be happening behind us, even though what we see is never the full picture.

The mirror never lies completely, but it never tells the full truth either. Things appear smaller, farther, and less immediate than they really are. And sometimes, when something sits outside the mirror’s frame, it appears suddenly, reminding us that what we see is only a partial view of reality.

But mirrors are not decisions. They are guides.

They are meant to be glanced at, not stared into. When you drive, you check the mirror briefly, just enough to understand what is behind you. If you keep staring at it for too long, you stop seeing what is in front of you. The road ahead becomes blurry while what is behind slowly takes all your attention.

Life works in a similar way.

Looking back is sometimes necessary. It helps us understand where we came from, what shaped us, and what we should be careful about next time. But when the mirror becomes our main focus, something subtle begins to happen.

We start living with our attention turned backward. Always feeling like something important is behind us, chasing us—old pain, old memories, old fears we never want to feel again. And so we keep checking the mirror, again and again, trying to make sure they are not catching up.

Old conversations replay in the mind. Old mistakes begin to define who we think we are. Old fears appear larger than they really are simply because we keep looking at them from the same angle again and again.

And the more we look, the closer they appear.

Not because they moved forward.

But because we never stopped checking the mirror.

The past is supposed to stay behind us. That is how time is meant to work. Moments happen, they pass, and we move forward. But the mind does not follow that rule as neatly as the calendar does. Sometimes the past leans forward. A moment that ended long ago suddenly appears again, carrying the same feeling, the same tension, the same weight—close enough for the body to believe it is still happening.

And the body reacts before the mind has time to argue.

A memory becomes a sensation. A sensation becomes a reaction. Something that ended long ago quietly enters the present again.

That is the strange thing about the mind. It doesn’t measure time the way we do. Something that happened years ago can still live inside the body as if it happened yesterday. The brain remembers. The body remembers. And sometimes the body reacts before the brain has time to remind it that the danger is already over.

Because of that, we start adjusting our lives.

We avoid certain places, certain conversations, and certain situations. Not because they still exist, but because they once did. And once can be enough for the mind to replay the same warning again and again.

I had something like that.

There was something I feared deeply. Even the thought of it was enough to change my body completely. My heart would start racing even when nothing was actually happening. I could be sitting quietly and still feel like I needed to escape. It would take hours for my body to calm down again. Even a small reminder of that past moment was enough to bring the same reaction back.

Most of the time, I avoided it. Avoidance felt safe. If I stayed away long enough, the reflection would slowly fade. Or at least that’s what it felt like.

But avoidance only gives the illusion of control.

At some point, I realised something uncomfortable.

Fear does not disappear through thinking. Thinking only makes the reflection clearer.

So slowly, I started doing the opposite of avoidance. Not dramatically, not all at once, but deliberately. I began putting myself in the same situation I had been avoiding. Knowing it would feel uncomfortable. Knowing my heart would race. Knowing the mind would resist with all the creative reasons why I shouldn’t be doing it.

At first, nothing changed.

But repetition has a strange way of loosening the grip of fear.

A few days ago, I found myself in the same situation again—the same thing that once made my heart race uncontrollably. This time it didn’t. There was no panic. No urge to escape. Just a quiet sense of normalcy.

And in that moment, something became clear. The situation itself had never been the real problem.

What kept disturbing me was the reflection of it. The past had stayed in the mirror for so long that I had begun treating the reflection as if it were still in front of me. And I kept running, even when nothing was actually chasing me. And that is when that small sentence on the mirror finally made complete sense.

Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear. But they are still behind you.

PS: Be ready, just in case, as sometimes they can be :)))

-Vimarsh Shah

March, 2026.