Some lessons don’t come from books or boardrooms, but from fleeting moments with strangers. On a recent trip through Egypt, a simple phrase from a waiter stayed with me — and it keeps echoing in how I think about people, leadership, and the way the world reflects us back.
I’m writing this while being driven through the Egyptian desert on the way to Luxor. Not the golden postcard desert of rolling dunes, but something far harsher – jagged cliffs, rocky outcrops, endless stone plains that look like they could swallow you whole.
Our driver cuts across it all at 170 km/h. My wife and I have placed our fate in his hands. There’s a peculiar mix of adrenaline and trust in moments like this – when you realise you’ve surrendered control.
And yet, as the desert rushes past, my mind drifts not to cliffs and speed, but to something softer from a few nights ago. It was one of those warm evenings where conversation drifts lazily over half-empty glasses. Our waiter had been hovering with an ease that felt more like presence than duty — a quick joke here, a patient pause there. At one point I told him he was especially friendly. He paused, smiled, and with a quiet certainty replied: “I am only your mirror.”
Such a simple phrase — but it landed. Not just the words, but the way he said them. His voice was soft, his eyes steady. He wasn’t polite in the rehearsed, professional sense. There was a warmth in him, something disarming and genuine, that made the reflection feel real.
Since that night, his words have stayed with me. And as the desert races by, I keep turning them over.
So much of what we experience is a reflection of what we bring. Approach someone with openness, and more often than not they open too. A smile invites a smile. Patience softens tension. Encouragement, freely given, has a way of circling back when you least expect it.
And the beauty is that these moments aren’t calculated. You don’t smile to get a smile. Yet what you seed often returns to you, reshaped in ways you couldn’t have scripted.
The reverse is true as well. Enter a moment with your guard raised – telling yourself “I won’t expect too much, so I can’t be disappointed” – and that is often what comes back at you. Yes, it spares you the sting of being let down. But it also closes the door to being surprised, delighted, even moved.
That’s the paradox of defensiveness: we think we’re protecting ourselves, when in truth we’re shutting the world out.
Psychologists call it emotional contagion — the way we mirror not just behaviour, but moods. Neuroscientists describe mirror neurons firing when we see emotions in others, prompting us to feel them too. It’s why one anxious voice can infect a whole meeting, and why one calm presence can bring everyone back down.
I’ve noticed the same mirror effect in business. Walk into a customer meeting convinced it will be adversarial, and it usually is. Enter instead with genuine curiosity — listening without the armour of a pre-set pitch — and the tone shifts in ways you couldn’t script.
Teams are no different. Leaders who broadcast only pressure and scepticism will see it reflected back in hesitation and risk-avoidance. Those who show trust and belief often watch their teams grow into it. Partners return the trust we choose to extend. The mirror always works — the only question is: what are we projecting?
Openness doesn’t mean naïveté. It’s not about ignoring risk or pretending everything will go your way. It’s simply granting the world a chance to reflect something good back — and often, it arrives from the most unexpected corners.
This lesson arrived on holiday. Customers mirror the curiosity and energy we bring into conversations. Teams reflect their leaders, often faster than we’d care to admit. Partners return the trust we choose to extend.
Still, I think the personal lesson matters first. If I can practise openness in everyday life – with my wife, with friends, with strangers I may never meet again – then it becomes second nature to carry it into boardrooms, workshops, and negotiations.
That waiter probably thought he was just being kind. Yet in a single phrase he gave me something far greater than service.
“I am only your mirror.”
The reflection we see is almost always the one we first chose to give. Staying open doesn’t guarantee things will go my way, but it does leave room for the best kind of surprises – the genuine, the human, the deeply rewarding.
And maybe that’s the real gift of travelling. We set out in search of monuments and history, yet it’s often a fleeting encounter with a stranger that gives us the memory we’ll treasure most.
☕ So here I am, somewhere between the cliffs and the temples, sharing a Sunday reflection: the world is holding up a mirror more often than we think. The only question is — what do you want it to reflect?