I was in middle school when Tom Petty’s “Wildflowers” album was released over three decades ago, and even though my mom was pretty vigilant about what type of media I consumed I would occasionally sneak CDs and feed them to my discman.

Seedy lyrics aside, there was something undeniably raw and relatable in that simple statement: “You don’t know how it feels to be me.” Even now as an adult it still has the ability to clutch my heart.

You don’t know how it feels to be me.

Oh.so.true.

You’ll never know what it feels like to be me, in the same way you’ll never know what it feels like to be your spouse, your parent, your child, your brother, your sister, your neighbor, that stranger in the supermarket.

Where this anthem becomes problematic is when we turn this truth inward, applying it exclusively to ourselves. When applied to us, it is always the rule, never the exception: “They don’t know how it feels to be me.”

But when it comes to others, we forget that their pain, joy, or struggles are invisible to us. We rarely stop and reflect on the reverse: “I don’t know how it feels to be you.”

What would change in our interactions if we took a moment to remember that truth, not just for ourselves, but for everyone we encounter?

We would respond with

More grace

More love

More compassion

More mercy

More acceptance

IN SPITE OF our understanding of the situation.

By remembering that we don’t know how it feels to be someone else, we open a door to a world where empathy guides our every step.