Reflections in Shared Space: Living with the Energy of Others
There’s something about living closely with other people—whether family, neighbors, or coworkers—that brings out a subtle kind of tension. It’s not always conflict. Sometimes it’s just the push and pull of different ways of being. Different rhythms. Different ways of handling energy.
I’ve come to think of this as a matter of reflection—like the difference between two types of feng shui mirrors: concave and convex. These aren’t magical tools in this context, but symbols for how we manage energy in shared space. What we take in, what we deflect, and how we affect one another without even trying. How others, with their mirrors, can be skilled, unskilled, constructive, or destructive: but all communicating effect with their energies.
A convex mirror is the type that bulges outward. It scatters energy in many directions, deflecting what comes toward it. It’s quick, reactive, even a little chaotic. Useful in emergencies, but unpredictable. I think of this like the extroverted mode—where expression dominates, and the goal is often to redirect or disperse intensity outward. Convex energy protects by pushing back.
The concave mirror, on the other hand, draws energy inward. It absorbs and distills, and in some traditions, it’s used to transmute harmful influences. This feels more like the introverted mode—where there’s a need to sit with energy, process it, and find clarity through quiet reflection. Concave energy protects by transforming.
Neither mirror is wrong—they just respond differently. And most of us carry both in some measure. But learning to live with others means understanding not only our own tendencies, but the kinds of reflection they bring out in us. Sometimes we deflect things we should be absorbing. Sometimes we absorb what should have bounced away.
This isn’t just about personality—it goes deeper. I think these mirror types also reflect the subconscious and the conscious. The subconscious mind, like the concave mirror, slowly draws in and reworks what it encounters. It holds things until they’re ready to be seen. The conscious mind, like the convex mirror, reacts in real time—protecting, planning, expressing. And just like people, those two systems have to live together.
When we don’t pay attention to how we’re reflecting or absorbing, we end up in strange loops—exhausted, overstimulated, or feeling unseen. But when we let a reflection stay a minute, we can start to see what’s really being shown to us—not just about others, but about ourselves. Therefor utilizing these strange loops, instead of letting them go to waste, and guiding these loops to less exhausting ways of expressing themselves.
There’s a quiet kind of wisdom in letting a ripple settle. Sometimes clarity doesn’t come from seeing more—it comes from letting go of the urge to push the energy anywhere at all. Just being present. Holding space for the reflection, even if it warps a little. Especially if it warps.
We don’t need flat mirrors to understand each other. In fact, I’m not sure they exist. All mirrors bend, just a little. And maybe that’s what allows us to see more than just the surface. When we see what we consider as “errors,” we need to hold on to that reflection to see where the bends are, to incorporate, and map the shape. How else can we truly know ourselves and others.
But it goes deeper still—because we are mirrors. Our brains and eyes don’t just record the world; they reflect it. Every interaction, every pattern of light, every emotional ripple—we take it in through these curved instruments. We don’t just see reality; we reshape it the moment we perceive it. Learning how we reflect is learning how we engage.
This makes the spaces we live in—the homes we build, the objects we choose—more than just backgrounds. They become structures of reflection, amplifying or softening the energies we live with. A house can reflect peace or tension, just like a person can. And by shaping our material world with awareness, we shape the feedback loops that help us grow. Connecting to the material world, like the shape of where we live, helps us live with intention and purpose.
The inner connection to the outer world isn’t a mystical concept—it’s a mirror game. An interactive practice. A way to heal, manage, and evolve. We don’t need distant magic to find transformation. Sometimes, it’s right at the tip of our noses, waiting to be seen through the curve of our own reflection.