There is a popular idea that isn't true. It is the notion that we are all ONE. But in reality we are ONE of ALL. This may seem like a slim hair of difference but in fact there is an ocean between each approach because there is an ocean between each of us. Our brains formulate information individually. We may occasionally have similar beliefs, dreams, hatreds, passions, but they are internalized into compartments of separate flavors. Which means,
It is impossible to know exactly what is going on in someone else's experience.
I rarely imagine do overs, but of the few that whisper between my ears they involve the role I had in indoctrinating my children to "society" or my early interpretation of "society". The pair of them will go off into the world accompanied by ideas I stuffed down their throats like ducks being plundered for their fat livers (most of the duck shit nuggets will be tossed into the Seine by their 30th birthdays). I did this while unconscious to the awakeness of the individual and that we all have the right of choice. My instincts are not my children's and nor should they be. The open space of the Universe holds endless possibility, offering a fresh air market of individual perspective.
Sitting on my side of the invisible line between myself and the world I am able to know exactly what is true for ME. It is inappropriate to choose the right type of underwear for people I bump into or raise. This doesn't mean I don't do my best to point out when rapids are approaching, just not the roiling river water that exists only to me. This concept will probably drive a few parents insane. I know this because it made me bonkers when it was introduced late one night when I was told to mind my own beeswax...in so many words.
"I am only trying to help."
"Well your help sucks."
Imagining what someone else needs, then actively reaching into their experience is pillaging. If someone told Pablo Picasso to color within the lines he either ignored or spited their advice, which is why it is impossible to follow someone around all day making sure they do what you tell them to do.
I scream for centuries and pull my hair out by the fist fulls.
A few billion hours later I get over my self-self, making the herculean effort to clean up my own backyard. Funnily enough there are quite a few dented buckets, broken odds 'n ends and rusty barbed wire to keep me otherwise engaged for the the next 50 plus years I've got left in this equation.