The Shattered Mirror

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The mirror wasn’t lying.

It just wasn’t telling the whole truth either.

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You know the type. Hotel bathroom, fluorescent lighting that could interrogate a war criminal, steam clinging to the corners. My reflection stared back, one eye determined, the other... negotiating. Somewhere between the hum of the fan and that faint lemon-cleaner smell, I realised: I didn’t actually trust what I was seeing.

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Was it me?

Or the lighting?

Or just a reflection that had learned to flatter?

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The world’s like that lately, slippery. One minute you’re looking at facts, the next, you’re wondering if the facts were generated by a bored intern named GPT.

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We double-check headlines.

We reverse-image search photos.

We side-eye WhatsApp forwards from our uncles.‍

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Accenture’s Life Trends 2025 calls this “The Age of Trust.” Over 60% of people now say trust decides where they spend their time and money. And yet, half of us don’t believe what we read online.

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We live surrounded by mirrors that distort perfect selfies, curated reports, performance reviews with polite adjectives. Everything polished. Nothing certain.

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So we start squinting, adjusting, second-guessing.

And eventually… auditing.

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Not officially, of course. Just in that quiet, human way with a gut feeling that says, “something’s off.”‍

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That’s the thing, isn’t it?

Audit isn’t an office function. It’s a life instinct.

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We do it every time we check a receipt twice, or re-read a message before sending.

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We audit because we care about truth. Not the Instagram version, the actual version.

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And somewhere between my fogged-up mirror and the Accenture data, it hit me: this is what we really do for a living.

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We don’t count things.

We restore clarity.

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Because when clarity disappears, everything else follows.

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There’s no heroic gesture for rebuilding trust.

Just quiet consistency. Small acts of transparency.

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That’s how you rebuild the mirror.

Piece by piece. Frame by frame.

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Back in that hotel bathroom, the mirror hadn’t changed.

But I had.

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The trick isn’t to demand perfect lighting, it’s to learn to trust your own reflection again.

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That’s the real audit.

The one that starts before the spreadsheet ever opens.

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Until next week,

Christiaan Coetzee

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P.S. Ever caught a reflection that told you more than you were ready to hear?
Hit reply, I’d love to read about it (no lighting judgment here).

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Or, if you’re in the mood to see how we turn audit clarity into a daily habit, take the quick demo here.

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