My Eyes Weren’t Playing Tricks—That Is Not a Parking Space
After dialysis, I made the 30-minute drive to Retina Consultants of South Carolina in Ladson for my eye appointment.
Apparently, the parking lot decided to test my vision before the doctor could.
I saw a vehicle parked in a spot that was not actually a parking space, squeezed unbelievably close to the cars beside it. I am not sure the pictures fully capture just how little room was left between the vehicles.
Maybe this was part of my eye exam:
“Niel, can you identify the illegally parked vehicle?”
Yes. Yes, I can.
The scene reminded me of something that happened many years ago after a business trip. At the time, I was neither physically nor emotionally sober.
I returned to the long-term parking lot at O’Hare, exited the train, and walked down the stairs. My car was parked nearby, which should have been a pleasant surprise after traveling.
Instead, someone had parked beside me in a space that did not exist. Their car was so close to mine that I could not open the driver’s door.
I had to climb into my car through the passenger side—all 350 pounds of me, at least—and maneuver myself across the center console into the driver’s seat.
But before I did that, I gave the illegal parker a reason to get a new paint job.
That was not my proudest moment.
Let me be clear: damaging someone’s vehicle was wrong. Their terrible parking did not justify my response. That story is not advice or something I am celebrating. It is simply an honest example of who I was at the time and how poorly I handled anger and frustration.
Today, I respond differently.
I take a picture. I write a blog post. I point out the problem without creating a bigger one—and without adding an appointment at the body shop to someone’s calendar.
Still, parking in a space that does not exist and leaving barely enough room for other drivers to enter their vehicles is selfish. You do not know whether the person beside you has limited mobility, uses a wheelchair or prosthetic, or physically cannot climb through the passenger side.
And no one—especially after dialysis and on the way to a retina appointment—should have to perform parking-lot gymnastics because you decided the painted lines were merely suggestions.
My eyes may be recovering, but even I could see that was not a parking space.
Be better, people. Be better.
Blocked by a CEO: What Does the Block Actually Say?
I recently wrote about being blocked on X by Nextdoor co-founder and CEO Nirav Tolia.
And after looking at that screen again, I started thinking about the psychology of the block itself.
Not diagnosing Nirav.
Not pretending I know what he's thinking.
Not claiming I've somehow crawled inside his head.
Because I haven't.
But I do find the behavior fascinating.
Why Does Someone Block a Critic?
There could be a dozen explanations.
Maybe Nirav thinks I'm repetitive.
Maybe he doesn't like my approach.
Maybe he doesn't want criticism appearing underneath his posts.
Maybe it's reputation management.
Maybe he considers my comments disruptive.
Maybe he simply decided, I don't want to deal with this guy anymore.
And you know what?
That's his right.
It's his X account. He can block me.
But here's what makes it interesting:
I'm not some random person yelling insults at him. I'm a shareholder asking questions about the company I own shares in.
I've questioned Nextdoor's leadership.
I've questioned executive compensation.
I've questioned the company's communication.
I've questioned moderation and verification.
I've questioned its treatment and monetization of small businesses.
I've questioned its research transparency.
I've questioned whether the strategy is creating sufficient shareholder value.
Those questions aren't disappearing because my account disappeared from Nirav's X feed.
Psychologically, What Does a Block Accomplish?
This is where the subject gets interesting without playing amateur psychologist.
Blocking someone creates a boundary.
It removes an unwanted interaction.
It gives someone greater control over what appears in their social-media environment.
It can reduce exposure to criticism.
It can end an interaction someone no longer considers productive.
And yes, in some circumstances, avoidance can also be a response to uncomfortable information.
Which one applies here?
I have absolutely no idea.
And unless Nirav tells me, no one else does.
That's precisely why I'm not going to call him psychologically insecure, diagnose him as a narcissist, or claim I've discovered some deep emotional wound.
That would be speculation masquerading as analysis.
Instead, I'll stick with something I can actually document:
He blocked me.
And I'll ask what I think is the much more interesting question.
Why?
The Power Dynamic Is Fascinating
Think about the people involved here.
On one side is Nirav Tolia.
Co-founder and CEO of Nextdoor.
Entrepreneur.
Guest Shark on Shark Tank.
Podcast guest.
Public-company executive.
A person with access to corporate communications professionals, investor relations, attorneys, media opportunities and a significant public platform.
On the other side:
Me.
One shareholder.
One blog.
No communications department.
No investor-relations team.
No Business Wire distribution strategy.
Just questions, screenshots, publicly available information, and apparently an impressive amount of persistence.
Yet I'm the one who needed to be removed from the conversation.
I find that fascinating.
Maybe It's Just Reputation Management
There's also an explanation that requires virtually no psychology.
Maybe Nirav simply doesn't want a persistent critic leaving negative comments beneath his public posts.
That's not necessarily insecurity.
It could simply be reputation management.
If that's the explanation, though, it creates another interesting question for me.
Nextdoor is a company whose entire business is supposedly centered around conversation, community, and connection.
The company wants neighbors talking to neighbors.
It wants neighbors recommending businesses.
It wants businesses interacting with communities.
It wants people exchanging opinions.
But what happens when the conversation becomes uncomfortable for the person running the company?
Apparently, at least in my case:
Block.
There's some irony there.
Here's What the Block Doesn't Accomplish
It doesn't change Nextdoor's financial results.
It doesn't increase NXDR's stock price.
It doesn't answer my questions about executive compensation.
It doesn't explain Nextdoor's strategy.
It doesn't resolve my concerns about small-business monetization.
It doesn't provide the detailed Insights data I've been requesting.
It doesn't address my concerns about communication, transparency, or accountability.
And it certainly doesn't increase my confidence in Nextdoor's leadership.
It accomplishes exactly one thing:
I can't interact with Nirav's X account.
Okay.
I'll survive.
The Questions Are Bigger Than an X Account
This is where I think CEOs—and really any leader—face an interesting choice when dealing with persistent criticism.
You can answer it.
You can ignore it.
You can dispute it.
You can explain why it's wrong.
You can provide evidence that contradicts it.
You can even decide that the critic isn't worth your time.
All legitimate options.
But blocking the person doesn't refute the criticism.
And that's why I'm not particularly interested in trying to determine whether Nirav is “thin-skinned.”
I'm interested in whether I'm wrong.
Show me.
If Nextdoor's leadership strategy is working, show shareholders the results.
If the monetization strategy is strengthening the neighborhood experience, show us.
If executive compensation is appropriately aligned with shareholder value creation, explain it.
If my interpretation of Nextdoor's corporate culture is completely wrong, demonstrate why.
If the detailed research I've spent more than 80 days requesting isn't available, just say so.
Those are substantive responses.
A block isn't.
Maybe I Hit a Nerve. Maybe I Didn't.
Could my criticism have annoyed Nirav?
Sure.
Could he simply be tired of seeing my name?
Absolutely.
Could somebody handling his social media presence have decided that blocking me was the easiest solution?
Possible.
Could it be nothing more complicated than “I don't want this guy commenting here anymore”?
Yep.
That's the point.
I don't know why Nirav Tolia blocked me.
But I find the decision fascinating.
I'm a shareholder repeatedly asking uncomfortable questions about leadership, executive compensation, company performance, and shareholder value.
Whether the block represents frustration, reputation management, a personal boundary or simply a desire not to see my criticism, only Nirav knows.
What it doesn't do is answer the questions.
And that's the part that matters to me.
Block away.
Blocked Again: Apparently My Questions Are Getting Through
There are days when you wonder whether anyone is actually paying attention.
Then there are days when you get a message like this:
“@niravtolia has blocked you.”
Well, I guess somebody noticed.
For anyone who hasn't been following this ongoing Nextdoor case study, I have a fairly consistent routine for publishing new content
.
First, it goes on my blog:
Then I work my way through the social-media neighborhood:
LinkedIn. Facebook. Instagram. Threads. Bluesky. Then X—my own page, Sarah Leary's page, Nextdoor's page, and finally Nextdoor co-founder and CEO Nirav Tolia's page.
Why?
Awareness.
I'm not exactly operating with Nextdoor's Communications budget. I don't have a corporate PR department distributing carefully crafted statements through Business Wire.
I have a blog, social media, and persistence.
So I use them.
Then I Got to Nirav's Page...
And there it was.
Blocked. Again.
The screenshot couldn't be much clearer.
I can apparently view Nirav's public posts, but I can't engage with them, follow him, or message him.
It amazes me.
Nirav Tolia is the CEO and co-founder of a publicly traded company. He's an entrepreneur. He's appeared as a guest Shark on Shark Tank. He's been making the podcast rounds discussing leadership, entrepreneurship, AI, community, and the future.
Yet criticism from one small shareholder with a blog apparently warrants the block button.
I don't know Nirav's reason for blocking me, so I won't pretend that I do.
Maybe he thinks I'm repetitive.
Maybe he doesn't like my approach.
Maybe he simply doesn't want my criticism appearing underneath his posts.
But I can't help wondering:
Am I hitting a nerve?
Because something about these questions apparently isn't welcome on his page.
Blocking Me Doesn't Fix Nextdoor
Here's the funny part.
Blocking me doesn't stop any of this.
It doesn't delete my blog.
It doesn't stop LinkedIn.
It doesn't stop Facebook.
It doesn't stop Instagram, Threads, or Bluesky.
It doesn't stop my posts on X.
And it certainly doesn't stop me from continuing to examine Nextdoor.
If anything, I'm more determined.
Because my questions aren't about whether Nirav Tolia likes me.
They're about the company he leads.
I'm a Shareholder. I Get to Ask Uncomfortable Questions.
I continue to question Nextdoor's direction.
I continue to question its communication.
I continue to question its treatment of small businesses.
I continue to question its moderation and verification systems.
I continue to question its research transparency.
And I continue to question executive compensation when shareholders are still waiting for sustained value creation.
I've previously written about Nextdoor's GAAP losses even while some operating metrics have improved. That's an important distinction: the company has made progress in areas such as revenue and adjusted EBITDA, but that doesn't automatically mean I should be satisfied with leadership or shareholder returns.
And yes, I want to know:
How much should a CEO be rewarded when shareholders aren't seeing the value they expected?
That's not personal.
That's corporate governance.
I wouldn't characterize executive compensation as literally “burning through cash for a bonus” unless the numbers establish that connection. But I absolutely believe shareholders should scrutinize how much cash and equity go toward executive compensation and whether the company's performance justifies it.
The Irony Is Spectacular
Nextdoor's entire business is supposedly built around conversation.
Neighbors talking to neighbors.
Businesses talking to neighbors.
Community.
Connection.
Recommendations.
Discussion.
And yet, when a shareholder repeatedly questions the leadership of the company built around conversation...
Block.
There's a lesson in there somewhere.
Especially after everything I've written recently about what looks to me, from the outside, like symptoms of a broken corporate culture:
Poor leadership accountability.
Unclear values.
Low trust and transparency.
Poor communication.
Resistance to feedback.
I don't work at Nextdoor, so I can't tell you what the internal culture is.
But culture eventually becomes visible externally.
And blocking criticism doesn't exactly persuade me that my assessment is wrong.
You Can Block the Account. Not the Questions.
I'm one shareholder.
I'm one user.
I'm one guy writing a blog.
Nirav has every right to decide who interacts with his personal social-media account.
And I have every right to continue examining the leadership and performance of a publicly traded company in which I'm invested.
So I'll keep asking.
Show me.
Show shareholders the results.
Show users the improvement.
Show businesses the value.
Show us that the strategy is working.
Because blocking my X account doesn't answer any of those questions.
It just means I'll have to skip one stop on my social-media publishing tour.
And I've still got plenty of other stops.
Day 81: Nextdoor Says It Loves Small Businesses. So Why Put a Tollbooth Between Them and Their Neighbors?
Today is Day 81.
Yesterday I wrote about Nextdoor telling businesses:
“A reputation you earn is worth more than one you can buy.”
Today, let's look at what Nextdoor is actually building for those businesses.
Nextdoor's announcement is here:
https://blog.nextdoor.com/small-business-improvements
The company is rolling out Local Faves, redesigned free Business Pages, improved search, new business dashboards and, eventually, the ability for local businesses to participate directly in the neighborhood feed.
Some of that sounds great.
But then we arrive at:
Opportunity Alerts.
Nextdoor describes this as a paid product that routes requests from verified neighbors directly to local service providers so those businesses can respond first and potentially win the job.
And that's where I see the money grab.
Imagine the Neighborhood Conversation
A neighbor posts:
“Does anyone know a good handyman?”
Another neighbor recommends Joe's Handyman Service.
Great.
That's supposedly what Nextdoor is all about: neighbors helping neighbors and businesses earning reputations organically.
But Joe's business being recommended doesn't necessarily mean Joe can simply jump into that conversation today and say:
“Thanks for the recommendation. I'd be happy to help.”
Nextdoor says direct feed access for local businesses is “coming soon.”
In the meantime, Nextdoor has a solution:
Pay for Opportunity Alerts.
Now Nextdoor can route those requests directly to participating service providers.
That's where I start asking questions.
If the value of Nextdoor is organic neighborhood recommendations, why put a tollbooth between the business and the opportunity?
Then There's the Stock
Tuesday, NXDR closed around $2.20.
Wednesday, it rebounded to approximately $2.28.
As I'm writing this, it's around $2.26.
Stocks fluctuate. Three trading days don't prove a management strategy is succeeding or failing.
But look at the broader context I've been documenting.
Communication problems.
Questions about moderation.
Small-business monetization.
Transparency concerns.
Shareholder frustration.
And a stock still well below the $2.68 close on August 10.
No matter how many podcasts the CEO appears on, eventually:
Decisions drive value.
Marketing doesn't substitute for execution.
Podcasts don't substitute for performance.
And corporate messaging doesn't automatically create investor confidence.
And That Brings Me Back to Nirav Tolia
I've already said that I've lost confidence in Nirav's leadership and believe the Board should make a change at the top.
I also continue to wonder about executive compensation.
When a company is still working toward consistent GAAP profitability, and shareholders are waiting for sustained value creation, how should executive bonuses and multimillion-dollar compensation packages be justified?
That's a legitimate shareholder question.
Especially when that compensation ultimately represents resources belonging to the company and its shareholders.
Then I Watched a Reel About Broken Corporate Culture
The reel was aimed primarily at employees evaluating their company's culture.
https://www.facebook.com/share/r/1GpV1cKmwi/
But watching it, I couldn't help but apply those ve observed while looking at Nex’ looking at Nextdoor from the outside.
Five themes stood out:
Poor Leadership Accountability
Unclear Values
Low Trust and Transparency
Poor Communication
Resistance to Feedback
I can't tell you what Nextdoor's internal culture is like.
I don't work there.
But I can describe what the culture looks like to me as a shareholder, user, and outside observer after 81 days of documenting interactions with the company.
And from where I'm sitting, those five descriptions are becoming uncomfortable fits.
Culture Eventually Becomes Visible
Corporate culture doesn't stay inside headquarters.
Eventually customers experience it.
Businesses experience it.
Investors experience it.
The public experiences it.
If communication is broken internally, eventually it appears externally.
If leadership resists internal criticism, outsiders will eventually notice.
If revenue becomes more important than stakeholder experience, the product will eventually reflect it.
And that's why I keep coming back to the same question:
What kind of company is Nextdoor trying to become?
A neighborhood network?
An advertising platform?
A lead-generation service?
A trusted recommendation engine?
Or some combination of all four?
Making money isn't the problem.
Nextdoor absolutely needs to make money.
I'm a shareholder. I want revenue, profit, and a rising stock price.
But there's a difference between monetizing a valuable ecosystem and making every interaction feel like another opportunity to collect a toll.
Day 81
The stock is around $2.26 as I write this.
The small-business monetization strategy continues.
The podcasts continue.
I'm still waiting for the two detailed Insights studies.
And from my perspective, the signs of a broken corporate culture continue to become more visible from the outside.
Poor leadership accountability.
Unclear values.
Low trust and transparency.
Poor communication.
Resistance to feedback.
Maybe Nextdoor disagrees.
Good.
Explain why I'm wrong.
Because blocking criticism, ignoring questions, and adding another paid product isn't changing my assessment.
It's reinforcing it.
Apparently, My Eye Has an Eclipse Now
Another day, another update from the cockpit of Left Eye Airlines, where apparently the in-flight entertainment has switched from aviation instruments to astronomy.
The good news is that the horizon is getting smaller.
The less-good news?
It’s still there.
That strange line across my vision that I've been comparing to the horizon indicator in an airplane cockpit hasn't completely disappeared. It takes up less of my field of vision than it did before, which I'll count as progress.
But today I discovered another visual effect.
And this one is weird.
I went to a recovery meeting with quite a bit of reading. I spent a lot of time looking downward at the material, and that's when I really noticed something different happening in the center of my vision.
It looks like an eclipse.
🌞🌑
Not the Mitsubishi Eclipse.
Although, admittedly, a turbocharged 1990s Mitsubishi would be considerably more entertaining than what my left eye is currently doing.
I'm talking about the sun-and-moon kind of eclipse.
When I'm looking down, things directly in the center of my vision become very dark. There's this dark circular area that reminds me of the moon passing in front of the sun.
So we've officially upgraded the Left Eye Airlines instrument panel.
First, I had a horizon indicator.
Then, apparently, we were climbing.
Then the horizon started shrinking.
And now?
We're apparently experiencing a total eclipse somewhere around cruising altitude.
Meanwhile, the eye itself is still pretty red, as you can see in the photo. It also hurts sometimes.
Pain management isn't quite as simple for me as grabbing whatever happens to be in the medicine cabinet. I have end-stage renal disease, so Advil isn't an option for me, and I don't take aspirin. That means I'm not casually reaching for those when the eye starts bothering me.
For now, I'm continuing to pay attention to what the eye is doing and following the recovery process.
And then there's my arm.
There really isn't an elegant way to describe today's arm update.
It just looks nasty.
The scrape from my disagreement with my prosthetic, gravity, and the carpet is still healing, but visually it has reached that wonderful stage where someone could look at the picture and reasonably ask:
"What the hell happened to you?"
The answer remains:
I fell.
Apparently, however, my arm believes it was involved in a motorcycle accident, bar fight, and bear attack simultaneously.
So today's recovery scoreboard:
Horizon: Smaller, but still there. ✈️
Vision: Improving, but strange. 👁️
Center of vision: Eclipse mode activated. 🌞🌑
Eye: Still red and occasionally painful.
Arm: Absolutely disgusting.
Sense of humor: Somehow still operational.
Recovery isn't always a straight line.
Sometimes it's a horizon.
Sometimes it's a bubble.
Sometimes it's vinaigrette.
And apparently, sometimes it's a solar eclipse inside your eyeball.
At this rate, I'm slightly concerned about what tomorrow's special effect will be.
Captain Niel signing off from Left Eye Airlines. Please do not stare directly at the eclipse. ✈️👁️🌑