To See and Be Seen

           

A favorite song of mine is Mr. Cellophane from the musical Chicago. So much so that I think I’ve quoted it in this blog before.

Cellophane! Mr. Cellophane

Shoulda been my name, Mr. Cellophane

‘cause you can look right through me,

Walk right by me

And never know I’m there.

This song is a lament, not a celebration.

Being invisible hurts.

Ok, so this being a favorite song is maybe more related to my non-existent self-esteem/social anxiety thing that plagued me for years.  Well, that and that it is a great soft shoe number.  I wanted to be a part of things but EVERYTHING WAS TERRIFYING AND I WAS SO AWKWARD. All capital letters awkward.  In social situations words left me completely, and I floundered, sputtering and incoherent.  I remember in high school the boy I liked once asking a friend if I even talked.

My husband would undoubtedly find this question hilarious, based on the word tsunamis he endures when he gets home from work each night.  

Being invisible hurts.

Honestly, I think this is partly why the lack of closure at my old job rankles, that sense of being unseen, unworthy of engagement hurts.

I have been reading a fair amount about people in America who feel invisible, who exist unseen by those with more economic means, educational opportunities, social stability. My heart hurts for how so many Americans feel like cellophane, like something invisible and discardable. 

I have been guilty of not-seeing people when they have hurt me—of using that same disregard as a weapon. I am not proud of these times. Intentionally NOT seeing people is hurtful and there really is no excuse for it. I am sorry for those times.

On the flip side, being SEEN creates profound joy and connection.

My third-born and I trekked up to Maine last week to see my survivor kid on her 21^st birthday. When we entered the camp where she was volunteering, we were overwhelmed by the love, joy, and greetings of friends galore. Hugs, smiles, cheers—it was like we were the long lost travelers returning from dangerous journeys abroad. Like the Grinch, my heart grew three sizes in about the first 10 minutes.

SO MUCH SMILING!

Buoyed, strengthened, flooded with positive emotion and connection—being SEEN just for being THERE in all our goofy glory--not for doing anything or bringing anything or anything other than just BEING THERE-- had a powerful effect on my spirit. It is hard to explain, but the connection and solidarity of being seen made me feel like I could get through another year. I could do the hard things. I could keep going.

I felt heart-full in a way I rarely experience.

What if we could do this for each other all the time? What if we could practice seeing those who are often unseen? The poor, the immigrant, the sick, the elderly, the cashiers, the baristas, the sanitation workers or linemen working in our towns? What if through a little smile and friendly comment we could foster those connections and make people feel SEEN?

What hurts could be healed? What hard things could we all do if we knew we all truly SAW each other, not just the good parts, but the tough parts too? 

             Certainly the folks at Camp have seen me at my neurotic worst (yeah not listing these), at my most vulnerable (Exhibit S for Sorafenib, aka Crazy Crying Lady 2012), at my weirdest (Exhibit O, head banging ORFFAPALOOZA!!).  And yet they do not turn away. They see. They embrace. They celebrate.

I just read Dignity by Chris Arnade, which explores those “unseen” in America. While a bleak sort of book, Arnade does suggest that if we really listened to each other, REALLY saw/heard what those in different parts of American society had to say, maybe we could fix some of the hate swirling around.  I have to agree. Seeing is the first step to connecting, which can grow into solidarity.

I am not sure how to make this happen on a broad scale, especially in the current climate of name-calling, “alternate facts”, and different moral priorities. But I know that on a small scale, I can practice truly SEEING those around me without judgement, without fear, with friendly curiosity and cheerful camaraderie. No cellophane on my watch.  Maybe, just maybe, we can figure out how to move right along with those we have not seen before; and that, I think, will make this world a better place.