To be seen

I was recently asked:

“What’s your relationship with visibility / being seen by the outside world?”

I’ll start by establishing a general understanding of how I’m interpreting “being seen.”

If we’re talking about merely being perceived with the eyes, then it could be said that being seen is simple. It’s mechanical. It’s a binary yes or no. There isn’t too much to it in the way of a relationship— you’re either being seen or you’re not.

On the other hand, if we’re talking about perception beyond the visual, if “being seen” also includes experiencing and understanding someone, then it gets interesting.

In this context, who really has the ability to see? Can you say that you have ever seen the entirety of anyone’s being? I can’t say that I have.

I may have seen aspects or glimpses of someone, but to what extent are my perceptions of others ultimately accurate and trustworthy anyway?

I can’t even say that I fully know my own being, my own self. How well can I expect to see others?

From this perspective, I am indifferent toward being seen— in and of itself being seen doesn’t inherently carry any weight.

But somehow, there is a time where being seen does become meaningful to me.

It falls within the outcome, not the act itself.

If I am to be seen, to be perceived, to occupy space in one’s mind, I aspire to have that presence be something that is of benefit to them.

It’s irrelevant if I am being fully seen, or if what others perceive of me aligns with what I perceive of myself— I have no control over that and wouldn’t want to either.

At the end of the day, I am imperfect, and that’s okay. Knowing that I internally hold an altruistic intent is enough for me.

I am content.