Living Well | Being Seen
In the still-dark hours of early morning, I settle in at the end of the sofa with my laptop, a knitted throw blanket, and a cup of hot tea to write for a couple of hours. Candles are lit and Nellie, sound asleep in her chair, twitches and grunts through her doggie dreams. Time and space here is deliciously settled, quiet, open. The day’s energy, still resting.
It’s been nearly thirteen years of this writing routine for me. In ebbs and flows, thirteen years of words pouring onto virtual paper, of combining paragraphs with photographs, of publishing. Thirteen years of sharing my world with the world. All that time, all those mornings, all those keystrokes, and yet, it’s never become mundane or dreary. Challenging, yes. Changing, yes. Always, it seems, gently nudging me toward better. Pushing me toward learning, understanding, becoming.
Interestingly, even when you have such an open window for the world to peek through, it’s easy to remain hidden. To show everything but yourself. To somehow let this personal element fall out of priority, assuming that everything else, done well, will make up for the lack. Because, after all, you surely don’t want to be the Person-With-All-The-Selfies whose message is off-puttingly clear: Look at me! No, really, loooook at MEEEE!
These thoughts I’ve been pondering over the last many months. The nudge to be more visible in my online work, yet in a way that is engaging and inspiring, instead. Pondering what makes one come across one way and one the other. Then, I heard Mary Chapin Carpenter unknowingly frame it in a way that made it all fall into place. She was filming herself for Instagram, standing in her kitchen with her guitar, preparing to sing another #songsfromhome, her beautiful contribution to all during shelter-in-place, and, as an introduction, she referenced, “…our need to not leave each other behind. To stay together. To allow ourselves to be known and seen by one another.”
In that moment, it all made sense.
I imagined a singer-musician sharing the most beautiful work in the world, but never once showing her face. I imagined an author with no photo of himself on the flyleaf. I imagined Mr. Rogers narrating his show, but not once being in front of the camera hanging his jacket, putting his sweater on, changing his shoes. I imagined welcoming guests into our home, having conversation, and maybe even a meal, all while wearing a paper bag over my head. Of course these scenarios are silly-ridiculous. And so is not allowing myself to be seen by my follower-friends. Being seen, I realized, is a beautiful and gracious form of caring, of staying together, of not leaving anyone behind. Human connection gives us hope. Human connection is living well.
Loves? You may have noticed, if you follow me on Instagram, that I’ve begun showing up in small ways, in cameos, you might say, over the last couple months. It’s a beginning. I’m planning on growing in this caring way, still (ever) learning the actual, technical curve of it all. I laugh because there really is a mountain to know and taking photos and film of myself does feel uncomfortable at times.
But also? It’s tingly and exciting and, after thirteen years, it’s about time.
