How does a wise cowgirl know if a guy she’s considering should be her cowboy? Introduce him to her horse. If the horse immediately extends trust to him, take him seriously; if not, that should be the last day she sees the guy. That’s what I learned after talking with enough cowgirls.
Most babies and animals see clearly. There’s a special bond when they trust, when we see each other.
Adult human vision becomes clouded with hopes, disappointments, and the business of adulting, which interferes with that precious moment when two people truly see each other.
I’ve been reflecting on the importance of being seen by other conscious beings.
The lady in this week’s photograph has haunted my spirit ever since I took her photo. A feeling street photographers have to come to terms with is that we take someone’s photo. We take from them a personal moment and freeze it in time, in the hopes we can justify the greater good of sharing it to inspire the better angels in others.
This lady, with her white shoes so clean they sparkled, looked so anxious about the bus that she feared might never come. I ask myself: What was the source of her anxiety? Being late getting home? A bodily function nagging for attention? Feeling exposed on the street with bags of valuables? Missing or being missed by another?
In the bottom photo, it might appear that she’s looking at the camera; in reality, she’s looking down at the ground, deep in thought. While it may not be her story, my imagination made it emblematic of the longing to be seen—a need that endures despite the risks of vulnerability that come with truly seeing another person.
I often think about the struggle I face when I truly see another person and recognize a bond, only to feel pressured to reject it because of language barriers, obligations to others, societal expectations, or deeply ingrained beliefs. The pain of feeling the most profound human connection—seeing and being seen—only to dismiss it as a mistake or misjudgment can be overwhelming. The cognitive dissonance from denying such a connection leaves me torn between what I know is right and what I have been taught to believe.
I keep asking myself: What is it about a horse, or any animal, that allows them to judge an individual human as good? What makes an infant find comfort in the arms of a select group of non-parents and fall asleep in their arms? What does it mean to be a woman, with a nature that craves to be seen, in a world where being seen can be dangerous? The answer I’ve settled on is this: It’s when a horse senses it is safe. It’s when a baby’s survival intuition says they are safe. And it’s when a woman can realistically feel safe being seen, both by society and by those who see her in her entirety. For a man, safety comes when his faults, history, and strengths are seen and judged as righteously lovable.
Travelers experience this all too often. Two grand sail ships, all alone on the great seas—the giver and taker of life. Weeks or months without human connection. Suddenly, on the horizon, a glimmer of light. Pirates? Comrades? Despite the danger, we change course to cautiously approach each other. Often at the point of being too late, we are more often than not relieved that the other ship is friendly. Lit by the bright moonlight basking the ships and the sea, gangplanks are lowered. Instant friendships are made over food, drink, music, and storytelling. On precious occasions, two individuals truly see each other. God’s flashlight, in the form of the sun, shatters the moment at daybreak. Everyone returns to their ships. Planks are retracted. Two separate journeys resume. Upon reflection, the experienced humans involved don’t bemoan the brevity of the newly formed bonds. They cherish them and use them as comfort for the lonely days remaining at sea. As bittersweet as it is to know one has been seen but the connection was lost, it is far more desirable than the feeling of being unseen.
All that to say, when I knew you could see me too, is when loneliness left me too.
And now… know the photograph.
