I walked right past a good friend the other day in the produce section of the local grocery store; I didn’t recognize her behind her mask. It wasn’t the first time (and I imagine it won’t be the last time) that a mask caused me to overlook the identity and the distinguishing features of a person in my life. And while physical masks may be the current cultural norm in our society due to the pandemic, we all wear masks from time to time, masks that we use not to protect us from disease, but to hide those individual characteristics that we find too difficult to expose. And similar to the current model that the CDC recommends for safety, these symbolic masks can feel claustrophobic and isolating. We all have a need to be seen, really seen, and known, and masks create a barrier between ourselves and the rest of the world that is worth breaking through.

To be seen and known requires time and effort. When I was growing up, I tried on many versions of myself before I settled into the person I am. Not that dissimilar to baking good homemade chocolate chip cookies, settling into you takes trial and error. The first batch out of the oven is often overcooked or undercooked and sticks to the pan. We test the heat and adjust the baking time and even reposition the rack. And eventually, we have a cookie that feels right, that doesn’t require scraping off the burnt edges. That has the optimal balance of chocolate and cookie and butter and brown sugar.

I arrived at boarding school at the age of 13, with the notion in mind that I wanted to be friends with everyone. Perhaps this was in reaction to my former years at a girls’ school where I had been insulated in a small group of friends; some might call a clique. I wanted my high school years to be different, and I set out with a smile on my face every day attempting to be accepted and welcomed in every corner of my new school while accepting and welcoming every aspect of the school right back. It was a lofty, yet naïve, goal, and I fell short, not because of my efforts, but because it didn’t permit me to be me. All these years later, I still remember a boy casually commenting to me outside of the P.O. (the building where we received our mail),

“You know, you are going to have to take some risks too.”

And what is remarkable is that an adolescent boy had recognized my strategy for what it was: I was keeping myself tucked away behind a mask, and by doing so, I was avoiding risk. But in order to have real relationships, real connections, in order to be really seen, we have to take that leap of faith. We have to be willing to take risks.

These risks, unlike the ones associated with skydiving or eating a live scorpion, are worth it. There are serious consequences to not taking the risk, as any connections we make will be generally flimsy and fake, superficial and shallow. It actually takes hard work to keep up fabricated appearances, to try and be something we are not. And looking back at my boarding school days, when I was steadfastly committed to the façade of an ever-present smile, I realize now that I was simply surviving and not actually living.

To be clear, putting yourself out there is daunting. Being vulnerable in a society that is demanding and full of steep expectations and allowing ourselves to be open to rejection is difficult. But I would argue that if we are able to withstand the risk of rejection, maybe even more than once, the chances are great that we will find a home, a tribe, the ability to relax in our own skin in the company of others, and a place where we are known and truly seen.

I walked in on a conversation taking place among a few of our kids and their friends.

“If you could have any superpower what would it be?” asked a boy. Clearly COVID has led us all to be pretty creative in our dialogue.

“I want to be invisible” came an answer, and I considered that power: the capacity to saunter around unseen, creeping up on people, overhearing conversations, taking a nap at work, or a drive around town just to freak people out, and I thought, oh no, not me.

I try hard to be seen, to let my real self come charging in, just as is. Too many times I have felt that feeling of invisibility – and I didn’t like it. I have sat in groups feeling unseen, not knowing how and when to jump in; overwhelmed, caught up in my own head, and ultimately reminding myself that I am fine and have every right to be visible in this crowd.

And we can help foster others to be seen too. When our daughter was young, I was so excited to have another baby, and the fact that she was healthy - and a girl! - was the icing on the cake. Boy after boy after boy, after boy, I knew I was blessed but oh, how I wanted to be able to dress up a girl in little girls’ clothes - Peter Pan collars, stitching and smocking, the color pink and big bright hair bows, and, for a short while, I got all of that. For a short while our daughter let me squeeze her limbs into intricate sleeves and surround her body with puffy skirts, and then one day, she just shook her head, “no.” She had had enough; clearly my taste in clothes was not hers. I could have pulled rank and said, “If you are going to live in my house, you will dress the way I want you to dress,” or, “when you are a mom, you can dress your daughter the way you want to dress her.”

But I caved, because somewhere deep in my heart, I knew she just wasn’t the Peter Pan collar type. And I held my breath as she picked out clothes that were glittery and flashy and studded. I held my breath one summer when she wore the exact same purple and pink dress almost every day. It was soft and easy, and it suited her much better than the treasures that I would have chosen. I wanted her to feel seen and known and loved for her and not the little girl I was dressing up to satisfy a need in me. 

In some ways social media makes it easy for us to be seen, and yet, it also makes it more challenging to take the risk to be known. I have viewed enough posts - even some of my own - that present to the virtual world a perfect life. The perfect family going on perfect vacations, eating the perfect meal, lying on the perfect beach with the perfect body. I admire the achievements displayed and beautiful homes and well-behaved dogs and amazing adventures. I really love seeing it all, and yet, I know there is so much of the all that is left unsaid. Rarely do we post our mistakes, a child’s tears, a root canal, our anxieties or frustrations, and the messiness of life. And seeing only one part of life online can make living our entire life harder. Social media gives us a platform on which we can curate the life we want seen, but it is not the ideal place to be known.

There is freedom that comes with removing the physical mask, the one that protects us from disease. What a feeling, to throw it off once beyond the doors of the grocery store. Likewise, letting go of the barriers that keep us from being seen and known is also liberating. We live in a society where it is easy to be seduced into offering just some aspects of our lives, the ones that are shiny and new and successful and triumphant, and hiding the parts that are worn and trodden and hard and flawed. These days, I actually love and respect the more challenging pieces of our stories. I am honored when someone chooses to share with me a part of themselves that they would not post, and it gives me comfort to know that I am not alone. And my superpower? It might be fun to fly or breathe underwater, but I will take the power that comes with knowing, truly knowing, who I am, and the strength that it takes to let myself be seen, really seen, and ultimately loved for what I am.