Some long for fame, others for quiet praise — but most of us, in some way or another, want to be seen. Not just acknowledged, but witnessed. Validated. Held in the awareness of others. It shows up in the photos we take, the statuses we draft, even in how we frame our experiences: “If no one knows I did it, did it really matter?”
In today’s world — even here in Kenya, where not everyone lives online — the urge to live for the gaze of others is quietly embedded in everyday life. We plan, curate, and sometimes even feel experiences more intensely when we imagine someone else is watching. But what would life feel like if no one was? Can we truly exist without performing ourselves?
1. From Childhood Applause to Adult Validation
It’s tempting to blame the usual suspects — Instagram, YouTube, influencer culture. But the craving to be seen started long before platforms. It’s planted in childhood. The child who is applauded for being clever, articulate, or entertaining. The student who shines and is told they’re “going places.”
In Kenya, performance can be subtle or overt: speaking English with flair, wearing the right outfit to an event, capturing that perfect shot of nyama choma in Naivasha. These moments aren’t always about the experience — they’re about being witnessed in the experience.
We begin to:
Travel with an eye for reviews, not rest.
Speak not to connect, but to impress.
Post not from joy, but for engagement.
But being visible is not the same as being present. The eyes are often there — but presence, true presence, is rare.
2. When Life Turns Into a Performance
There’s a difference between expressing yourself and performing yourself. The first is rooted in truth. The second is shaped by surveillance — real or imagined.
Even if you don’t consider yourself “online,” the performance mindset can quietly take hold:
Taking photos with no one in mind, only to feel incomplete unless someone sees them.
Sharing deep reflections, not just to process — but to prove depth.
Entering conversations with the pressure to say something wise, instead of something honest.
3. Solitude and the Case for Healthy Laziness
We tend to frame laziness as a flaw, but some forms of it are a quiet wisdom. Healthy laziness is the instinct that says: “This isn’t worth my energy. Not everything needs to be done, shared, or chased.”
It protects us from burnout, overexposure, and the subtle pressure to always be interesting.
In a hyperactive culture — where doing is everything — resting, pausing, and opting out can feel rebellious. But they are also acts of preservation.
Healthy laziness allows us to:
Let things be incomplete without guilt.
Miss events and opportunities without fear of falling behind.
Trust that being is enough — even if no one sees it.
It can be a doorway back to presence. To choosing a quieter, slower pace that still holds value, meaning, and depth — without applause.
4. Choosing the Unseen Path
So how do we begin to live less watched — not to hide, but to heal?
Practice invisibility — Take a walk without your phone. Do something kind without telling anyone. Let the moment belong only to you.
Resist the urge to post immediately — Sit with your experience longer. Let it settle. Let it change you before it becomes content.
Welcome boredom — Not every second needs to be filled, optimized, or shared.
Honor disinterest in spectacle — If you feel too tired to perform, it might be because you're meant to rest in authenticity instead.
Embrace healthy laziness — Let go of the pressure to constantly produce. Trust the wisdom in your pauses.
You don’t need to disappear from the world. But maybe you can take yourself back from it — one quiet decision at a time.
Conclusion
There is a rare kind of freedom in living a life that doesn't need to be noticed. In doing things simply because they feel right, not because they’ll impress. In showing up for your life — without constantly narrating it.
Visibility isn’t wrong. But when it becomes a cage, presence becomes the door.
Maybe we don’t need more people watching. Maybe we just need more people being. And maybe that starts with us.
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