Can We Live Without Wanting to Be Watched?

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.

Daniel Arap Moi — The Shadow and the Shepherd: A Deep Dive into Kenya’s Second President

If Jomo Kenyatta was the founding father, Daniel Toroitich Arap Moi was the long-reigning stepfather — sometimes protective, often punitive, and almost always enigmatic. He ruled Kenya for 24 years, the longest of any president to date. To some, he was the gentle teacher, Mwalimu , who kept the nation from tearing apart. To others, he was the architect of a surveillance state, a master of patronage and fear, the man who perfected repression through calm. This is a portrait of Daniel Arap Moi — not just as a ruler, but as a man shaped by modest beginnings, colonial violence, and the hunger for order in a chaotic time. Early Life: The Boy from Sacho Daniel Arap Moi was born on September 2, 1924, in Kurieng’wo, Baringo, in Kenya’s Rift Valley. He came from the Tugen sub-group of the Kalenjin community. His father died when he was just four. Raised by his uncle, Moi’s early life was marked by hardship, discipline, and deep Christian missionary influence. He trained as a teacher at Tambach ...

Not All Disabilities Are Visible

Some pain does not leave a mark. Some exhaustion does not show in the face. Some people are carrying weights that have no name, no diagnosis, and no outward sign. We are used to recognizing suffering only when it can be pointed to — a bandage, a crutch, a cast, a wound. Something we can see. But the human interior is its own world, and often, the heaviest struggles live there. The Quiet Work of Holding Yourself Together There are those who walk into a room smiling, contributing, present — and yet they are holding themselves together one breath at a time. Not because they are pretending, but because they have learned to live with what would overwhelm another person. Some battles are fought inside the mind: The slow grey of depression The relentless hum of anxiety The sudden, unbidden memory that takes the body back to a place it never wants to return The deep fatigue that sleep does not cure And yet, life continues. The world moves. The dishes still need to be wa...

Know Thyself: The Quiet Power of Naming Your Nature

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” — Carl Jung We live in a culture that equates good intentions with goodness, and ambition with ability. But very few people in Kenya—or anywhere—truly know what they are made of. We can name our qualifications and our dreams. But ask someone their vices or virtues, and they hesitate. Worse, they lie. The Danger of Self-Unawareness In Kenya today, many of us are wandering through life making choices—big, small, and irreversible—without truly understanding who we are. We end up in jobs we despise, relationships we shouldn’t be in, or positions of influence we aren’t emotionally or ethically equipped for. And at the root of this dysfunction is a simple truth: we don’t know ourselves. This is not a spiritual or abstract dilemma. It’s a deeply practical one. To know oneself is to understand your vices, your virtues, your weaknesses, and your strengths—not in a vague sense, but in detail. Let’s ge...

KenyaOnAShoeString

Search This Blog