The Joy of Not Being Seen

On a typical Saturday morning in Dallas, my son Hank and I decided to turn an ordinary errand into something extraordinary—by dressing as Buddy the Elf and Napoleon Bonaparte. We got almost none of what we went looking for, and that’s a good thing.

The Setup

I have a Buddy the Elf costume. Whatever you think the average uses per year of this costume would be for a 42-year-old man, mine is likely higher. On a recent night, there had been a moment of tension in our house. This happens in a family of six that includes two preteens and one teen. So, I pulled out the costume and finished the evening's chores and check-ins as Buddy. Tension relieved and mission accomplished, for now.

A silly idea hit me. My car was in the shop, and I needed to Uber the next morning to pick it up. I asked the kids, “Should I wear my Buddy the Elf costume on the Uber ride?” Before I'd finished, my 12-year-old son Hank lit up and said, “I’ll go with you! I have my Napoleon costume from last Halloween. Can we go together?!” 

The next morning, Hank and I were up early, dressed from head-to-toe on a hot Texas day, eager to share our joy with unsuspecting strangers. 

When the Uber pulled up, we stifled our giggles. Our plan? Not to acknowledge the costumes at all. Our driver, an older man with a bemused grin, asked, “Are you going somewhere special?” Committed to the bit, I replied, “North Pole, and step on it!” He played along, “You mean Addison Automotive?” “Yeah, that’ll work for now.”

It was the perfect start.

The Unnoticed Parade

Here's where things didn't go as planned. Our 20-minute drive resulted in exactly zero people noticing us. When we arrived at the mechanic, they were closed—no employees, just a lockbox with my keys.

Undeterred on our drive back, we rolled down the windows, cranked up some 90s hip hop, and started our parade. Surely some people would light up, give us a thumbs up, maybe snap pictures. But reality, as it often does, had other plans.

As we cruised around in character, only two people noticed us. TWO. Everyone else was in their own world. Most people were looking at their phones, even many drivers. Some stared out the window with indifferent or sad looks on their faces. We passed two different couples fighting on their way to wherever they were headed.

Determined not to give up, we pulled into our neighborhood grocery store and cranked up Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You." Surely this would do it—Christmas in August, with a dash of Napoleon for good measure.

Still, almost nothing. A little girl being scolded by her dad pretended not to see us, two employees didn't even blink, and one woman gave a half-smile, half-head shake. 

That was it. It was as if we were living the old Zen koan: If two attention-seeking extroverts parade around town in costume and no one notices, does it make a sound?

The Unexpected and Yet Obvious Lessons

We didn’t set out to learn anything profound, but we did, and it all came from not being noticed.

When you move from the role of performer to that of observer, a whole side of life opens up that you can’t get any other way. Maybe it comes a little easier with age, the shift from needing to be seen to valuing what we see.

Here’s what stands out to me: 

1. Most People Are Struggling: The Buddha nailed it—suffering is everywhere. We saw it in the couples arguing, the little girl shrinking under her father’s scolding, the blank stares of people absorbed in their own troubles. How often do we pass by these hidden struggles without noticing?

2. Connection over Performance: The real connection being formed wasn’t between us and those we encountered. It was me and him. I’m lucky I get any moments when the 12-yr-old hormones don’t make him think I’m an idiot. In the ideal scenario, he flies the nest and there are only 5 ½ years left in our home. I want all the good time I can get.

3. The Power of Unseen Moments: Some of the most meaningful experiences happen when no one is watching. That insight that occurs just inside your mind, a quiet weekend morning in bed with someone you love, or the first cup of coffee in a silent house. The magic of our goofy parade came almost precisely because no one else cared.

It’s Hard for your Brain to Fully Love While Being Seen

Research from fMRI’s and other studies show that when you think you’re being observed or scrutinized, there is less activity in the parts of your brain that help you feel empathy and love. In addition, the oxytocin that helps you experience trust and connection has a reduced impact. You literally cannot love to the fullest of your ability when your focus is about how you’re being received. 

What about you? What joy are you missing?

Maybe like me, you sometimes feel time is running out with the people you love. Maybe you miss life’s small joys because you’re focused on how you’re being seen. Or maybe you find yourself on autopilot, staring blankly out a car window, unaware of the absurd, beautiful parade that is this life.

The time we have is right here. The opportunities to connect—to see others, to really be present—multiply when we stop trying to perform. The real beauty of life isn’t always in the big gestures. It’s often hidden in the unnoticed moments that pass by when no one is watching.

And the joy right now? It’s in realizing that the only person who matters is sitting next to you, dressed in a costume of their own, sharing the only moment you’re ever guaranteed to have.

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