Everyone Wants to Be Found

On Being Seen and an Original Poem

Photo by Zoe on Unsplash

In high school, I watched the movie Lost in Translation for the first time. The film stars Bill Murray as Bob, an aging American actor visiting Japan to shoot a commercial. Scarlett Johansson is Charlotte, a recent college graduate in Tokyo with her husband, an in-demand celebrity photographer. Bob and Charlotte meet and instantly form a bond. Both of their marriages are in trouble; the movie makes it clear that neither Bob nor Charlotte feels genuinely connected to their spouses. Charlotte's husband is too busy to be with her, and Bob is looking to kill some time, so the two characters become quick friends who explore Tokyo together. 

The tagline for the film is, "Everyone wants to be found." Bob and Charlotte found each other when they were desperate for a connection with another human being. I identified with that longing as a teen when I first watched Lost in Translation. I was trying to figure out who I was and who I needed in my life. I had good relationships with my friends and family, but I didn't always feel seen, something most kids can relate to at one time or another. I craved connection. 

The desire to be seen remains as we age. As long as we're breathing, we want people to see who we are, acknowledge us, and hold space for us. In her book The Gifts of Imperfection, Brené Brown says, "I define connection as the energy that exists between people when they feel seen, heard, and valued; when they can give and receive without judgment; and when they derive sustenance and strength from the relationship." She goes on to say:

As a matter of fact, we are wired for connection. It's in our biology. From the time we are born, we need connection to thrive emotionally, physically, spiritually, and intellectually.

Bob and Charlotte's story moved me because I saw myself in their desperation. Lost in Translation has been out in the world for twenty years, and it still holds a special place in my heart because of the truth it spoke into my life. Art can show us truths about ourselves that we might not otherwise discover. That's one of the reasons art is vital to my well-being, especially poetry. 

A few years ago, I took an online poetry writing class. The teacher gave us all kinds of different exercises and assignments, but one day, she supplied four or five place names and told us to write a poem with the place as the title. I chose Brown's Junction. I'd never heard of it before, and I still don't know where it is, but I saw the heart of the poem in my head like a movie. Sometimes, I start a poem or an essay with a particular word or phrase in mind, but other times, I see a person or story that I must write about. That's what happened with this poem:

“Brown’s Junction”

Hour fourteen, and he needs to stop. He’s tired
of lines on the highway. He misses her laughter,
how her light peach uniform hugs her round hips.
He wants to touch her, to whisper “Elizabeth”
in her ear. He guesses she’d blush, swat his hands away,
and tell him to call her Beth. He would drive a hundred miles
out of his way for a slice of the diner’s pie
brought by a waitress he sees each time he shuts his eyes to rest.

She thinks of him too when the woman in the booth
reaches for her hand, admiring the ring her mama left her,
the one with the rubies as red as her face the first time
he leaned in to kiss her. He’s always in motion 
and she’s always still, never hoping for goodness
to walk through the door. The flat lands out the windows
give her nothing to get lost in. Sometimes 
she wants to be lost. Sometimes he wants to be found.

It was a bit of both that one night they had
in the town’s good motel with the free HBO.
They laid in bed watching Taxicab Confessions, laughing
at the brazen stories spilling out to strangers,
which was exactly what they were and all they knew
to be. He thinks of himself as someone who leaves.
She sees herself as someone who stays. 
Their lives are laid out like the lines on his maps,
which she doesn’t know how to read.

I saw this man and woman in my head and needed to tell their story. It's similar to Charlotte's and Bob's in that two strangers found and saw each other. Sometimes, connections last for decades; sometimes, they last long enough for us to believe we're worthy of the love and belonging we're wired to need.

Dear reader, I hope you have at least one person who speaks goodness over you.

I hope you have at least one person who gets who you are and celebrates your unique identity.

I hope you have at least one person who sees your scars and calls them lovely.

I hope you can be that safety for someone else, that you can come alongside a Bob, a Charlotte, or a lonely truck stop waitress and say, "I see you."

And if you're the one who desperately longs to be seen, who is craving connection, know you're not alone. The right person can appear when we least expect it. Love comes in many different forms. You just might be surprised.

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