Thanks for Noticing

I went out walking today, a city boy—taking my usual route along the lake near my home in Bomoseen, Vermont.

I remembered things I had forgotten—the gentle breeze, the ducklings under their watchful momma's gaze, the sun glinting off the lake and into my eyes.

But there was more. An old truck was waiting as I approached—the window rolled down.

Thinking he might be lost and needing directions, I stepped closer to greet the man. He looked familiar—about my age, wearing a weathered hat and a gentle smile.

Appearing pleased, he leaned toward me and said, "I've missed you. I haven't seen you out for a while."

I replied, "Thanks for noticing. I had to have a little surgery.”

The kind man grinned and said, "You're looking good. Good to have you back."

As he drove off, I shouted, "I've missed you too." I'm not sure he heard me.

That was it—just thirty seconds, and it made my day. I'd never met him before. Or maybe I had—just hadn't noticed.

I hope we'll meet again, and that next time, he'll thank me for recognizing him.

I wonder what you’re feeling right now—maybe remembering a time when someone saw you in a way that confirmed who you are... and who you're becoming.

Or, maybe a time when you weren't viewed in the way you had hoped—judged or mocked instead—and you didn't say anything—or did—but weren't heard.

You might consider sharing this with someone—and sense what that’s like inside. Perhaps you could ask them what it‘s like to be noticed—or share what it’s like for you.

Thank them. And thank you—for recognizing your humanness. I imagine it would mean a lot to both of you—and help you feel a little less alone.

Because even when we're safe, some of us still prefer to keep hiding.

And then—without planning, I found myself watching Yusuf / Cat Stevens singing Father and Son—one of my favorites—in a café-style room—as his infant granddaughter rested quietly in the arms of his daughter-in-law—with his son nearby.

I just felt my love for all of mine—especially the ones still to come. I hope they'll always know what it feels like to be noticed, and to notice back—to be loved and to love—even if I'm not there beside them.

Hey Dad… you see, I did notice. I miss you too. I hope you can hear me now.
See you on the road.

Comments or questions? Email me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold close or long to be held.

Dr. Cecil is a licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. He specializes in treating complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma, bringing therapy to life through heartfelt stories and images of connection and healing that emerge from the light of invisibility.