15 Apr Do You See Me, Too?
At Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport, there’s a massive clock located in the international transit area that stops people in their tracks.
At first glance, it looks like a man is inside of the clock, painting the minute hand forward by hand, every single minute. He wears blue overalls, climbing up and down a small ladder, wiping away the last minute before carefully drawing the next. A red bucket sits at his feet. Sometimes he pauses, like he’s catching his breath, then starts again.
Travelers gather and watch him work.
Some stay longer than they planned, captivated by this man inside of a clock. A few wave, trying to catch his attention. Others give a small thumbs up, as if to acknowledge the effort, hoping he might look up and see them.
But he never does.
The clock is a 12-hour film, looping over and over. The man inside can’t look up. He can’t notice who’s there, can’t respond to the waves and small gestures from below.
And still, people try to reach him.
It’s hard not to recognize something of ourselves in that exchange with the man inside the clock.
As human beings, one of our most basic motives is to matter. Not just to feel valued, but to know that we add value. That what we do, what we offer, what we bring into a moment makes a difference for someone else.
It shows up in the research, too. A sense of contribution is tied to our happiness, our health, even how long we live. It’s part of what gives meaning to raising children or caring for others who depend on us. In fact, giving seems to do more for us than receiving ever quite can.
People wave at the man in the clock because being human means wanting to matter. We don’t want to just pass through time, but to feel that our being here is received, that it might reach someone, that it might be taken in, answered back.
I see you. Do you see me, too?
That question runs gently beneath so much of what we do.