A Trip to the Moon | Broadcast Coming Soon! On the Need for Recognition, the Euphoria of Being Seen, and the Reflection

Author/Editor Maria Anna Furman

People gather, someone gives a speech, someone takes photographs, and someone else checks whether the photographs make the crowd look large, waiting for the world to hear about it.

The phone stays close at hand. If even a brief clip appears somewhere, it must be captured. A screenshot, a link, three exclamation marks. Congratulations pour in. Someone who organised a local gathering yesterday feels, for a moment, like an explorer who has returned from the Moon.

It is easy to laugh at this. It is harder to see the person behind the triumphant post. Perhaps they have worked for a long time without recognition. Perhaps they left their home country and are still trying to find their place. Perhaps they simply need to hear: “We see you.” That need deserves compassion. Everyone wants to feel that their efforts matter.

There is nothing wrong with enjoying attention, either. When we do something good, it is worth celebrating. The trouble begins when we stop distinguishing between two things: the value of the work and the publicity surrounding it. Excellent work may go unnoticed. An undertaking may also attract a moment of attention and leave little behind beyond photographs.

In a world of public self-presentation, it is remarkably easy to confuse the two. Published coverage becomes “proof of success”, the number of reactions becomes its measure, and other people’s congratulations confirm that we are important. We may find ourselves asking “Who noticed us?” instead of “What did we achieve?”

The psychological mechanism is understandable. We post something, attract attention and feel a brief rush of energy. Friends write kind words. Perhaps someone whose opinion matters greatly to us finally responds. Then interest fades. Today’s news, photographs and other people’s achievements push yesterday’s post further down the feed.

Not everyone experiences that moment in the same way. For some, it leaves happy memories and satisfaction in a job well done. Others may feel disappointed, especially if other people’s attention briefly became their main assurance that they had done something worthwhile. From the outside, we cannot know what another person is truly going through.

It is worth recognising a possible temptation, though: when the congratulations fall silent, we may start looking for the next opportunity to hear them before we have had time to appreciate what we have already done. Events, publications and awards then cease to be sources of joy in themselves. They become ways of recovering, for a moment, the feeling of being seen.

The way we communicate online can sustain this cycle. Reactions, notifications and effortless sharing let us check almost immediately how much attention we have received. A striking image is easy to show; months of patient work are harder to fit into a post. Over time, we may even start choosing what to do partly based on how it will look on a screen. No secret plan or puppet master is needed. We simply learn to pursue what is most easily rewarded with applause.

Yet a person cannot be measured by how many people viewed their photograph. It is an old philosophical question in new surroundings: am I still somebody when no one is watching?

The answer can be especially difficult for those who have grown used to sharing every success publicly. Without coverage, awards or congratulations, an ordinary day can feel like a failure. Yet most of life consists of ordinary days. On those days, we keep our promises, care for loved ones, learn, correct our mistakes and do work that no one photographs.

Perhaps, after each event, it is worth putting down the phone and asking a few simple questions. Who did this really help? What changed? Would I still be proud of it if nothing had been published? Do the people I did it for feel as important as the image I have created of myself?

This is not a call to give up promotion. Good work deserves to be talked about. It is a question of keeping the right order: first the purpose, then the publicity. First the person, then the picture. First the result, then the congratulations.

I wish everyone the joy of seeing their efforts recognised. Even more, I wish us all work and relationships whose value does not disappear when the last post falls silent.

Because when the broadcast of our next trip to the Moon ends, it would be good to have somewhere to come home to.

Author/Editor Maria Anna Furman