The Mirrorball Moment: When Someone Truly Sees You
We all have that moment. That dazzling, life-shifting second when someone—in the middle of all the noise—sees you. Not the polished, Instagram-filtered projection, but the messy, sparkling, raw potential of who you could become. For me, that person was a high school drama teacher with a leopard-print scarf habit and a stack of overdue library books. But let’s back up for a moment, because like every life-altering story, it begins with a little bit of doubt, a handful of missteps, and, of course, Las Vegas glitter.
The Quiet Stage Left
Growing up in my family meant that magic was real, but it also meant you knew what was behind the curtain—and who sewed it. I grew up surrounded by rhinestones and ribbon, seeing the way artistry transforms something ordinary into something unforgettable. My mom’s hands were always stained with fabric dye; my dad smelled faintly of sawdust from building stage props. But despite all this razzle-dazzle, I was the girl who hung out at the farthest corner of the school lunchroom, scribbling little stories into a beat-up notebook while the girls with perfectly curled ponytails planned their weekend pool parties.
My first day at Las Vegas Academy of the Arts, where I’d somehow scored a slot in the theatre department, didn’t exactly scream star quality. I was painfully shy, all bony elbows and apologetic smiles. My assigned scene for an intro acting class—a flirtatious bar-side monologue from some 1950s comedy—was a disaster. (Imagine Kristen Stewart trying to pull off Marilyn Monroe. Yeah.)
My teacher, Ms. Viviane, paused after watching my performance. The silence was devastating. “You’re not a frothy cocktail,” she finally declared, her scarlet nails clicking together like punctuation marks. “You’re bourbon. Rich. Smoky. Sharp. Thoughtful. Why are you trying to serve soda pop?”
The One Who Shines the Light
Look, at sixteen, hearing someone dismiss you as a poor man’s Shirley Temple feels a little brutal. But something about that metaphor stuck. Ms. Viv saw something in me that day—a seriousness, a truth-teller’s core—and refused to let me skate by pretending to be anyone else.
For the rest of high school, she steered me toward scripts brimming with complex characters: the quiet, layered ones who didn’t need the spotlight to make people sit up and listen. I learned how to root my performances in parts of me I didn’t even know existed—the awkward kid with the cuts on her hands from helping her mom pin sequins; the bookworm who inhaled Fitzgerald novels out by the dry creek bed.
But Viviane didn’t just shape my performances—she reshaped how I saw myself. She taught me that authenticity wasn’t just a buzzword for daytime talk shows; it was power.
How Being Seen Changes Everything
We all carry around tiny versions of ourselves: the aspiring singer, the closet hopeless romantic, the adventurer we swear we’ll become but never quite manage. Most of us bury those selves under what we assume the world wants to see. Being truly seen forces those versions to the surface. Here’s why that matters:
- It builds confidence. Nothing feels as freeing as realizing, “Wait, I don’t have to fake it? Someone appreciates me just as I am?”
- It fuels self-discovery. When others believe in you, it grants you permission to explore—without judgment—what makes you come alive.
- It shifts your trajectory. Whether it’s through a career, relationship, or even how you dress in the morning, being seen acts as an internal course correction, steering you straight toward your true purpose.
Ms. Viv didn’t just push me as a performer; she gave me permission to be the Aurora who preferred a perfectly chosen word over a standing ovation, the writer hiding behind every fictional character she made me play. She saw the bourbon before I did.
How to Be Someone Who Sees (and Why It’s Worth the Effort)
You don’t have to be a drama teacher swanning around in leopard-print to see someone’s potential. Think of the people you’re close to—or even the strangers you bump into—and consider how applying a little Viv-inspired magic could transform their day (or year).
- Put down the phone. Seriously. Connection is impossible when you’re distracted. Look people in the eye. Give them your full attention. You’ll be amazed how much you notice.
- Find the quiet strengths. It’s easy to compliment someone’s obvious skills (like their sharp wit or killer fashion sense), but go deeper. Maybe they’re incredible at staying calm under pressure or have an uncanny ability to make anyone feel included. Compliment that.
- Encourage their voice. Whether it’s a partner who downplays their creativity or a coworker who avoids taking risks, remind them of the thing they’re great at. Sometimes people just need one person to say, “You’re good at this. Pursue it.”
- Call them out on their “soda pop.” Lovingly, of course. If you notice someone pretending to fit an image they’ve outgrown, let them know they don’t need to do that anymore.
What Happens Next
After graduating, I traded the stage for the page, swapping monologues for narrative arcs. If teenage me had known I’d someday write stories set in the desert sands of Vegas, illuminated by neon lights like the ones I grew up next to, she’d probably blush down to her dollar-store flip-flops.
But that’s what happens when even one person sees us. It shifts the way we experience ourselves, the way we present ourselves in every conversation, on every date, in every new chapter of life. Today, as a writer, I carry Ms. Viv’s lesson with me in every word I craft: the beauty is in the layers—the sharp and the soft, the glimmer and the grit.
So here’s my question for you: Who’s your Viviane? Who looked at you and called out your truth, that bourbon soul hiding under soda-pop sheen? And maybe, just as importantly, whose bourbon are you ready to see?
Go tell them. Trust me—it could change everything.
