It was my first day at The Daily Utah Chronicle, the student newspaper at the University of Utah. My editor, a gruff but inexplicably charming man with an eternal coffee cup in hand, handed me a press release about a new parking garage on campus. “Punch it up,” he said without looking up—not exactly the Woodward-and-Bernstein sort of start I’d envisioned for my writing career. I nodded like I knew what “punch it up” meant, retreated to my seat, and tried to make a concrete storage facility sound like an architectural triumph. Spoiler: I failed.
Two weeks later, something unusual happened. That same editor called me into his cluttered office, handed me a tiny notebook (like, cartoonishly small—it looked like it belonged to a squirrel journalist), and said, “You’re wasting yourself on boring assignments. Go find something real.”
I froze. “Real?” I asked, trying not to sound like I was questioning a wise sage.
He sighed. “Anything with a sense of life, Peterson. And tell me why it matters.” He tossed me out of his office with nothing but the squirrel notebook and a mandate that felt both empowering and terrifying.
The Right Words at the Right Time
Sometimes, someone just sees you—and not just the surface-level version of you. They see the crumpled-up potential hiding beneath your self-doubt, the way ingredients for brownies hide in a messy kitchen cabinet, begging to be turned into something delicious. My editor that day? He didn’t just see a kid with nervous energy. He saw the outlines of a writer who needed a nudge—or, more accurately, a swift shove—to stop getting in his own way. And he was right.
Now, you’d think this would translate into some immediate moment of brilliance, like me uncovering a citywide scandal or penning an exposé on campus cafeteria pizza (it was suspiciously chewy, to be fair). But in reality? My next story was about a local drum circle that gathered every Thursday night. My only journalistic breakthrough was discovering that drum circles are surprisingly political—Debbie hated that Jim “freestyled too much,” and Jim accused Debbie of being “too rigid.” Still, that article taught me how to tell small stories with heart, which is basically the cinematic equivalent of making indie rom-coms.
Seeing Ourselves, Thanks to Others
There’s an undeniable truth here: sometimes, the people who see us most clearly are standing on the sidelines of our lives, holding a mirror we’ve been too afraid to pick up ourselves. I’d spent years writing quietly—journals, essays, angsty Google Docs titled “Untitled 27.” But until that moment, I’d never considered the possibility that writing could be something more than just a vent for late-night existential crises. That editor gave me permission to see myself not just as someone who could write, but someone who should.
And here’s the kicker: you don’t have to be a writer or an artist to experience this. Maybe it’s a friend who tells you you’re funny enough to try open mic night, or a coworker who says you’re underappreciated and should ask for the raise (and maybe help you write a script for it, because, let’s face it, asking for raises is scarier than trying stand-up comedy). Just as love requires vulnerability, growth needs someone bold enough to call out the spark in you—and hope you believe it long enough to fan the flame.
How to Be Seen—And See Others
We all want to feel seen—a craving as basic as wanting Taco Bell at midnight. But here’s the thing: being “seen” isn’t magic. It’s a mixture of timing, trust, and a willingness to get wildly uncomfortable for the sake of potential. The good news? You don’t have to sit around waiting for some mythical mentor to come rescue you. Instead, you can:
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Ask Questions About Yourself
What are you dismissing about yourself that others frequently compliment? Maybe your friends always say you give the best advice, but you’ve brushed it off as no big deal. Spoiler: It IS a big deal. Often, the things we downplay about ourselves are the exact things others wish they had. -
Pay Attention to Feedback
Whether it’s a casual “You’re really good at that” or something more intentional, file it away. These breadcrumbs can lead you to parts of yourself you didn’t even know were there. -
Be Open to Awkward Moments
(Warning: Self-discovery is rarely sexy.) Sometimes, it takes someone pointing out your potential in a clumsy or roundabout way. Like my rigid editor tossing me into the world of drum-circle drama, let people nudge you. The discomfort usually means you’re on to something. -
Hold the Mirror for Others
Seeing someone’s potential isn’t about high-pressure pep talks. It’s often as simple as saying, “You’re really talented at [insert thing here], and I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.” A little truth and encouragement can go a long way, even when delivered casually.
The Long View
By the way, I did eventually get a better notebook—and a little better as a writer, too. Years later, when I sent my editor a signed copy of my first book, his only response was: “Not bad. Now, what’s next?” Which, honestly, felt like the highest compliment. The thing about being “seen” is that it isn’t a finish line. It’s a starting point. Someone believes in you—you believe them—and then? You keep going.
You’re not going to meet a sage in a magical squirrel notebook moment every week. But when you do, lean in. They saw you for a reason—and they might just be handing you the permission slip you didn’t know you needed.
