The Person Who Saw Me
There’s a certain kind of sacred magic to being truly seen. Not the “Oh, you remind me of my cousin” seen or the bartender remembering your regular Friday night order, but the kind of being truly seen that shifts your perspective, that reorients your life. The funny thing? You never know when it’s about to happen. For me, it was a stranger in a tan corduroy blazer on a frosty January afternoon who changed everything.
I’d just graduated from Northwestern and returned to Chicago, my head crammed with ideas about how to “make it.” I’d envisioned writing profound essays in sun-drenched cafés, maybe even teaching part-time. What was my reality? Eating flaming hot popcorn on my parents’ loveseat while sending out job applications into the void. Somewhere along the way, I began feeling like every effort I made just disappeared into the hum of a city too big to care.
And then I met Mr. Corduroy, at a bookstore of all places.
Crossing Paths in the Stacks
I didn’t even want to go that day. The wind was screaming through Bronzeville like an auntie warning you to button up your coat. But I’d read somewhere (probably Twitter) that “moving your body can trick your brain into thinking you’ve accomplished something,” so I forced myself out.
The bookstore smelled like a mix of old paperbacks and cedar wood polish. As I searched the shelves, my fingers unearthing a worn James Baldwin collection, I heard the man next to me chuckle.
“Good pick,” he said, motioning to my find. “You can tell a lot about a person by whether they prefer Baldwin over Hemingway.”
Not exactly an icebreaker I’d use on Hinge, but sure.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I fired back, eyebrow arched.
“Means you value soul over hype,” he replied without missing a beat.
I knew then this was not your average man in corduroy.
He introduced himself as Gerald, a retired professor who, as it turned out, had taught African American literature at one of those big-name schools. He wasn’t from Chicago but said the city always inspired him. I’d only come to talk books, but he had other plans. Before long, I was spilling my post-grad woes to this man whose eyes seemed to see beneath the surface of my words—the uncertainties, the doubts, the fear of mediocrity.
“What are you doing with your stories?” he asked, his voice cutting through my defenses.
I opened my mouth to answer, then closed it. The answer was “nothing.” No matter how much I loved the written word, I hadn’t been brave enough to do anything with my stories yet.
That’s when he hit me with it—the challenge that changed everything. “You have something to say, but only you can decide if it’s worth saying.”
What Happens When Someone Sees Your Potential
Gerald didn’t stick around long enough to spell out the rest for me. He didn’t launch into a TED talk or push me to attend a workshop. He just gave me the kind of look only an elder who’s been through it all can give—a mix of quiet encouragement and a nudge toward accountability.
When I got home, his words stuck to my brain like gum on a hot sidewalk. They made me ask myself hard questions: Why wasn’t I sharing my work? Was it fear? Laziness? Or was it deeper—some part of me terrified that I wasn’t “enough”?
Turns out, being seen doesn’t just mean being celebrated. Sometimes it means being called out in the gentlest way possible.
Turning a Moment Into Momentum
After that encounter, I started small. I created a blog (this was before TikTok made showing off your talents feel like going viral or bust). I shared short stories that dug into what I knew—the vibrancy of Chicago corners, the fire in protests, the music of everyday conversations.
And y’all, people actually read it. They emailed me, sent DMs saying they connected with my words. One reader told me a story I’d written about a jazz singer on the South Side reminded her of her late grandmother. It was mind-blowing.
I could’ve stayed holed up forever, scribbling in solitude, but Gerald’s challenge demanded more. Step by step, I moved from blogging to contributing to magazines, then to putting together my first manuscript. That little push sparked what would eventually become my debut novel.
It’s funny how life unfolds. Without that random encounter at the bookstore, I might still be waiting for the “perfect time” to share my work. But there’s never a perfect time to start. There’s only right now.
What I Learned From Being Seen
Not everyone gets their Gerald in a bookstore. Sometimes the person who sees you is a teacher, a friend, a stranger who reads your work or admires your courage to try. But here’s what I realized: when someone sees you, they hand you a mirror. What matters is whether or not you decide to look.
Being seen teaches you a few key things:
- Your story matters. Whether it’s a novel, a painting, or that business you’ve been dreaming about, there’s someone out there who’ll be impacted by it. Who are you to withhold it from the world?
- Fear is boring. Fear tries to keep you safe, but it’ll also rob you of greatness if you let it. The only way out is through.
- Start before you’re ready. There’s no magical moment when you suddenly feel “good enough.” You become enough by doing.
The Ripple Effect
These days, I keep Gerald’s challenge close to heart—not just for writing, but for everything. Feeling stuck in a relationship? You’ve gotta name your needs if you want things to change. Dreaming about starting a new career? Take that first awkward step and trust yourself to figure it out.
Here’s the ironic part about being seen: it makes you see yourself in a new light. It forces you to recognize that every shot you don’t take isn’t just robbing the world—it’s robbing you of who you could become.
Keep Seeing, Keep Being Seen
The next time you’re standing in a bookstore, a coffee shop, or waiting for your train, notice the people around you. Sometimes all it takes is a well-placed word, a question, or a challenge to shift someone’s course. It costs you nothing, but it could mean everything to them.
As for me, I’m paying Gerald’s gift forward. No, I don’t rock a corduroy blazer, but I look for ways to encourage those around me to share their gifts—whether it’s a young writer in one of my workshops or a friend deciding whether to take a leap of faith in love.
Because if there’s one thing Gerald taught me, it’s this: being seen can change everything—but it’s what you do with it that transforms your life.
