It was the summer I tried (and failed) to surf in Tofino when the person who saw me changed everything. I blame the Pacific Ocean—its stubborn ability to toss me off a board faster than you can say “wipeout.” Life felt like that too, at the time. I was flailing, unsure of my next move. Fresh out of university, my Creative Writing degree felt more like a lovely decoration than an actual life raft. Obligated to figure things out, I took a barista job at a tiny surfside café with big windows and, apparently, big lessons waiting.

How It All Began: A Latte and an Unexpected Nudge

This particular café hadn’t inherited the quiet chaos of my parents’ place back in Kitsilano, but it had its own rhythm. One slower, hazy with sea salt, but alive with possibilities. Among the regulars—bronzed surfers who spoke in tidal metaphors and tourists wondering if vegan chai actually tasted different—was Céline. Mid-40s, sun-streaked hair, and the kind of posture you get from yoga or a lifetime of answering only to yourself. She ordered the same thing every time: a flat white, extra hot, and enough fierce eye contact to make you question all your life choices.

Céline was what I imagined I might become—if the world had a dramatic intervention act planned out for me. She was elusive at first, speaking in clipped sentences and disappearing with her to-go cup. But she showed up every day, inviting a quiet mystery into my otherwise predictable shifts.

One day, as I fumbled with the espresso machine, spilling more art foam than making it, she broke her usual tight-lipped routine.

“Do you write?” she asked out of nowhere. No pleasantries. No small talk.

“Um, yeah?” I replied, mostly because saying no felt like denying oxygen.

She smirked, then leaned closer, narrowing her ocean-gray eyes. “Good. You should.”

She left the café before I could reply, the smell of her citrusy perfume trailing behind her.

Seeing the Invisible (When I Couldn't See Myself)

A week later, Céline returned—not just for coffee, but with a weathered paperback in hand. “For you,” she said, almost sounding annoyed that she’d bothered. It was Marguerite Duras’ The Lover, a novel I’d seen quoted in enough montages and underlined in emo Tumblr posts but had never actually opened.

“Read it,” she told me, her tone skating the line between encouragement and command.

I started reading that night, sitting cross-legged on a log as the sea roared in the distance. And, wow. The pages felt eerily attuned to every unsaid thing I’d been suppressing—the vulnerability, the messy parts of identity, and the sheer audacity of storytelling. It felt as if Céline had seen through the chatter of my customer-service politeness and into the doubts I hid (even from myself). I stayed up until the stars blurred, finishing it by flashlight.

The next day, returning the book to Céline, I gushed about how it resonated. She gave me a slow nod, sipping her coffee without breaking her gaze. Finally, she said, “Now write something better.”

Her voice wasn’t harsh; it was provocative. She saw my hesitation, the way most people could. But unlike others who tiptoed around it, Céline spoke aloud the challenge I needed but feared. It was her blunt belief in my potential that woke me up.

Why a ‘Céline’ Moment Matters (Even if You Don’t Surf in Tofino)

Sometimes, you need someone outside your inner circle to call you out—someone unattached to your history of failed attempts (or all the times you got dumped because you texted back “lol” too much). Céline wasn’t coddling me. She wasn’t a family friend who felt obligated to fluff me up so I wouldn’t feel like a failure. She saw me for my untapped potential and commanded it into existence.

Here’s the thing: we don’t always know what we’re capable of until someone else makes us look. Diving into adulthood, relationships, or even passion projects feels like staring down whitecaps when you’re still figuring out how to paddle. You overthink, question every slight misstep, and wonder who, if anyone, will think you're worth betting on. Céline didn’t just bet. She shoved me into the metaphorical tide with a single word: “write.”

How to Spot Your Own 'Person Who Saw You'

If you’ve ever felt like Céline’s presence might be missing in your life, don’t worry. Most of us stumble into these moments unexpectedly. But here's how you can invite that energy (without stalking a surfer café regular, I promise):

  • Stay Open: You never know who might walk into a room—or a metaphorical café. Whether it’s a coworker, friend’s parent, or casual acquaintance, inspiration strikes where ego doesn’t block it.

  • Pay Attention: Sometimes, the Céline in your life isn’t as obvious. It might be a yet-to-be-read book, an offhand compliment from a stranger, or advice shared in a random conversation.

  • Allow Chance to Lead: Routine is comfortable, but spontaneity invites magic. Whether that’s exploring a new creative space, joining activities outside your norm, or even just striking conversation with someone you wouldn’t normally gravitate toward.

  • Ask for the Mirror: Not literally. But if you feel you’re stuck in viewing yourself one way, ask someone you admire what they’d pursue in your shoes. Sometimes their perspective offers clarity like sea glass smoothing the edges.

An Unexpected Ending (Spoiler: It Was the Beginning)

My final summer Café moment came weeks later when Céline brought me her own journal—not to keep, just to flip through. It contained cryptic fragments of her thoughts—half poems, incomplete sentence sketches, and ideas she never edited for perfection. They were messy, vulnerable, and real.

“Writing doesn’t start polished,” she remarked when I handed it back. “It starts human.”

It’s advice I’ve applied to everything ever since—not just writing but relationships, too. The fights, awkward missteps, and vulnerable confessions all count as messy first drafts. But it’s precisely in the effort—when someone nudges us from potential into action—that the clean narrative forms.

Céline eventually disappeared—poof, like a subplot that resolved itself too tidily but left its impact. But her belief remains seared into my foundation like salt drying on skin after a day in the waves.

So who’s your Céline? Or, maybe better yet—who will you be a Céline for? Spot someone flailing in their own uncertainty. Say something big or small to change their tide. You might just catch them mid-wipeout and hand over a surfboard. Or the life raft they didn’t even know they were searching for.