Growing up on the shores of Lake Coeur d’Alene, my world was a rotating carousel of tourists and tightly knit locals. As kids, we'd hustle back from school to help clean cabins or guide visitors to the best fishing spots — the kind of life that taught you how to talk to strangers but also left you longing for someone to really see you. You know, beyond the polite small talk about the trout population or the weather.

But “being seen” hadn’t exactly been my forte in my awkward teenage years. Add to that a family resort filled with fellow Idahoans who either politely ignored or outright mocked my dream of becoming a writer, and you could say I was marinating in some top-tier self-doubt. I was destined, I thought, to be someone who blended in with the wallpaper — albeit very scenic, lakeside wallpaper.

And then, I met Sophia.

Getting Noticed in a Gear Shop

Sophia stumbled into my life (and the resort’s slightly overpriced gift shop) one frazzled spring break when she was escaping the grind of grad school in Seattle. She was everything Idaho was not: polished, effusive, with the kind of confidence that made her unafraid to correct someone’s grammar mid-sentence. Though Sophia only stayed for a long weekend, somehow we fell into conversation.

“You’re not really planning to run this place forever, are you?” she asked me as I rang up her purchase — a mug emblazoned with a cartoon moose.

And just like that, she clocked it.

I paused. Was it really that obvious, even to someone who barely knew me? I confessed shyly that I was thinking about pursuing writing but didn’t think Idaho was exactly the incubator for Pulitzer Prize winners. I half expected her to pat me on the arm and offer vague encouragement like everyone else did. “That sounds fun!” they’d usually say, in the same tone one might reserve for someone announcing their intention to start making sourdough starter from scratch.

Not Sophia. She lit up like a campfire catching flame. “Then you HAVE to do it. You’re a storyteller — I can tell just from how you’ve been talking about this place! I want to read your stuff already, and I haven’t even seen it.”

It was a small sentence, tossed off casually as she hefted her new mug and walked out, but it landed like a stone in the middle of my self-doubt pond, sending ripples everywhere. That stranger had seen me.

The Power of Someone Else’s Certainty

Up until that moment, I’d always approached my passion for writing as a secret I had to protect. Would the world really care what a girl from Northern Idaho had to say about anything? At the time, it felt presumptuous to think so. But Sophia’s words settled into my brain like a newly hatched idea at dawn: maybe I didn’t need to know if people would care. Maybe it was enough that I did.

Sophia didn’t become my lifelong mentor, nor did we trade postcards soaked with wisdom from afar like some indie movie montage. We emailed a few times, but her impact on me was already done by then. Her certainty — in me, no less — planted a seed of my own. Suddenly, applying to that creative writing program didn’t seem so laughable. Suddenly, digging out an old story draft and actually finishing it became a matter of course.

What It Means to Be Seen

Being “seen” is a slippery concept. It’s as simple as a kind word, but as monumental as having someone lift a mirror to your blind spots. And in most cases, it has nothing to do with romance — though Hollywood loves to tell us differently. (Looking at you, every rom-com character whose self-esteem apparently depended on the dreamy barista finally noticing them across a crowded coffee counter.)

Sometimes, the person who changes our lives doesn’t stick around for the third act. They don’t need to. When someone sees you, really sees you, they hand you a gift: a glimpse into your best self, the version you’ve tried to downplay or ignore entirely. It’s not romantic. It’s not grandiose. It’s a nudge, a flashlight beam in a forest you thought you’d been wandering alone.

Passing It On: How to See Others

Sophia’s passing words have stayed with me for years, and not just because they turned out to be accurate. They’ve taught me something invaluable: how to turn the flashlight on someone else. Here’s how you can be that person for someone, too.

  • Say It Out Loud
    If you notice someone’s hidden talent, tell them. It might feel obvious to you, but the person in question might not be able to see it at all. Compliment their knack for storytelling, their eye for detail, or the way they always make others feel heard.

  • Ask the Right Questions
    Instead of small-talk staples like, “What do you do?” try questions like, “What do you love to do?” or “What’s a project or dream you’re excited about?” Genuine curiosity can allow someone to open up about what really drives them.

  • Avoid the Clichés
    Don’t go full Hallmark card with vague encouragements like, “Follow your dreams, kid!” People need specificity. What sets them apart? What skills or passions do you see that they may be too humble to acknowledge themselves? Point it out with clarity and enthusiasm.

  • Push Gently
    If the timing feels right, be the Sophia in someone else’s life. Ask them what’s holding them back. Offer a reminder of the leap they’re capable of taking. Frame it constructively and kindly, but don’t shy away from planting that seed.

Finding Your Sophias

Not all life-changing moments come in a dramatic package. Sometimes, they show up in a gift shop with a hint of sarcasm. Sometimes, they’re fleeting conversations with someone who has no agenda other than to reflect back what they see in you. And sometimes, they’ll slip away just as quickly as they arrive, leaving you with nothing but that nudge to go forward.

Whenever I sit in front of my laptop, wrestling with sentences, I think of Sophia. I think about the way just a few small words shaped my big-picture life. She probably doesn’t remember me or care about the choices I made after that weekend. But that’s the beauty of it: the people who see you usually don’t need credit.

They just need a willingness to hand over the flashlight and say, “Here—I think it’s your turn to shine.”