The Unexpected Gifts of Being Witnessed

It was July 1997, and I couldn’t wait to get out of Tallahassee, Florida. My VW Golf sat in the driveway, packed with everything I owned: clothes, bicycle, and a few treasures. I was 18, heading out a month before my dorm room opened. For years, all I wanted to do was leave. I was finally free.

28 years later:

I’ve had two author events for Perfect Unfolding in Tallahassee this past week. I had three confirmations for the first one, and I was hoping for a couple more. I didn’t want to disappoint the bookstore with a lackluster showing. As people filtered in, a warm wave of relief washed over me. There were some wonderful surprises too: a high school classmate; friends from my bike racing days who now live full-time in their RV, inspired by my traveling and writing; Mom’s radiologist who retired several years ago; a neighbor who lived across the street when I was a kid; my step Mom’s best friend; my aunt; and many people I didn’t know.

The bookstore owner kept pulling out more chairs. Over twenty people were packed into a nook beside the barista counter. I read from my book and shared behind-the-scenes stories. We explored what it meant to live free and authentically. People asked questions about safety, intuition and loneliness, and the discussions went deep.

Afterwards, the book signing line stretched around the room, and we ran out of the bookstore’s stock of 20 books. A man stepped up to the table with an armful of books he was going to give as gifts. As I was signing, he said, “I taught you in high school.”

My pen froze mid-sentence. “You were my high school teacher? Wow! Thank you for coming tonight.”

Several people in the line let out audible ‘Awes’ and ‘Wows’! as they listened in on our conversation.

“I thought you looked familiar. But my apologies, I don’t remember your name, and what subject did you teach?”

“I was your science teacher, and I remember you fondly.” He looked back down at the book and then back into my eyes. “I often recognize students by the way they sign their names.” As I finished signing his books, he asked me to write “GHS class of ‘97” under my signature in the books he was giving to three past students. I thought nothing could top this night.

Four days later, a full-page review in the Sunday edition of the Tallahassee Democrat surprised me. I was shocked that SOLO ADVENTURE and huge photos were sprawled across the front page of the local section. My last book event of 2025 was that afternoon in a gem and jewelry store. I hadn’t considered who might see the article, so I was surprised again when people trickled in.

The first gentleman to arrive was tall and in his 70s. He offered me his hand. As soon as he spoke, I knew who he was: a family friend who I hadn’t seen since I was maybe 11 years old. Memories flooded in. I could smell the scent of his kids’ clothes and see us playing in the backyard. During the explorations, he asked the most thought-provoking questions.

My aunt and step-uncle were there, and two friends I’d met this summer at a writers’ group. People kept wandering over to listen in. Some stayed a while, sharing their ideas and questions; others listened from a distance, peering over shelves of brightly colored rocks.

One lady arrived an hour into the conversation and took a seat front and center. She had bright eyes and salt-and-pepper hair styled in a spunky pixie cut. She listened for a while, then she raised her hand.

“I have to go, and I sure wish I could stay. I saw the article in the paper and had to come.” She had so much love and care on her face. “I was your teacher in elementary school, and I really enjoyed seeing you again and hearing your story.”

She had been my third-grade teacher, Ms. McBride. I wished I could have stopped right then, found a quiet corner and talked. I asked her to email me. I’d love to go on a walk to hear more about her, and the journey that brought her back to me.

The reading was supposed to be a two-hour event, but we were all so deep in conversation we continued for three hours! The depth of sharing moved me. A soft-spoken man told us about his wife of 30 years passing suddenly, and his journey to find himself while remembering her. It’s amazing what happens when people feel comfortable, safe and heard.

Two attendees had been to my very first event in November, and came again. One had been to all three of my events in Tallahassee! People were warm and interested. Being seen, heard and welcomed touched me deeply. The cherry on top was the unexpected gift of being witnessed across decades… that people from my childhood remembered a freckle-faced, frizzy-haired kid from over 35 years ago, and drove through a rainstorm on a Sunday afternoon to buy my book and sit with that little kid, who wasn’t little anymore. Now that brings tears, happy tears.

I thought showing up authentically meant being open, and sharing my story with truth, vulnerability and heart. These moments taught me it’s also about being willing to be remembered, to let people share who you were to them, and what they’re realizing for themselves. What if we all showed up like that? What if we let ourselves be completely seen, now and across our whole lives?

Love,

Kristy

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Innerverse Podcast:
Listen in on a conversation with Kristy and Barb Patterson: Trusting the Unknown: Where Life Leads When We Let Go (50 minutes)

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Living From the Heart of Service:
Bonnie Jarvis is hosting a 3-week online program in February: How far will you go to find the life that’s calling?
Join us for discussions on living a life beyond expectation, beyond fear, beyond the safe and predictable.

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Header Photo: Sunset and a Crescent Moon- New Hampshire

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