I want to share a story I tell frequently from behind the chair in my salon. There’s usually a small gap in the conversation where it fits—unexpected, but welcome—and people always seem to lean in, smile, and get a good laugh.
on Lake George.
One of the great philosophers of my childhood… was a lifeguard named Stephanie.
I was a little girl, seven, maybe eight, when my family camped on Lake George. Every summer, the same families returned—like migrating birds, hauling coolers and Coleman lanterns. And among them was Stephanie.
Stephanie was in high school, which to me meant she was practically an adult—someone with access to the deeper secrets of the universe. She worked as a lifeguard at Sunset Beach and wore the official red bathing suit. Long blonde hair, sun-kissed skin, and the confident posture of someone who knew exactly when—and how—to blow a whistle if things got out of hand.
At the time, she looked exactly like a Barbie doll that had come to life. I was in awe.
One afternoon, I was sitting on the big dock where we all swam. Stephanie was nearby—I believe talking with a friend—and I must have been staring at her like she was an exhibit in a museum. You know how children are—completely unaware they’re gawking.
When she finished her conversation, she walked over.
“Heather,” she said.
Me?!
I nearly fell off the dock.
She leaned down, very serious.
She said, “Listen, I just want to give you one piece of advice.”
I braced myself, all ears, hanging on her every word.
“Always, always wear a bra,” she said. “Even small boobs can sag.”
And just like that, Stephanie the Lifeguard delivered what my eight-year-old brain received as profound womanly advice.
I carried her words with me for years—tucked away somewhere between sunscreen and summer air, filed under Important Things to Remember About Being a Woman.
It’s funny, the things we hold on to.
The advice we didn’t ask for, didn’t understand, and somehow… never forget.
And maybe it’s not really about the advice itself.
Maybe it’s about the moment.
The way someone older, wiser (or at least appearing to be), pauses long enough to look directly at you and say, this matters—even if what follows is a little prematurely delivered… or wildly out of context for an eight-year-old girl sitting on a dock.
We don’t remember every word spoken to us as children.
But we remember how it felt to be chosen for the conversation.
To be seen.
To be noticed—however awkwardly—as we stepped into the next phase of life.
And standing behind the chair now, I catch myself in those same moments.
Offering thoughts, stories, and little pieces of perspective—sometimes meaningful, sometimes light, and sometimes completely off-the-cuff.
I wonder which ones will take hold and stay.
Which passing comment will take root…
and be carried for years, tucked quietly into someone else’s story.
Hopefully… slightly more age-appropriate than Stephanie’s.
But then again—maybe not.
Thank you, Stephanie!