“Your hair is gorgeous! Who does your hair? Is she close by?”
That’s how the conversation started in the gym locker room as I was pulling my hair into a ponytail before my workout. I was wearing the same sweatshirt all day—the one with “You are loved” written across the back. And maybe that message was quiet, unspoken permission. Permission to be kind. Permission to notice. Permission to start a conversation.
What followed was one of those easy, ordinary exchanges—hair, products, color, cuts, all the things women talk about when we’re standing in front of mirrors together. We laughed, chatted for a few minutes, and then went our separate ways to get our workouts in.
About an hour later, I walked into the sauna. And there she was again. When one of the other women left it, was just the two of us…..
She then asked how my workout went, and just like that, we picked up where we left off. And then, without warning, her voice cracked. Today was her birthday. A big one. Fifty. And she had no one to celebrate with other than her parents. The tears came quickly, the kind that have been waiting for permission to fall.
So I listened.
She talked about feeling behind, about what she thought her life “should” look like by now, about all those inner comparisons that show up on milestone birthdays. And then she said something that stopped me in my tracks—that she felt I was meant to walk into that locker room that today so she wouldn’t feel so alone on her birthday.
When it was my turn to speak, I gently reframed some of the things she was saying about herself—offering a different lens, one rooted in compassion instead of judgment. At one point she smiled and said, “I never thought about it that way.” And that moment mattered…..to both of us.
Because here’s the thing: people don’t always need answers or advice. What they need is to feel seen. To feel heard. To feel like they matter.
I don’t believe in coincidences. I believe in God-incidences. Moments where paths cross on purpose, even when we don’t realize it at first. And today felt like one of those moments—one quiet reminder that showing up, listening, and letting someone know they matter can make a bigger difference than we’ll ever realize. Life is funny like that.
Kristine Binder 