on making it count

{PHL > SEA in March 2010}

In March, I went to Seattle to visit my cousin, Amoreena.  It was my first trip to Seattle and it was the first time in about 10 years since I had seen her.  Leading up to the trip, I was a bit anxious because I wasn't sure how the trip would go.  Would we get along?  Would the conversations flow?  Would we have much to talk about other than family stuff?

Amoreena and I basically grew up together.  We spent many family vacations together in Pittsburgh, Columbus, OH (where my grandmother lived) and Michigan (her hometown).  When my dad and grandmother passed away in the 90's, distance kept us apart.  We all got older, graduated from high school, went off to college, moved away from home and it just became way too difficult to plan vacations together.  Over time, it was tough to remain a part of each other's lives without feeling like we had to just because we were family.  Prior to my trip out to Sea-town, the last time I actually remember seeing Amoreena was at her mother's wedding in.... 1998? 1999?

We reconnected thanks to that evil thing called Facebook a few years back, and I will admit, I'm very grateful for it because it's allowed us to re-kindle our relationship.  But things are always different in person than they are online.  And relationships change over the years, especially from adolescence to adulthood.

My first night in Seattle we stayed up till 4AM (which was 7AM for me, since I was still running on East Coast time) drinking wine, talking, laughing, and doing a puzzle.  After that, I knew our weekend would be amazing.  And of course, it was.  Good conversation, delicious coffee (and wine), and spending quality time together.  It was exactly how I wanted the trip to be.  We created our own memories.

Tomorrow, Seattle invades Philadelphia.  My cousin has never been to the East Coast (shocking, I know).  We're going to cram a month's worth of activities into five days.  Wine and cheese night.  Game night.  Playing tourist.  Eating cheesesteaks.  Museums.  Playing at Condom Kingdom.  Going to a Haunted House.  I couldn't be more excited to spend time with her and show her my city and introduce her to my amazing friends. 

I don't get to see my extended family much so when I do, I make it count.  Because we should make every day count.  These next five days are sure to be epic and I can't wait.

"Nice to know you, goodbye."

"I believe you're a good person with good intentions ... but our friendship is just bad for me."

There's no good, easy way to break up with someone.  It's going to be painful and you're going to feel like you made the wrong decision.  But you have to rip off the band-aid.  Quick, and with one pull.

(TWSS?  No?)

After nearly two years of turmoil with my best friend, I knew we were headed down an ugly path.  After spending countless conversations trying to fight for our friendship and fix us, I soon realized that my efforts were going unnoticed.  It hurts when you pour everything you have into a friendship, day after day, knowing that in the end, that person was just taking you for granted.

I believe she was a good person - and still is - but our friendship was just bad for me.  I realize that we have just grown apart over the last several months.  We are both at different stages of our lives right now, and we don't see eye-to-eye on much of anything anymore.  She's not a bad person, she's just a bad friend.

"I thought I knew what it meant to be a 'best friend' and to have a 'best friend,' but lately I have realized that the label isn't something you throw around lightly.  It's a title that deserves to be earned.  And as long as it takes someone to earn that title, it's easy for it to be taken away from them too."

I hate labels and being defined by something or someone.  People in our lives - friends, family, significant others - should compliment us, not define us.  When I realized that my 'best friend' wasn't being a best friend (or any friend), I knew I had to cut the cord.  I spent too much of my time in therapy trying to find a way to fix the friendship, rather than finding ways to fix other areas of my life.  I was making myself more unhappy, knowing that I was holding on to a one-sided friendship.  

The act was easy.  The decision was more difficult.  Because this wasn't someone who had just come into my life and steered me wrong once.  This was a person whom I had built a 15-year friendship with.  Someone who had stuck by my side through the worst times in my life, who believed in me when I stopped believing in myself.  It's not easy to let go of a 15-year friendship in a simple email.  As I typed each and every word, memories flashed through my mind. 

"I wish you all the best with everything.  I hope you continue to fight for your dreams and the things that matter most to you.  And I hope someday you will find your own happiness."

I feel relieved.  Almost like I'm finally free and breathing fresh air for the first time in years.  And her reaction was exactly what I predicted.  A reply email telling me that she will give me what I want and not fight for our friendship.  That's when I knew I had made the right decision.  A small part of me wanted her to fight for the friendship because I wanted to believe that it was just as important to her, as it had been to me.  But when she said she won't fight for our friendship, I realized that we were, in fact, done.  I made the right decision and I have no regrets.  All I ever wanted was to feel like our friendship was something to fight for; I wanted to feel like she believed in me, in us.  But now I know. 

Not all friendships are worth fighting for. 

"Be the change you want to see in the world."

During my senior year of college, I interned at a Juvenile Detention Center - a facility for juveniles, aged 9-17, who committed felonies and misdemeanors and were awaiting a court date or a transfer to another state facility.  The Detention Center was a safe environment where juveniles enriched their physical, mental and social skills and the "teachers" (often social work aides) help prepare them for their future.  What I didn't know (until after I completed my internship) was that many times parents brought their own kids to the Detention Center - dropping the kids off as if they were take-out food - because they didn't want to be responsible for them.   

I remember my first day.  I was completely overwhelmed at just the experience of walking into the facility, having to go through four security clearances as cameras watched my every move.  And then walking down a hallway, staring at a 9-year-old kid wearing a bright orange jumpsuit, handcuffs, and ankle cuffs.  All I could hear were the clinking of the ankle cuff chains as the kid walked past.  The sight was just heart-wrenching.  Every day, for six months, I witnessed young kids at their very worst.  I listened to stories that made my heart ache for days and days.  It's tough to see good kids make a small mistake that sets the course of their future.  Getting caught for stealing a candy bar because your mother couldn't afford it.  Abusing your house arrest because you wanted to go to the library to read a book.  Children are supposed to be our future.  We're supposed to provide for them with as much as we can and set a foundation for them to live a life worth living.  

I met with and talked to kids every week.  Asking them about their goals.  Listening to their dreams.  Feeding them bits of inspiration to get them back on their feet after they leave the Detention Center.   What those kids didn't know was that they were my inspiration.  To make a difference.  To change a life.  To change the world.  Seeing those kids locked up in that detention center, knowing they had big dreams in life, knowing they have the abilities to make those dreams come true, realizing that some of them don't have the foundation set, made me want to make a difference, somehow, in some way.  We all want to be part of a greater good.  We all want to feel like our actions are impacting others for the better.  I don't want to just make a difference; I want to leave a legacy. 

My actions are small, but they're powerful.  I know I'm making a small difference in my community through my nonprofit, but my work can only get bigger.  I want to do something bigger, something better, something more powerful and rewarding.  I want to go to bed at the end of each day, knowing and feeling like I made an impact on someone's life.  I want to leave this world knowing my actions will be remembered years after I'm gone.