What are the reasons we stay? What does someone say, may it be a friend, boyfriend/girlfriend, neglectful family member, whomever, that make us stay and give them another chance? When do we reach our limit? What if one reason isn’t enough anymore and we need more?

Over the years I’ve thought about what makes me give in to relationships (be they romantic, platonic, or genetic) and give it one more shot. What words have been spoken, promises made, gestures shown, to make me turn around and come back and see if things get better? Perhaps it was an apology, perhaps it was the “but they’re such a good person” feeling, or the guilt creeping in, making me feel like I’m the bad person for wanting out. Sometimes I don’t know the reason, but I go back anyway…only to be disappointed again.

But none of the reasons have been worth it. That’s the whole point of the song, right? “I told you that I love you, and there ain’t no more to say.” If only it were that simple — we could just say I love you and things would get better. That the people hurting us, whether they realize it or not, intend to or not, would just magically fix things and we go skipping off into the sunset together. But the reality is that the reasons often don’t come through, and we’re left shaking our heads, turning away in disappointment, and wondering what could have been.

And for me…it’s often still not enough. I still want to fix it. I still want to be the one that makes it better, to figure out what’s wrong, why things aren’t working. It could be the meanest person in the world, and I’m the one wanting to make them nicer, wanting to know how I can be better for them.

I’ve worked hard in the last few years to realize that it can’t always be me, and it often shouldn’t be. That sometimes, there’s nothing I can fix, nothing I can make better, and hardest of all to hear — no reason for me to stay. Because staying will only make it worse, and staying won’t make me happier. So sometimes, it’s stopping and saying, hey, you asked for a reason to stay, and you didn’t get one…so it’s time to turn around — and not come back.

How do you know when that time is? We often don’t know, at least not right away. I’m famous for trying one more time, waiting a bit longer, and hoping someone will realize they’re messing up. It’s tiring, yet I’m that person still. Maybe because I have hope. Maybe because I’m a fool. In the end though, it’s as simple as remembering that I deserve better. And because I deserve better, and you deserve better, I ask for one reason I should stay — and if there is no answer, then I turn around. Because someone else down the road will have a reason, perhaps many reasons, that I should stay, and love them and be loved.

Photo credit: spuddybuddies.com

When we are feeling rejected by someone or something, it’s easy to get down on ourselves and come up with all the reasons why it happened to us. It’s easy to try to rationalize someone else’s actions or decisions or find ways to defend them, even if they hurt us. It’s also common for us to settle for something less than great because we just want to feel accepted or appreciated, no matter the costs.

But we deserve better. You deserve better. I deserve better.

Think about it: a friend isn’t exactly being a good friend – they never call you back, they always have an excuse, maybe they failed to recognize some major moments in your life lately. You say, “Well, but they’re busy,” or “But they usually are a good friend.” Or perhaps you went on a few dates with someone, and started to get interested, and then they lie about something, or lead you on to think it’s something more. “Well, but they’re a nice guy/girl,” or “I should have known better.” Maybe a family member has continued to let you down over the years, but because they’re family, you let it slide.

We shouldn’t let it slide, anymore. What happened to honesty being the best policy? What happened to our friends being that – good friends? What about family who is supposed to be there for you instead of against you?

It’s in my blood to want closure when things don’t work out with people in my life, whether it’s friends, boyfriends, family members, or even coworkers. I want to get it all on the table, I want apologies said where necessary, I want to hug or shake hands and be able to move on. I hate just letting things go without clearing the air, but because of that, I also tend to give people a lot of second and third, maybe fourth and fifth chances. There are some people in my life I’ve given way too many passes, and it’s bitten me in the butt in return.

But then my lovely friend K reminds me that I deserve better. She says I’m too hard on myself. She tells me that when something doesn’t work with a guy, it’s because he’s not the guy for me, and that it’s not about me. She urges me to not deal with people who don’t want to put in the effort, who don’t appreciate me in the way I deserve to be appreciated. And it’s not because I’m more special than anyone else, or deserve more than anyone else, but it’s because I deserve the same things, really, that you deserve: respect, and honesty, and integrity, and love, and time. Because I’m a woman who lives and loves just like everyone else, with dreams, and goals, and good days and bad days, and because I should get something in return from my relationships, like we all want and need.

Remind yourself what you deserve. Remind others what you deserve and ask for it. It’s like I said before, if you want something, you have to go after it, and this is just as important as anything else. And don’t forget to give others what they deserve, too.

They come together in weeks, months, or maybe years. They are represented by a blog entry here, a Facebook album there. They take up our dreams or nightmares for awhile, fill our therapy sessions and coworker coffee breaks until the topic becomes stale. And over time, these moments become what we think are distant memories, like faces of our loved ones that have passed and with each day we find it harder and harder to remember every detail of their face, their voice, their personality.

And then, the littlest thing makes it all so clear.

When it’s a good memory, it’s so very very good. It’s a ticket stub from a cherished family vacation, and suddenly you can remember walking across the rocks at Eagle’s Nest in Germany, the fog surrounding you as you look down on this beautiful land and wonder at the man who made this his hideout as he plotted mass murder. It’s a recipe written by hand by an uncle or grandfather, stained with andouille grease and and the ink fading because you’ve pinned it up in your kitchen time and again as you make a roux, the smell filling your soul and your apartment. It’s a college hoodie, the one you wore almost every night in your dorm as you studied late, watched episodes of House with your roommate, or walked across a campus cluttered with fallen leaves, admiring the red brick buildings.

And then there are the other memories. Maybe not bad, but they remind you of how something good changed course, perhaps when you weren’t ready for it. It’s a birthday card that proves first loves never go away. It’s a photo of two 17-year-olds on a bed after a high school basketball game, ready to stay up and giggle over boys all night. It’s an email from someone that left long ago that comes once a year, that’s like a knife to the heart — that you refuse to answer, knowing the pain at only reading it is better than what responding to it would bring. It’s seeing a tri-colored Corgi on the street and remembering that your little one is no longer at home to greet you.

It’s the littlest things that make it hardest to move on.

And in all this, it’s the little things that can also make it worthwhile to move on. It’s the text from your mom on a Saturday morning, just to say she loves you. It’s the flowers from your friend and her husband when you weren’t expecting it. It’s the lemon cake from your coworkers, and the note from your old boss. It’s seeing all your closest friends at the same dinner table, celebrating you, and celebrating life, love, good food, and friendship.

And then you realize, none of these are little things at all. They’re all very big, wonderful things — the things that people do to help you move on, in their own little way.

She’s a connector, someone who puts you in touch with other fabulous, inspiring, empowering people, just like her. She looks out after you, pushing you to set goals for yourself, and to take steps to achieve them. She makes sure you are better than you can be, and that you surround yourself with people who also want that for you. Molly was just mentioned in a new book, Empowered, about her work to help create Africa Rural Connect, a National Peace Corps Association project that helps connect RPCVs and African scholars to support African farmers. And true to life, we each had something to say about how Molly has empowered us as individuals, in our personal lives and professional.

The number of friends in my life that I can truly say empower me and support me are few, and I’m really blessed to know them. Not all of our friends are meant to fill that role – some are there to gossip with and relax with, some are there strictly in a professional sense, some are childhood friends that know all the funny or embarrassing stories and deep secrets, and some are acquaintances that you meet up with for coffee or a lunch every few months just to keep the relationship alive.  But how many people tell you that the next time they see you, they want you to have taken one step toward one of your goals? How many people name you one of their accountability coaches? Which ones tell you that they are first in line to support [Your Name Here], Inc? Those are the ones that empower, the ones that serve you and others around them as much or more than they serve themselves. These are the people that see right through all the garbage and the drama and your age and your shit, and know right away what you want, they know what makes the real you.

Who are these people for you? Are you that person for someone else?

**This post is dedicated to Molly, Drew, and Ryan.

Two weekends ago, I was in the wedding of one of my best friends. I hadn’t yet met her fiance until the day before the wedding, but I had nothing to fear – he was perfect for her.  A perfect balance of silliness, practicality, faith, and chivalry for my gal – it was clear that they were a perfect match, and I know that her parents and friends who lived closer and had seen them grow together had watched over her in this choice – this so perfect of a choice.

As I danced with my friend and her new husband on the dance floor, and watched them gaze at each other and giggle together, I thought about how just a few years ago, she was single and thinking she’d be an old maid, and I was about to start a long distance relationship as college ended and I moved to DC and my boyfriend went off to law school. I thought about how so much had changed in that time, but how my friend never had. She was the same, true to heart, heart of gold girl who would do anything for those she loved, and put a lot of thought into her life choices. With her, you know that she’ll always give you the truth, and she’ll never let you stray from who you are at heart.

A few days later, I was helping my parents pull weeds in their yard. It was like the old days again, squatting around pulling the darned things out of the ground in the heat and humidity. This time I wasn’t muttering about how I could be inside – it was actually ok, because I was spending time with my parents, which I always treasure, especially now that I no longer live with them. More importantly, it was almost a metaphor for their situation – they are about to make their next big move – and by big, I mean literally across the country. New state, new “stuff,” new start to their life. Of course, they want me to come with, and I’m not afraid to admit that I want it just a little bit too. They’re weeding out the things in their life they don’t want or need, and I have been learning to do the same in the last couple of years. Weeding out relationships that are harmful, feeding my interests and passion, cleaning out my past.

Just a few days ago, I was at another wedding. Another friend from college, a Miami Merger coupling. I was with all the guys I had hung out with since freshman year, except for my boyfriend, who was slaving away studying for the bar. It was another moment where I sat there thinking about seven years ago, when we were all young(er), more naive, more reckless, more cautious, less burdened, less responsible, less jaded. I watched my friend dance with his new wife, watched my other friends joke and jostle and drink too much like they used to do, and humored them as they placed bets on when I would get the question that would put me on that floor dancing my first wedding dance.

As I think about my friends who have moved in with boyfriends, divorced their husbands, had their first baby, found their true love, left a job they hated to take a job they loved, I think about my own path. I think about how far I’ve come, how far I have to go. I think about what’s important to me, and what I need and want to be happy. Some days it’s hard to know. But as the weddings march on, and I do the weeding and wondering, I know it will all be figured out just the way it should be.

Photo credit: http://dumais.us

In my job, we’re always thinking about how to serve our constituents, our supporters, our donors, our followers, and fans, partners, and

champions. That means we frequently “engage with our supporters” which means wonky non-profit type stuff like “creating a dialogue,” “providing a platform for community-building,” “raising awareness,” and “reporting back.”

We tell our people that they THEY are the reason why our organization is successful, or that malaria deaths are down, or that more lives are saved. We run the operations and the behind-the-scenes show, but it’s the supporters who really make it happen, right?

I realized today that all of the things we online communications and non-profit people work on everyday also fits into the relationships in our lives. When you think about it, our supporters, constituents, and donors are our parents, boyfriends or girlfriends, husbands, wives, aunts, grandparents, and friends. And in the same way that those turns of phrase above are part of our daily professional to-do lists and goals, they are also, or should be, a part of our daily personal lives.

• Creating a dialogue. Our loved ones want to hear from us, but they don’t want us to talk at them – they want to say something back. If we have a problem we’re trying to solve, we’re venting about a rough day, or we want to share exciting news, our “supporters” want to join the conversation, and provide feedback. Part of facilitating a successful dialogue means listening really well to what our people want or need from us – and in turn, telling them what we need or want from them.

• Providing a platform for community-building. This doesn’t mean building a social network, website, or even a physical building to hang out in. It means that we need a place to have the dialogues above, a place to collaborate, inspire each other, tackle life’s challenges, and celebrate life’s special moments. It’s a safe space, where there are rules of respect, privacy, and trust, but not so many barriers that it’s uncomfortable and you can’t accomplish anything. So whether it’s keeping weekly date nights, monthly family game nights, or doing an activity you like with grandma, make it easy to support each other.
• Raising awareness. If we want our “supporters” to care about us and take action on our behalf, we need to let them know what’s going on in our lives. We can’t expect mom and dad to know what’s bothering us if we don’t tell them, or our boyfriend or girlfriend to get us the cooking class we want if we don’t give a hint. We have to educate our family and friends on what’s important to us and let them know what we need them to help us with. It’s like those commercials – “the more you know…”
• Report back. Donors love hearing where their money went and to hear success stories. Our own supporters are the same way. Parents want to know what happened after you took their advice, friends want to hear if you’re doing okay, and grandma wants to know what you bought with her birthday check. So tell them. Call people, email them, write letters, whatever you need to do, to keep your loved ones updated. In the non-profit world, if donors don’t hear back, they don’t donate again. Share how your family and friends made an impact and how they too, are awesome — so they keep coming back.

Relationship-building takes work — in the office, and at home. And these “best practices” are just that – practice. You test things, you analyze, and you optimize (yes, another non-profit thing). Your results aren’t quite donations, retweets, or email signups, but I think what you get instead is worth a lot more.

And along the way, we’ve been supported by the people in our lives that care about us the most when we take those missteps, hit rock bottom, or feel like nothing is going right. It’s our parents, our significant others, coworkers, family, teachers, and best friends. Usually those same people have words of wisdom, their two cents as to what is the right choice, or the new direction. We may not immediately agree with them or even appreciate it, but life has that funny way of working out so that about 99% of the time, those people were right.

But back to mistakes. You make them, and you learn from them so it doesn’t happen again, right? Example: You burn your hand while cooking because you didn’t use a pot holder. So next time, you use a pot holder, because you clearly don’t want to be burned again.

Simple concept, but it applies to life lessons in the exact same way. If you were burned in some way, or you made a poor decision that you so clearly wouldn’t want to repeat, you put on the pot holder before grabbing the handle, right?

But, as I continue to learn every day — not everyone uses the pot holder still, even after being burned — multiple times. And they don’t use the pot holder after being told by many people who care about them that they need it, that it would be silly to not use it. Maybe they even said that they wished someone had told them last time to use the pot holder, and yet when you do, they still dismiss you.

Then what?

It’s frustrating when you see people you love making poor decisions, and not really taking the time to think about why they’re doing it, or what they’re feeling, and working through it. They say, oh, I know, last time, that was so bad, and I know I should use a pot holder next time…but five minutes later, there they are, grabbing the handle bare-handed again. You’ve done your piece, you’ve reminded them, but to no avail. What do you do? Do you walk away and let them burn themselves? Do you stand there and watch them, waiting to say I told you so? Do you try again, but feel like you’re banging your head against a brick wall?

Sometimes, it takes many burns for someone to realize what they’re doing and to figure out what they need to fix. And sometimes, we don’t want to be the ones standing around with the band-aids again…and again…and again. The bottom line is that you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to help their self. In the end, the only way they may learn is to keep getting burned.

Within a few weeks, I became friends with a group of people (mostly all guys) that a college buddy m

et when she had moved to DC, only a couple of months before. But sad to say, within my first year here, each and every single one of those people moved from DC, because they all worked for Exxon and that’s how Exxon works I guess.

An HMC moment

When I started my job, I did the happy hours and lunch here and there with some of my fellow coworkers, but it w

asn’t until my friend Jacqueline’s wedding that five of us really bonded. We began calling ourselves the Hot Mess Club – HMC for short. Soon after Jacqueline married, she left our office. About six months after that, I left. And now, our friend Christin is moving to Chicago, Abby may be moving to New Mexico at any moment, Alanna is looking at Costa Rica later this year, and who knows where I may end up in 2010.

The Hot Mess Club has now been to two weddings together, numerous birthday lunches, dinners and happy hours, a bridal shower, and a baby shower (thanks to Jacqueline for all the showers). We’ve been through deaths in the family, unemployment, frustrating coworkers, and lame roommates. For three years, we’ve gathered once every month or two to catch up on work, boyfriends, husbands, babies, bosses, losing weight, gaining weight, therapy, sex, and new jobs.

Last night the HMC gathered for what might be the last time we’re all together for some time. It’s the nature of the city I guess.

One of my old roommates might be leaving DC this year. Another friend and colleague moved back to the West Coast after 10 years in DC. And now, one of my closest friends out here is moving on to the next chapter in her life.

As we ate our jambalaya and white beans (it was pretty damn good, if I do say so myself), drank our wine, and shared the latest updates, the HMC knew that things were about to change. But there were no tears, because I think we’ve all accepted that this is DC, and this is what happens. We’re happy for each other, proud of each other, there for each other. And we were already planning the first HMC reunion as we go national, and potentially international.

I didn’t expect to find four amazing, beautiful, intelligent, driven women in DC – four women who wanted me to be their friend, four women with so very different backgrounds and goals and personalities – four women who make me feel at home when I’m with them. But I did. So despite it being DC, despite this being a pitstop for so many of us on the way to the rest of our lives, I’m incredibly grateful that we all made this pitstop at the same time, so that as we get back on the road, we will have someone to call, someone’s house to stop at, someone’s birthday or wedding or baby to celebrate. At least we’ll have each other to lean on when our lives are a hot mess.

As I was a chatty little thing, and didn’t have any companions on these trips, I easily made friends with the people sitting next to me on the hour and a half flight from CVG to MSY and back. One nice lady shared her popcorn with me, while another gave me a Susan B. Anthony coin that I treasured for years. Flight attendants and crew loved me – so much so that on a tiny flight once, I was led into the cockpit and hung out with the pilots for about half an hour, telling them my life story.

But there was one flight, and one particular woman that I formed a connection with that lasted more than just a flight. On one of my trips down to NOLA, I sat next to this older lady, someone that could be my grandmother. Of course, my whole story came spilling out within minutes – how I was born in Louisiana, but now live in Ohio, I was visiting my biological dad, I go every summer, blah blah blah. Mercedes Duplantis, short gray hair and glasses, wearing a flowered shirt, was was from Chauvin, La. I heard her story, too, all about her kids, grandkids and husband. By the end of the flight, we had exchanged our home addresses, saying that we’d keep in touch.

As Rick says in Casablanca, it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

For years after, Mercedes and I exchanged letters every few months. I told her about school, my family and how I wanted to be a writer someday. She told me about her grandkids growing up and how her husband was getting sicker over the years. When my grandmother died, she sent me a card of sympathy.

A few years ago around Christmas, we had a message on our answering machine – it was Mercedes. Her husband Lloyd had just passed, and she was wishing me a merry Christmas. It had been awhile since I had written her – I’m not sure how soon I did after that phone call.

In 2005, I received another letter. It was written by someone, I think a volunteer at the nursing home she was now in. She reminded me of her husband’s passing, and told me that she had been afflicted with cancer, and a broken hip. Her last line asked me to write her sometime. Her name was the only thing in her handwriting.

I came across that letter last night, as I was going through other cards and letters stored in the bottom drawer of my nightstand. I remembered our penpal years fondly, and looked at the date, and felt bad that it had been so long since we had talked. I couldn’t remember if I had ever written her back, but I immediately got out some stationary, and stamped an envelope, and put it and the letter in my bag to take to work. I was going to call the nursing home and see if she was still there first.

This morning, I Googled her to see what I could find. First, I found the obituary for her husband, so I sighed in relief when I saw that she was a survivor of his passing. But then I looked a little more – she had indeed passed in December 2005, only 6 months after she wrote me her final letter.

I told my mom, who knew of my penpalship with Mercedes – this kind woman who listened to a little girl’s story on a plane and became a confidant through pen and paper. I said that I felt bad because I couldn’t remember if I had ever written her back – and why did it take me this long to realize it? She said that knowing me, I probably did write to Mercedes once more.

I may never know the answer to that. And maybe it doesn’t matter. I know that Mercedes was loved very much by her large family, and that it was nothing for her to write to me, as if I was her own granddaughter. I never saw Mercedes again after that flight years ago. But I hope she knows how much of an impact she made on my life as I grew up, just through a little snail mail.

But then, all the people in my life reminded me that things aren’t so bad. That I can’t sweat the small stuff. That it’s not that traumatic, but that they’re there for me. These people were my boyfriend (after the fight), a friend and colleague here in DC, my best friend Molly of almost 12 years who spent a weekend with me to cheer me up, eat chili pies and look at photos from our “ugly years,” and of course, my parents. There were no lectures, no sage advice, but just reminders. Reminders that it will be ok, that life is manageable, that things get better and can be worked out.

It’s nice to have those people, and to have that day when things start looking up again. Because, they are right, I have a great job, a place to live, and loving family and friends. And then I come home, have a great workout, make a delicious dinner, talk to my dad for half an hour and think about devouring another book or two this long weekend and taking a long run in the beautiful weather. Because they’re all right, life is good.

Thank you for reminding me of that.