Two things everyone should hear at some point (because they are true for everyone, especially the first), both of which were so well said by Leo Buscaglia:
“Love yourself—accept yourself—forgive yourself—and be good to yourself, because without you the rest of us are without a source of many wonderful things.”
“The easiest thing to be in the world is you. The most difficult thing to be is what other people want you to be. Don’t let them put you in that position.”
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I had a good weekend in Ft. Lauderdale with old friends. I often found myself talking of my newer friends because I love them so much (not that they’re new friends, but compared to the people I was hanging out with all weekend, they’re newer). And often, I find myself talking of my older friends because I love them so much.
Mostly, I just often find myself telling stories about friends or from friends because I want people to share in the joy or sorrow of that moment that has passed. I guess that’s why I do it anyway.
I think the people in my life are all pretty great and I want you to know that too. But also, I want you to know that you’re pretty great. I don’t tell my friends enough, new or old. I tell other people how great they are. I tell my old friends how funny or encouraging my new friends are. I tell my new friends of how I loved the days with so and so. But I don’t necessarily tell so and so how I loved those days and think of them often and I don’t always tell my friends how funny they are and how greatful I am for them.
I’m very open about the good, the bad, and the ugly. I have no problem telling my friends what they mean to me, whether written or verbally. Yet I don’t. I just don’t. No reason. So why not? I’ll be changing that, I hope.
Things you never forget about people: the particularly good times and the particularly bad.
For instance, I’ll never forget a particular day Danielle and I wandered around Dublin. We picked up some chocolate scones from Queen of Tarts. We tried finding our way on a bus, but when we couldn’t find the right one, I asked a man at a bookstall for help. He didn’t know what bus but he gave some directions that I miraculously remembered. And soon we were laying on the grass in Phoenix Park and enjoying our scones. It was a long walk that gave me a blister, but I didn’t even complain. It was that beautiful of a day.
Or the week my Dad died. Casey, Ben, Scott and I’s friend anniversary was on that Monday, but because I didn’t know when my father would pass, I had to be in Deland. And so Casey, Ben, Lori and Kacie drove up to Deland to have dinner with me. We went to Chili’s and I laughed and had a good meal with friends who have become a family to me. We drove back to my parents’ house afterwards. My brother was in town and he and my sister were asleep. I got blankets from the house and we all laid on the blankets closer to the lake. There was silence and we looked up at the stars. There was a moment where the reality of the week ahead hit me and I cried. And my friends didn’t try and stop me. They just stayed there and comforted me. And when the time was right, they all wrapped their arms around me and prayed for me. It was far from forced. It was, perhaps, one of the most meaningful moments I have ever experienced and it was in the worst of times.
You all matter to me. But saying “you all” may not mean anything to you, because you may be thinking “you all” doesn’t include you. But let me tell you: cousin, friend, best friend, two-hang-out friend, reconnected friend, friend I don’t talk to much, friend I wish I talked to more, friend I perhaps inappropriately play flirt with, friend I annoy, friend who thinks they annoy me, friend who is finding themself, friend who is searching, friend who stole a friend, roommates I talked to a lot or a little, friend I offended, friend I lost… friends, however close or fresh our relationship may be, you matter to me.
Yet, “you all” and a bunch of ambiguous descriptions will not do it. I hope my actions and words will begin to show the way I feel about you and you and you. . .

