Once in awhile we have the opportunity to consciously make a memory. This is rare, but it does happen. When it does, I try my best not to let it pass.

My grandmother always loved babies. I think that’s why she had nine of them. But obviously time passes, and the babies inevitably grew up. They had their own babies, and she was happy again for awhile. Then those babies grew up, too.

When the time came for them to start having babies, she was growing old.

When my daughter was born, my frail little grandmother ventured out in 20 degree weather to see her at the hospital. She came in with her walker, guided by my aunt, and sat down in a chair. We handed her my daughter and for the next hour I don’t think her eyes ever left her face. Maybe once, to comment on how beautiful the baby was. But that was all.

Later that night, as I was rocking my newborn to sleep while my husband ran out to get food, I sang “The Way You Look Tonight”, crying as I did so. I was overwhelmed with love, and the first song that came into my head was a Frank Sinatra song I had first heard from my grandmother. Already it seemed a torch had been passed.

Two months later, my grandmother was the one in the hospital. It wasn’t the first time, of course. But it would be the last.

Even when we knew it was the end, my family brought her home. She wanted to be home. When she could do little more than sleep, she wanted to be in her own bed surrounded by the people she loved.

By this point I felt comfortable bringing my baby out and about. I brought her to see my grandmother as often as I could. Even at her weakest, my grandmother always lit up when she saw her. Sometimes she even tried to play with her. It probably took up all her energy, but it made her happy. And my baby would always smile.

One day, for just a little while, it was just the three of us. My grandmother was resting in her chair, her eyes on the baby in my arms. And since my daughter was cranky, I tried to make them both happy. I put on a Frank Sinatra station on Pandora and began to sway with her in my arms.

The first song that came on, of course, was “The Way You Look Tonight”.

And as I sang along and watched my baby calm down and close her eyes while my grandmother nodded along with a small smile, I knew this was a memory.

By the end of the song they had both drifted into a peaceful sleep, and I sat there wide awake and aware that if what I had learned in school was true, I was between two people so close to heaven, but in opposite directions. And even though there were three of us in that room, the memory would only last for me.

“Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.” Shakespeare

Although I’m not a particularly outgoing person, I enjoy meeting new people. While I don’t always make the best first impression (I’ve had more than one good friend tell me they initially expected me to be a bitch), I am lucky enough to have found several kindred spirits in my life. Some were people I saw almost everyday for years. Others I only knew for a few months. What’s funny is that the time frame didn’t matter at all.

What mattered was what kind of person they were, and upon what grounds our friendship was based.

At the time I went to college, some of my friends and I stayed in touch through AIM. During my junior year, Facebook was invented, which became a new way for people to keep in touch. All of a sudden people didn’t disappear completely. Over time, as Facebook reached out beyond college, more and more people began to show up. I received constant updates on engagements, babies, headaches, break ups, and how much people loved/hated their jobs. I didn’t even have to have conversations anymore. I could just know.

Now I am not really against social media. In general I very much like it. I have friends living all over the country, and some even out of it, and I really like knowing what’s going on in their lives. I like that we can still share with each other and not feel like total strangers.

However, I think that social media, and all the other technological ways we keep in touch, exacerbate a problem very common among young people. When someone likes your status everyday, it’s easy to believe they like you, too. Most likely, they do. But it takes less of an effort to click on a thumbs up icon, or send a little smiley face, than it does to actually listen to you when things get rough. Sometimes the people with 1,000 friends are surprised to find they suddenly have no one.

That’s doesn’t mean these people aren’t acquaintances. You might still enjoy talking to them or spending time with them or just having them in your life, and the feeling is probably mutual. But true friendship is more of an investment. And it’s important to realize which people are the ones who will really stand by you and help you become the best possible version of you. It’s not worth your time to fight to keep people around when they have no interest in staying, or to expect more from people when they have shown you time and again that they lack a certain attribute that you value.

Now here’s where that quote comes in. I don’t think that because someone shows their “true colors” or lets you down it automatically means they should be cut off. It just means that they’re not the person you hoped they were, and perhaps should not be counted among your “true friends”. It’s okay to only have a few of those. In terms of friendship, quality and not quantity matter more.

When I first found out that I would be working in a middle school, I was a little less than excited. Needless to say, it’s been a long time since I was in middle school myself, but I don’t really remember it fondly. There were some parts that were fine and made me smile, and other parts that probably could have kept a therapist busy for a while. All in all, I’m glad it’s over.

But everyday I see students who are still right in the thick of it. It’s not over for them. And while most days they come in with happy faces and talk cheerfully to their friends, other days I see a cloud hanging over them that is a clear sign that something has gone wrong in their world.

Sometimes they flat out tell me what happened. Sometimes I catches glimpses of it in their journals. Sometimes it breaks my heart. Sometimes I want to roll my eyes.

But it doesn’t really matter how I feel personally. I have survived those years. They’re behind me now. I have filled the years with new memories, lessons, and problems, so that the middle school ones are now very dim.

Not so for these students. These problems are in their face. They keep them up at night and taunt them on the bus first thing in the morning. Their nightmares are very real. To top it off, school is not the safe, innocent place it used to be, no matter how hard teachers try (and believe me, they do try). These kids know perfectly well that first graders were killed while sitting in a classroom. They know that kids their own age commit suicide. They know more about sex and drugs than their parents would like to believe.

Whenever these kids approach me, or write these wistful thoughts in their assignments, I always want to tell them it gets better. I want to tell them that even though the school day seems to drag on forever, this time of life is very short. And someday it won’t matter what someone said to you in the lunchroom or called you behind the back. People like that eventually fade from your life as you learn that their opinions no longer matter.

Even now, I have to remind myself not to fret too much about the things that won’t matter five years from now. Sometimes it’s easier than others. But I still wish I had known then to not waste my time worrying about the things I would eventually forget. Maybe if I had gotten a little practice early on, it would be easier today.

“When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.” Mark Twain

Parents undergo an interesting development throughout our lives. In the beginning, they are our whole world, perfect individuals who offer us safety from the big world. At some point their flaws begin to show, and by our teenage years they are usually so imperfect we can hardly believe we share the same genes. Slowly, we begin to come around and find that maybe they did know better after all.

Maybe.

I’ve seen a few articles about things people wish they knew when they were younger. A very common one is a wish to have listened to their parents more. While I think that can be sound advice, I do think there are exceptions. I have met alcoholic parents, abusive parents, or parents who simply have other things going on in their lives and cannot or do make their children a priority. I’m not entirely sure they are as chock full of wisdom as these articles would make out all parents to be.

Personally, I wish I had not listened to my parents. They did a lot of things out of concern for me, yes, but they did not always make the best choices. I was forced many times down paths that made me miserable, and worse, was told to stay there. They wanted me to be tough and strong, but in a “safe” place. In doing so, they deprived me of many opportunities.

Now it’s not all their fault by any means. I made some choices, too. Plus, there’s no way to know for sure that my life would have been better had I chosen to go against their wishes and follow my own heart. But I think the idea of always listening to your parents can be a bit too cut and dry.

I think a better lesson, and one I would have told myself when I was 22 and fresh out of college, is this: Parents are human. They are capable of doing really wonderful things, but also make mistakes. They have their own set of emotions, experiences, opinions, lessons, failures, and successes. There are some things that they have learned from experience. There are other things that they have no possible way of knowing.

That doesn’t mean they should be ignored. I do think their opinions should be valued and respected (as long as they’re within reason). But I also believe, as a rather negligent parent one said, “This above all, to thine own self be true.” Sometimes being too obedient to anyone, even a parent, can hinder progression. So as with all things, consider their advice, but use your own good judgment. Even the mistakes and failures that they desperately want us to avoid can be the very things to make us stronger, more mature, and ultimately happier.

There is one word I hear far too often from girls who are in the dating scene. I know I’ve said it myself.

The word: but.

“But he can be so nice sometimes…”

“But he does always call back eventually…”

“But I really don’t think he considered it just a random hookup…”

The word makes me cringe. It amazes me how much women are willing to forgive for the sake of saying they are in a relationship. We see the red flags, we aren’t really that blind….usually. We just really want to be.

Now this applies to girls at almost any age. I am choosing to address my 25-year-old self because that’s when the stakes are raised a bit. That’s when people you know start getting rings and getting married and having babies, and everyone starts to give you that sidelong look that indicates you should be next. Sometimes people blatantly ask tell you that an adequate marriage should be on your to-do list for the near future. After all, you only have another fifteen to twenty years to have children without the help of modern medicine. Better get crackin’!

So inevitably, convinced by Disney movies and YA romances that this is a good idea, young women cling to men who have no interest in a long term relationship.

If I could talk to myself at this age, or any age really, I would tell myself to leave at the first red flag. Because guys who are interested will be too busy wanting to make sure you know how much they care.

Now I once heard all the usual quotes about the one guy who will never make you cry and blah blah blah. I think the unfortunate thing about these sayings is that you never really believe them until you learn the truth for yourself. I didn’t believe them until my current husband, to whom I was once invisible, realized I existed and was capable of holding a conversation. But once that happened, I never had to worry once. At the first sign of a misunderstanding, he wanted to talk to me. He called me every single night, without fail. He was honest, straightforward, and considerate. No games, no ambiguity. Just absolute sincerity.

I’m not alone in this. Many of my friends have discovered the same thing. One by one our nights of meeting up to analyze a string of text messages over beers began to vanish as we met guys who told us exactly what they meant and more importantly, made each of us a priority.

I don’t think anyone, men or women, should have to settle for anything less than this. I also think that if it doesn’t come, that does not mean one has failed at life. I know some older single people who have awesome lives. They have cool jobs and travel to cool places and have amazing stories. There’s nothing wrong with not being in a relationship. In fact, sometimes I think it makes you a stronger person with a better sense of self.

And less willing to settle for anyone who doesn’t love you exactly the way you are.

I spent 13 years in Catholic school. While I don’t think that was altogether bad thing, it also had some drawbacks. One of the worst ones for me personally was the almost debilitating side of guilt that comes with practically everything.

By the time I was twelve, I had already spent the better part of my childhood in the shadow of the cross. I had left the “Jesus loves you” years and just entered the “Things That Will Land You in Hell” phase of Catholicism. While many people can survive and even continue to live comfortably in this phase, I never fully adjusted. It filled me with anxiety and doubts that I still carry to this day. I second guess everything. I question everything I say and do, even among my closest friends. I agonize over every insignificant slip I make, lose sleep over my mistakes, and feel guilty about almost everything I do.

I wish I could tell myself at age 12 that people make mistakes. Not only that, but even when they do, things are usually okay.

Between religion, grades, and basketball, which was practically my father’s religion, 12 year old me had little room for error. Every step out of line (almost all of which were accidental) came with swift retribution akin to a fire breathing dragon. Maybe it just felt that way because I was getting sensitive. Maybe it really did happen and I’m just led to believe the dragon was only a figment of my imagination.

Either way, I can look back and pinpoint the time when I first began to feel completely ashamed of myself.

Granted, shame is sometimes warranted. Funny enough, the people who I think should be most ashamed never are. I know some people who say absolutely horrible, cruel things and think they are 100% right and don’t doubt themselves for a second. I beat myself up if I think I forgot to say please. Really, I should be satisfied. I’m not dumb, I intend to treat everyone respectfully and try my best to do so, and I don’t like to curse….but I’m from New Jersey, and sometimes I forget that certain words even are curse words. Still, I try to keep it clean around children especially.

I wish someone had told me that was enough. Maybe by this point in my life, I would agree. And get some sleep.

The more I read about or watch Jennifer Lawrence, the more I wish she had been around when I was 15.

At 15, I arrived at that awkward “filling out” stage that all girls go through. I had always been skinny, and suddenly I found myself battling with extra weight that refused to budge. Plus, I had always had chubby cheeks, even while skinny, and while they had once been cute, they soon became embarrassing.

I hated it and didn’t know what to do.

I had always been physically active, and at this time was running about five miles a day for cross country. I started dieting, or at least trying to eat healthier, although even that backfired. I went through one of my first phases of vegetarianism, which basically for a high school kid meant eating a lot of carbs or nothing at all. Plus, my long day meant I went 8 hours at a time without eating or drinking anything. So the three meals I did get I usually ate as if I were being sent to the electric chair. This is why I think allowing snack time would actually curb childhood obesity.

So anyway, I carried a few extra pounds but was still very much within the healthy range. I exercised, I ate healthy foods, even if I ate too much of them, and could still run a mile well below the required time for a girl my age.

I just felt fat. And the media didn’t help.

Those were the years of Calista Flockhart and Kate Moss. Kate Winslet, another idol of mine, was around because of Titanic, but she wasn’t as prominent as the other two at the time, or Jennifer Lawrence today. Otherwise, I might have heard the message that both Jennifer and Kate consciously and subconsciously give young girls.

Healthy is beautiful.

Not being a size 2 with razor sharp cheekbones, unless that’s your natural size. Not living off of bananas and rice cakes. But being healthy.

I wish that message came across more often. I feel like too often in society we focus on telling girls one extreme or another. Skinny is beautiful. Curvy is beautiful.

How about, wherever you are at your healthiest is beautiful?

I have gone all over the scale in my life. For years I battled with extra pounds. When I turned twenty-five, a combination of things led me to lose a significant amount of weight, so I was constantly being told to gain. But even then I wasn’t at my healthiest. I wasn’t eating well and hardly exercised at all, and I certainly wouldn’t say I was happier. After many years, I feel I finally found a place where I can be happy with the way I look. I eat my vegetables, get more protein, exercise a few days a week, and let myself have an occasional cookie, and can look at myself in a mirror and smile. I’m no Victoria’s Secret model, but I’m okay with that.

   When I was ten years old, I had absolutely remarkable self-esteem, which I don’t remember possessing at any other time in my life. I have no idea why. I wasn’t the most attractive kid. My hair was a blonde frizzy mess, my teeth were virtually deformed, and I managed to be so skinny my ribs poked out, but my stomach (as always) remained soft and pudgy. I had good friends, but would certainly not be confused with one of the “cool kids”. I had some pretty average talents….actually, some were even slightly above average, but I never considered myself better than anyone else. I was decidedly me, and very happy to be just that.

If I had a chance to talk to myself at that age, I would tell myself to hold on to that confidence. Or at least 90% of it.

Ever since that time, I remember battling with self esteem. Once sixth grade came around, I became less and less sure of myself. I got braces, glasses, but no boobs. At age ten I had had a role in the school play that became a stand out performance not because I was incredibly talented, but because I was fearless, threw myself into the role, and sang with my whole heart and a little skill. By seventh grade I had developed a bit of stage fright. I went from being happy with my friends to getting upset when people teased me about my inability to wear make up, and I felt weird around boys. I went from loving sports to dreading the pressure I felt on the field and from my father. The one thing that somewhat remained was my faith in my brain, and even then slowly diminished over time. Now, even things I say with certainty I inwardly question. Google both helps and hurts with that.

Maybe it was just that transition from childhood to adulthood, although even as a child I don’t remember being so amazingly confident. I almost always was – and still am – perfectly comfortable being different from the rest of the crowd, as long as it’s on my own terms. But sometimes I am absolutely awed by myself at that age, when I did crazy things that now would never even cross my mind. I was just so happy to be me, and alive, and didn’t need validation from anyone, really.

If I could talk to that girl, I would tell her to hold on to that feeling, that firm belief that “I am fine just the way I am”, and moreover, everyone else is fine the way they are, too. (Unless they say or do something ignorant in mean, in which case they deserve a punch in the face. That was me at age ten, too.) If I could talk to other girls at that age, I would tell them the same thing. The years that follow are extremely difficult for boys and girls, and they end up being wrought with insecurities. I want to tell them to stay strong, and hold on to that childish innocence that sees the good in everything.

Especially in themselves.