On Mentors.

As my own role as mentor has been evolving, I’ve been thinking about my own. Granted, Cliff wasn’t a mentor-mentor, he was a friend, but he still helped me through shit. As someone who knew me in person, I felt beyond vulnerable that he could see through me. That is, at a glance all those years ago, he could see the struggle I was having. I remember once being baffled that he’d even bother to befriend someone as damaged as I was.

The problem with Cliff was his complete lack of tact. He came across as a gigantic dick a large amount of the times. Or so it felt, maybe my memory only remembers the pain as I started digging through things. It was a master of weaving entire conversations so I’d eventually realize something. It’s an art even I’m not capable of. One thing I can’t deny was his patience. To this day, I don’t know how he put up with how ungodly stubborn I was. It’s hard to articulate how I unaware I was. I was so wrapped up in my head, so believing in a cage I had built for myself. He’s the one that got me to admit I had a problem. He’s the one that told me to look for the source in my childhood. I felt broken at first. “My childhood? Isn’t that so cliché?” Yet this is the case for almost all of us. Little things in our childhood shape up. And the thing is, it’s not the hidden things, it’s always the big obvious things right in front of us. Look at your parents. Look at your siblings. Look at your friends or lack thereof. Those facets right there have a high propensity for explaining the vast majority of our psyche.

So while Cliff had the question, it feels like Alex had the answer. Because once you know everything, the strange thing is, you have to forget everything. Just forget everything you know and move forward. I have feelings? Okay, not a big deal. Just because it’s rooted in the past doesn’t mean I can do something in the present to cause myself to feel something else. I don’t know if Alex ever purposely meant to mentor me. It started with her overstating the obvious in the halls of these pages. The obvious hurt, because I didn’t understand. But instead of getting angry, I came to her, “this hurts. Do you know why it hurts?” Or something to that effect.

I remember when she gave me a self-esteem book. One of the first exercises is to name some things you like about yourself. I couldn’t name a single one. I broke down and cried. I remember working on becoming more present in the moments of the day, rather than being so isolated in my own head. Those simple exercises seriously helped me become more aware of my surroundings on a daily basis. Like becoming The One.

Yet I couldn’t help but feel a certain distance from her. She was this person who understood, but seemed far away. If it was intentional, I respect that. But the result was I ended up feeling like she was this perfect person. I had the false impression that the end was like the end of a story. You close the book and live happily ever after. She even told me herself that she has her days, but it didn’t get through to me at the time.

As a mentor, I’m obviously going to be me. I like sharing stories if applicable to make people feel like they’re not alone. Concurrently, I’ll also completely admit when I don’t know the answers. Her fears and worries are not unlike my own when I was her age. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so paranoid if someone had assured me that my friends do in fact like me. That I have worth as a person. It breaks my heart at times. But I take comfort in the fact that I can make a difference. Elissa has said she doesn’t trust easily, and the fact that she’s already confiding in me means I’ve gained her trust. I like being trusted.

I’ve been a confidant before, but never beyond the realms of the intarwebs. When I was 17, all I had was my journal. Well, that’s a half-truth, but it’s still the big picture. I was alone with my own thoughts far too much. I don’t have an arching plan to “fix” her, because believing I can do that is a tad arrogant. At best, I’m regularly asking her to tell me one thing she likes about herself. You know, bit by bit. It’s all really a matter of what she feels comfortable sharing, I don’t pry with a crowbar the way Cliff did.

It’s so simple, but it feels so good knowing I’m making a difference in someone’s life. I see so many of these kids pass through my job. Most of them, all I can do is give them a chance to succeed, communicate our standards, and give praise if I see them trying, or if they exceed our standards. So to speak. I rightfully keep a professional distance most of the time.

Something Elissa has said more than once, “I feel like I’ve gained some great moral favor.” I’ve pointed out that she’s always had my favor, I just can’t go approaching kids saying, “You look like you need help, want a mentor?” I read people very quickly, and unfortunately, those reads are almost always right. Maybe that makes me judgmental, and I’m always happy when my bad reads are wrong. But the fact is, I recognized some part of myself in her when she was hired last September. As always, I drop bits of philosophical wisdom whenever possible. I knew those bits alone wouldn’t be enough, but trust is earned, and I had to let her come to me. A couple months ago, she actually asked if I’d do her letter of recommendation. As a running gag (at least in my head), whenever she does something awesome, I say to her, “And this is something I’m putting in my letter of recommendation!”

We actually hung out the other day outside of work. It was the level of awkward on par with meeting someone online. Which, of course, we’ve done, so we understood. I don’t expect us to be the kind of friends that hang out. I just know how insecure her brain is and spending a little time together would affirm that I’m not bullshitting her. We all have those doubts in our heads.

I’m making a difference. I like that.