My Epiphany

Becoming a Quitter: Giving Up, Not Giving In
I should’ve been in school, since it was a Thursday morning, but instead I sat on a charter bus headed towards Columbus, Ohio with a phone in my hands and tears in my eyes. I listened, helpless and afraid, as my best friend shared with me the horrifying images his bad trip had induced. I had no control over the situation—he was nearly two hours away, and I could not un-make his decision to take the drugs. Still, I felt completely responsible.
I grew up in a large, extroverted family that wouldn’t take no for an answer. My mother and father instilled in us from a very young age the value of helping other people. This may have been in part so that we would take care of each other, but it was definitely incorporated in more ways than doing the dishes. For instance, when I was eleven years old, my family took in another family of ten refugees fresh off a plane from Somalia. This experience taught me to look for the best in other people, that hope is one of the most imperative beliefs you can have, and, most importantly, that anyone can make it if they try hard enough.
I did my best to hold strong to these values, but with my friend, it was all I could do to not give up. I spent almost all my time with him or keeping him in check, but it never seemed to cut it. He continued to get himself into trouble: with grades, with drugs, with all sorts of decisions. I kept telling myself that maybe if I had been there for one more phone call when he needed to talk, that maybe if I had helped him with his math homework one more time, that maybe if I had just been a better friend, he would have changed, he could have gotten better. Even after everyone around me recognized that I could not control the situation, I would not let go; and, after all, what time is a good time to give up hope on someone you love?
Later that Thursday, my friend called me again. I fought with him, desperately trying to convince him that I was right: that it was never too late, that he could still make the changes he needed to succeed in his life; but I think I knew that I was fighting a losing battle. “This is how I’m happy,” he told me, “and I would rather do this and die young than waste the rest of my life doing what society wants from me.” I was so upset I could hardly argue with him. I felt defeated and frustrated. I had already invested so much time in helping this person, and for him to selfishly turn away? My family taught values of generosity, love, and compassion had not prepared me for such a response.
It was briefly after this conversation with my friend that I realized an inevitable life lesson: I cannot save everyone. Not everyone I want to help will want to be helped. There is nothing I can do for someone until they are willing to change, too. This was the truth, and it broke my heart to acknowledge that my best friend might not reach the potential I had seen in him. Knowing this, though, I still try to help everyone I can. Sometimes, people have to hit rock bottom before they are willing to change; and if that’s what it takes, then I will wait, and I will be there to help them on their way up. “Let the rain fall down, and wash this world away/ Oh, let the sky be grey/ ‘Cause if it’s ever going to get any better, it’s got to get worse for a day” (Allen).




Works Cited
Bishop Allen. Rain. The Broken String. 2007.