There’s a specific kind of loneliness that comes from being the person who remembers. You remember the thing someone said three months ago. You follow up not because you want something but because you actually care. You build the bridge and walk across it and stand on the other side and wait. Sometimes nobody comes. Not because people are bad. People are busy and distracted and fighting their own invisible wars. But you’re standing there, and you notice that you’re standing there, and after enough times you start to wonder if something is wrong with the bridge or wrong with you or if maybe you just keep building in the wrong direction.
I have felt this for most of my life. Relationships that tilt. Friendships where I’m the one reaching out, checking in, holding the thread. I used to think I expected too much from people, and maybe I do. I work on that. But here’s the thing about spending years on the giving end of a lopsided equation: it trains your eyes. When you’ve spent a long time not being met, you develop this almost involuntary ability to recognize the people who show up for real. Not because they’re performing or because they want something, but because they genuinely cannot help it. You learn to spot the quiet ones.
Years ago I mentored in an online bootcamp, helping people transition into technology strategy roles. I mentored a bunch of people over the course of the program, and the format involved group projects where you’d come up with strategies for solving real problems in marketplace businesses. Most people coast, show up late, contribute the minimum, let someone else carry the load.
One of the people I mentored was a guy named Edwin. He stood out. He took the work seriously when others didn’t, approached problems with real curiosity, and conducted himself with the kind of quiet effort and authenticity that you can’t fake. In a room full of people going through the motions, he was actually there.
Over the years we’ve stayed in touch. I helped him land a role at DoorDash. He’s now an active member of 500+, my Discord community. We’ve found a mutual love for Substack, a platform he’s building on now in his own right. But what stays with me most about Edwin isn’t any of that.
Every lopsided friendship in my life was building toward something I couldn’t see at the time. I wasn’t just the person who gave more. I was becoming the person who could tell the difference between people who perform and people who mean it. When I met Edwin, I didn’t have to think about it. I just knew.
The quiet ones don’t ask to be seen. They just keep building, and most of the time the world looks right past them. I know what that feels like from the other side. I also know what it feels like to finally recognize someone who builds the way you do.
That’s what I want to be for people. The person who looks up and says I see you, you’re doing it right. Edwin, I see you. Keep building.
Follow Edwin’s journey on Substack here.
Man, a few weeks ago I wrote about the bootcamp, your mentorship, and how you helped me land the role at DoorDash. I wasn’t even sure you’d remember it the way I did.
So to read this now, feels incredibly warm and it’s really nice to hear how it felt from the other side.
Thank you for continuing to share your writing here, engaging with everyone in 500+, and for continuing to be a thoughtful mentor. And also thank you for writing this, it really means a lot to hear it from the other side.