Monthly Archives: November 2010

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How To Measure the Return on Love

When I moved to New York, jobless, with my entire life packed into two suitcases – I never doubted my ability to break into publishing. Sure, I knew it wasn’t going to be a walk-in-the-park and my first job wouldn’t be my big break or my dream magazine –but something inside of me said: “Just go, it’ll all work out.”

Fast forward three weeks after my plane touched ground and I find myself jumping-up-and-down frantically while accepting my first Editorial Assistant position at a… business magazine.

My first day on the job, my wonderful editor, D (whom I admire so much!) assigned me a few articles and told me to get started. As I sat down and started to read the results from a survey I would be writing about – I realized: I have no idea what any of this means.

My background is in women’s interest which has included everything from women’s rights and fashion to sex and beauty. I never took one business class in college and truth-be-told, hardly read any business articles until I accepted this job.

When my first article came back, bleeding in red markups, my editor asked questions like: “How much was the investment?” and “Where did they focus their marketing efforts and how did they reel in the ideal customer in their industry?” and finally, “Well, what is their ROI?” ROI is one of the many ways to measure the success of a business.

Although it may make me look like a total idiot, I quickly Googled “ROI” and figured out it meant “Return on Investment” which is usually expressed in a percentage based on total costs balanced with revenues. Basically, it’s asking: I pumped all of this money into this idea or this business or this marketing strategy, and I got what in return?

But what about return in love? We invest so much of our thoughts, our time, our hearts, our minds, and our bodies into a relationship or almost–relationship, risking the possibility of being totally let down or heart broken, and what do we get in exchange?

How do you measure ROL (Return on Love)?

Though relationships should be pretty evenly balanced, unavoidably, there tends to be someone who gives more than they take. The same is true in platonic friendships, in the working environment, and when it’s all in the family. My role, both as the giver and the taker, has changed in every relationship I’ve been in – but if I’m honest with myself about what role I play most of the time –it’s the giver. While Mr. Faithful put way more into the relationship than I ever did, with Mr. Curls, Mr. Fire, Mr. Fling, Mr. Buddy, Mr. Rebound, and Mr. Idea – I was the one left upset or burned by the ending of the relationship.

So really, the older I’ve become, the more I’ve given – which has resulted in more hardship. Does this mean my ROL has been low? Have I placed much more of my heart and my time into relationships, than I’ve received in return?

I can’t say that choosing the role between the lender or the borrower can predict what someone’s return will be when they take the chance at falling in love. But what you can measure is how you handle yourself when it’s time to calculate the risk you took.

Sure we get disappointed and we feel that awful sting of resentment and of heartache when a relationship comes to a close that’s not on our terms. And yes, we reserve the right to mourn the loss of the end of a chapter, a dent in our hearts (and pride), and the sadness that comes with realizing what we thought would be, will not.

We’re meant to fall in love and fall out of it. We’re meant to be bruised and broken down at times – that is part of life, and that is human nature. Those personal sized Ben & Jerry’s cartons, Nicholas Sparks books and movies, and Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” are successful for a reason. We all feel those rushes of ups and downs, highs and lows, and beliefs and denials – it’s how we process and how we cope.

But it’s after those days of exhaustion and of crying, of hating and of chasing “what-ifs” away – that we learn how much we truly learned. And if we can take some piece of clarity about what we want and how we’ve grown from the investment we put into a relationship, then I believe our ROL is quite high. If we can see the conclusion of a relationship as not the end-all-be-all, but instead the first day of the rest of our lives – then anything we’ve invested or planned for or put into love, goes straight back to us. In that way, we take back our control and our power, instead of giving it away to the person who left us broken.

Every person that has filtered through our hearts, lives, and legs has been there to show us something. I’m under the belief that fate has a magic hand in everything and when a relationship ends, it opens the door to something more incredible, more powerful, and more everlasting: the opportunity to redefine yourself. To fall in love with yourself again and remember who you are, outside of the icky relationship residue you’ve been swimming in. To pick up the pieces, collect your debts, count your losses, and figure out how you’re going to boost up the return in the next quarter. Just like you have to pump some sort of funds into a business to make it grow, to become a better-you, and more lovingly-profitable in a relationship, you have to go through several good and bad quarters before you find your traction.

Because single women (and men) are much like the entrepreneurs I write about – when they fail or hit a rough spot or lose their hope, they bounce back with a fierce diligence…that ultimately, that hope and passion – leads to their success.

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The Love-That-Got-Away: Mr. Fire

I’ve been trying to figure out all day how to begin this post and each and every single time I sit down to start it – I find myself lost for words. As someone who was born with a pen in her hand, this is out of the ordinary.

But then again, if I really think about my relationship with Mr. Fire – being speechless seems pretty fitting.

We all have that guy in our lives. The one we meet in some peculiar way and instantly, our whole world comes crashing down around us. Each barrier we set up to keep our hearts and bodies safe is utterly destroyed, and suddenly, we’re standing there exposed and vulnerable to any and every charm this man throws our way.

Mr. Fire and I met my sophomore year of college through the student newspaper, where at the time; I was serving as Lifestyles Editor. For whatever reason, I was on a local history feature kick and was intrigued by a bagel shop that had been in my college’s town for decades. After doing the central interview, I needed an extra angle from a current student who worked part-time at the shop. The place suggested a guy whose name I couldn’t spell to save my life, but somehow finagled my way to his Facebook – and three messages later, we had an interview set up.

He snuck up on me (much like the relationship that followed) by coming in the backdoor of our office and when I saw my friend M’s eyes light up, I knew he must be somewhat attractive. I spun around in my chair, tilted my head to the side, smiled, and said, “You must be Mr. Fire.” He nodded, went into a long speech (as he usually does) – and within a few seconds, I was hooked.

He was tall. He was funny. He had character. He was active and fit. He had a large group of friends. He was open. He made me feel comfortable. He listened. He challenged me. And about a week later, I found out he was a great kisser too. Our first official date was to a concert I had press passes for and he served as my “photographer” for the evening. As we attempted to dance to the music and he wrapped his arms around me, a little glimmer of hope inside of me said, “Maybe this will actually turn into something real.”

Our courtship or relationship or whatever you call it (we never defined it) didn’t last very long, but the impact it had on me was significant. The chemistry we had was so bursting with passion, with energy, with this complete connectivity that I couldn’t deny. He finished my sentences and widened my viewpoints. He had so many of the amazing qualities that I always desired in someone. And of course, when he kissed me – the world, literally stopped. It truly enforced that some people are meant to come into your lives, regardless of how long they stay, and change you.

During the time we were together, a lot of huge things starting happening in my life, for the better and for the worse. I went to my interviews in New York and he assured me I’d have killer success, and he also managed to keep me on the phone for two hours each night I was there (a huge feat for a New Yorker-wannabe like me). Before the interview for the position I’d eventually be offered, he sent me a “Go get ‘em Tigar!” text message that I kept long after our relationship ended. He encouraged my goals and told me about the trips he’d take to see me during my summer in my most favorite place on this planet. He may have even mentioned Versace and that made me fall for him a tad bit more.

And then, my dad went through one of the most difficult periods he’s ever gone through, and even though it was Easter break, Mr. Fire spent an hour on the phone checking up on me and ensuring that I was okay, breathing, and safe. Having experienced more loss in his own life than anyone should have to endure – he knew what page I was on.

When I returned from this horrible experience, he literally drowned me in gifts, food, and attention. He chased after my legs when we snuggled on his bed and tucked me into the inevitably inviting nook we all crave, and I was surrounded completely by just him. He picked me up in his kitchen, spun me around, and told me “Don’t you worry. It will all be okay.”

And all was well and promising, until the morning it wasn’t.

I had spent the previous day at one his games (he played on a club team on campus), met his mother, and then went to a party to celebrate their victory. At the get-together, he seemed cool, distant, and unusually unaffectionate. Most of the time, he was always finding an excuse to touch me, wrap his arms around me, or steal a kiss –even in front of his friends or teammates. After one-too-many beers, we ended up back at his apartment, where in all of my 5’7”-glory (heels on, of course) – I demanded why he was acting so funny. When he failed to respond, I returned with half-rage by attempting to leave and walk home if he didn’t want to be around me. To this, he responded by scooping me up, calming me down, and making me fall asleep.

In the morning, I rolled over, looked up at him and apologized for acting ridiculous and questioning. To which, he stroked my head, kissed my forehead, and said the words no girl ever wants to hear from the man she’s falling hard for: “Linds, I think we’re moving too quickly.”

In a matter of days, everything I thought we were building together was all-but destroyed. At first, he needed space. Then he decided he could only talk to me on the phone, text message, and Facebook, but not see me in person (to which I replied: “Are you out of your mind?”). Finally, I decided we shouldn’t talk for a week so he could get his mind straight and figure out what he wanted.

And in the end, he didn’t want me. Because I was going to New York and he was staying overseas for a month over the summer – literally putting us on opposite sides of the globe – he thought it was best we didn’t explore a relationship. He also reassured me he wasn’t interested in anyone else and couldn’t (and wouldn’t) be dating anyone seriously….

…until a day later, pictures of him and another girl showed up on Facebook. And not just any girl, a girl I had been introduced to, hung out with, and he had made fun at some point. At the time, it was absolutely devastating and made me feel like the biggest fool in the entire world – but within time (like a few years), I forgave him. They are still together, nearly three years later, and seem incredibly in love, and for that, I’m happy for him (at least somewhat, anyways).

Before I graduated and moved my way to these big, bright, shining lights I love so much, we ran into each other at a neighborhood bar. We were both in serious relationships at the time, but he said he “at least owed me a beer,” and I agreed, but added, “And an explanation.” Over the course of several hours, we discussed what he felt, what went wrong, and he apologized profusely. At some point, he said, “I always regretted how I treated you, but I didn’t feel like I had something to offer you with your New York dreams. I know you’re going to go far and I don’t know how to be just a part of that.”

I’m not sure if this means he wasn’t “man” enough to step up to the plate or couldn’t handle a gal who was going places, but it does mean that we simply weren’t meant for one another. No matter how much passion, how much fire or intensity, or possibility I saw for us at one point – if someone can’t take you for who you are and love you, pride aside, they aren’t worth it.

He is an incredible man who I know will be successful in whatever he does and in whatever marriage he enters – and I hope when he thinks of our time together, he smiles. He remembers the energy. The love-that-got-away from both of us. And somewhere, down deep where we hold our most precious and sacred memories, I know that our flame of happiness and of hope that we sparked for each other – remains lit.

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Frankly, I Do Give a Damn

When I start liking a guy – I change.

No matter how confident I am in my career, with my life, with how I look – when I start feeling those little butterflies or sense possibility, I alter myself somewhat. And I hate it.

Now, I’m not Julia Roberts in Runaway Bride who doesn’t know how she likes her eggs, but because I fear losing a guy’s interest or his attention, I almost always become this needy, overly obsessed and ridiculous girl while I’m “dating” or “talking” to someone. In no shape, form, or fashion am I out-of-my-character unless I’m with a dude I’m intrigued by. Instead of keeping up my fierce, go-getter nature, I almost always crumble into someone who is readily available, kind and inviting, and overly easy to get along with.

In my true form (or normal state), I question. I always want to figure out the next adventure. I’m a planner but like random decisions too. I’m bold and brilliant and I am pretty fearless of doing most anything. My friends always select me as the gal who goes up to the group of guys at the bar, and my co-workers deem me the one to be the “bitchy” receptionist when we need it. I am a naturally kind and thoughtful person, but I also stand up for myself and what I believe. I wouldn’t call myself brave because taking risks just comes easy to me. I have this sense that everything will work out and I’ll be fine, so I tend to just go for it.

This mentality holds true in every section of my life except with men. I don’t want to say the wrong thing or act the wrong way or be too disagreeable because if they see this vivacious, argumentative, daring, inquisitive, real me – they may be turned off, intimidated, or just not like it. And then they’d leave.

But why does that matter?

If they don’t like who I am at my core and how I am when I’m emotionally naked – are they even worth my time? I mean, Marilyn Monroe in all of her infinite beauty, says if a man can’t handle you at your worse, then he doesn’t deserve you at your best. But what if they can’t handle you at your best? When you’re the happiest and most in-tune with who you are? Is dating a journalist, a woman, a powerhouse, like me (and all of you) really that difficult? I mean, c’mon!

I’m so tired of morphing into a person I’m not to try and keep a man’s attention. While I don’t think age has much to do with it –I’m sincerely at a point where I’m falling in love with myself, with my life, with my city, and no man has the right to come and stomp all over that so he can remain satisfied. I have wants, needs, desires, and qualities that are just as important as any guy’s, and I don’t want to surrender them anymore. I would much rather be alone and happily single then to be with someone who doesn’t appreciate, adore, and love me for who I am – no questions asked.

In honor of proclaiming my over-the-top and completely ridiculous personality that I will now keep the same, regardless of what man walks into my life, I’ve made a list of some of the things that are important to me. These are things that I normally apologize for or don’t mention because I don’t want to be difficult to get along with. But now, I don’t care anymore.

-If you say you’re going to call, then call. If you say you’re going to text, then text. If you say you’re going to be somewhere, be there. I’m not your mother or personal assistant. Stay true to your word and don’t make me remind you.

-I like wearing high heels. Wait, I love wearing high heels. If this means you have to walk slower, that’s just how it is. I’m a girly-girl and I make no excuses for it.

-I wear makeup. When you kiss me or hug me, it may get on you. I don’t think that’s a bad trade for getting to touch my body or my lips. If you do, move on.

-If I say I don’t care where we go for dinner, I don’t. Make a decision.

-Drinks are not a date to me. Drinks are hanging out. If you want to ask me on a date, be more creative.

-I will compliment you and try and help you work through your problems. I will not support a whiny, depressed funk for very long. Learn how to take care of yourself.

-I may not agree with your viewpoints, but have them. No, it’s not okay for you to be okay with everything. The best of life comes from passion.

-I don’t want to hear that you don’t like your job or your career. You’re a grown-up and have the ability to change it. Life is too short to go to a place you hate every single day.

-I’d prefer not to know your ex-girlfriend’s name. If you feel the need to bring her up or reference to her, then maybe you should give her a call.

-I don’t mind watching sports and drinking beer with you sometimes. That doesn’t mean I want to do it every single Monday night.

-The hard work I put into my figure has nothing to do with you. Running is for me, so stop telling me to run for you.

-I’m a journalist. This means I like questions and I like answers. If you feel interrogated, maybe you should have a stronger back bone.

-I expect you to remember things that are important to me because I’ll always do the same for you. If I say something is special to me, please don’t disregard it.

-I need at least 24-hours notice before hanging out with you most of the time. Sometimes, I’m okay with spontaneity but my days are packed, and if I’ve deemed you someone I want to hang out with, please be reliable.

-Yes, my last name is Tigar. You don’t need to growl at me or sing “Eye of the Tiger” to me. It’s okay.

-Most of the time, I’m very happy, optimistic, bubbly, and full of energy. If you’re not like this, or if you don’t like this type of personality, then ta-ta.

-I’m not incredibly tidy, but I will try to be if I’m in your space. If you scold me for it more than once, I’m done.

-I need girl time and me time. And I don’t need to see you every single second of every single day, but I need to know you’re there.

-If you need an instructional manual to my body, I think we should see other people. Yes, every union is different, but if you can’t kiss at this age, I’m not interested.

-I was raised as a lady and I expect you to treat me that way. Open doors. Mind your P’s & Q’s. I will do the same.

-No, it’s not okay that you cancel plans an hour before we’re supposed to have them. That’s rude.

-Shower.

I promise I’m really a sweet, generous person, but I also need to embrace and enforce my values. I realize that everyone puts their best face first when they are starting to see someone, but being up front about who you are and what you need – is so important. Because if someone can’t put up with me or fall for me when I’m being myself, they aren’t the person that I’m meant for.

So here is to being me, the beautiful mess and everything. Frankly, when it comes to what I want and who I am, I do give a damn.

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The Never-To-Be Love: Mr. Rebound

Solo cups piled as tall as the ceiling, guys with baggy jeans, polo shirts, and drunken grins. Sheets that haven’t been washed in weeks (possibly months), every rap song there ever was playing loudly, and girls gladly flaunting their goods to help their dude (or the guy they met that night) win a game of beer pong.

Remember college?

I can’t say I was ever the biggest fan of the college party scene, but I tried to be. Even though I knew the guys were way immature, almost-alcholics, and many forgot about a little thing called ‘class’ – I attempted (and succeeded) to date several of them. But the one to introduce me to the university dating world was much more of a class act than your average frat boy: Mr. Rebound.

We met the summer before my freshman year via MySpace (no judging) when I went looking for people who went to Appalachian State because I would be attending in the fall. He was very sweet, always flattering me, and he had this certain appeal to him that my 17-year-old self found absolutely irresistible: he was a college guy.

This meant he wasn’t like the young and ridiculous boys who paraded my high school, no he was in college. That meant he was sophisticated and educated and working towards a goal. And he wanted to talk to me? A little incoming freshman? How could I not swoon?

And swoon is just what I did. Within the first three days of college, I found myself pinned up against a wall and a hard place as Mr. Rebound tried to kiss me and I refrained for 24-hours – just long enough to break up with Mr. Faithful and set up a movie date with my ‘college man.’

When I went over for this so-called date to let Mr. Rebound know I was newly single, I thought he would jump at the opportunity to call me his girlfriend. I mean he had been texting constantly, always made himself available, and never forgot to invite me and my roommate to parties he knew of. I mean, he even took me out to dinner at Murphy’s – a place he called a “nice” restaurant to eat at. (My 21-year-old self later found out how wrong that statement was).  But instead of swooning for me, the itty-bitty freshman, and proclaiming the love I was sure he had for me – he just jumped my naive bones.

Needless to say, we ended up in a “hooking-up” (although I never went all the way) relationship, and eventually he stopped talking to me, as those sorts of things typically go. While at the time, I was unfamiliar with this type of union – where the boy was difficult to comprehend and unreliable – I learned a lot.

The first time I had my official walk of shame, where I sported sky-high heels with basketball shorts and a t-shirt from his apartment to my dorm, I knew something was wrong. My roommate (and now best friend) raised an eyebrow at my attire, which caused me to question what exactly I was doing.

Mr. Rebound didn’t want a relationship. He didn’t want to love me. He didn’t want to take me on dates or court me. He didn’t care about getting to know me. He didn’t feel the need to be drawn to me or to fall head over his Dockers. No, Mr. Rebound wanted to have sex.

And I wasn’t down for that.

As a single woman, it’s so important to define your boundaries. To decide what you’re willing to put up with and what you’re not. To decide for yourself what is acceptable behavior and what is flat-out not cool by you. If you want to have a random hook-up for your own sake, then do it – but make sure you know what will make you happy before you dive right in. For me, I get too attached and I can’t do it. For others, it may work.

After an initial hiatus that allowed me to dis-attach myself from my romantic notions about him, Mr. Rebound and I eventually made up and over lunch before he graduated,we  made peace. We’re able to laugh about what we experienced and he always makes a point to check-in on me and I doubt he’ll ever stop calling me “babe.”

I wouldn’t say I ever loved the man, but he did open my eyes to the dating scene that defines being a college student. Sometimes it is never about the romance or the love or the fire or the passion or attraction. Sometimes, it’s about getting your jollies off.

For this girl, it will never just be about that. And honestly, for that I’m proud. Sure, I’ve had my random make-out, but I know whoever I give myself to one day, I can feel proud of the decisions I’ve made in the past. I’m still the type of girl who only can be a vixen in bed if I feel comfortable and know that the guy has a sincere interest in my well-being. Preferably, he would love me. But Mr. Rebound taught me what would be the start of my dating career in college –and one that I wasn’t ever very good at. Even now, Mr. Rebound always comments on my butt (or since I picked up running, he says, lack thereof) – and I find it as a compliment, rather than feel objectified by a guy who I once wanted to date. I’m glad I made an impression and I’m even happier that we never explored a relationship.

Because one day, in this magical world, I’ll find the man who I’m meant to be with who will cherish and respect me (and enjoy all of my sexual talents because I trust him). And until that day, I can depend on myself and my ability to make the best choice for me.

Thanks Mr. Rebound, for opening my eyes and shaping my morals. I’m sorry that I had the boys in my dorm wipe their sweaty armpits on your basketball shorts and t-shirt when I returned them. I’ll buy you a drink for that one.

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What Comes Before Love?

With city temperatures dropping, gloves and scarves coming out of hibernation, and iced coffee being exchanged for hot – I can’t help but think of change.

Fall is my favorite season because of the possibility it brings to the atmosphere, but winter brings this idea of transition. Wardrobe, food, transportation, and mentalities (winter blues, anyone?) makes a complete transformation between the sweltering days to the freezing ones. We’re literally forced to change.

At times, life is like that too. We reach a point where making a change is absolutely necessary: when the job sucks so bad we can’t stand to go to it, when that five pounds has turned into twenty, when drinking has become a must-have instead of a treat.

Recently, I interviewed a couple who own a maternity line for urban moms-to-be for the magazine. With an upcoming reality show debuting at the start of the year and a baby on the way – this duo was on fire. During the interview, it was evident how easily they worked together in and out of the business, and how passionate they were for the pregnant-new-parent industry (if you can call it that?).

Although I asked her a million questions that she gave great responses to – there was one thing she said that really stuck out in my head and caused me to jot down notes for this blog on the train back to my office. As we were discussing reaching her target market, she said: “It works really well that we’re creating a family right now as I’m growing this business. You really can’t even begin to understand what being pregnant is like unless you’re actually going through it, feeling what you’re body is going through, and freaking out.”

In my head, I thought, “That’s true. You also can’t grasp what being a single girl is like unless you are on.” And then, as I listened to her and watched her interact with me and with her husband, it occurred to me that she hasn’t always been this beautiful, successful, married, and glowing with-child woman. At one point, she was a single lady, just like me. It’s just that now, she’s in a different part of her life.

So does that mean being single is a stage? Is it a required transition? If first comes love, then comes marriage, then the baby in the baby carriage, what comes before love? Being single?

I’m not sure I like thinking of my life in stages, but in a way it makes sense. You can’t be a couple or a triple or foursome, if you’re not a single first –mathematically it doesn’t work. Right now I’m a 20-something gal climbing the ladder in her career and exploring the dating jungle that defines NYC. But in three years, I could be married? In ten, I could have a baby and a bump? How does life progress through these stages so quickly?

Are we ever not transitioning from one thing to another? And if we can’t completely depend on the stages in our lives that we hope to happen, will in fact progress, do we have faith? Instead, do we live in the here-and-now? Or do we do a combination of both?

If every stage is just a preparation for the next, are we ever really living in the segment of our lives we’re in? Or are we always anticipating the next step, the next decision, the next move? Once we’ve found that person, we rush to the alter. Once we’re at the alter, we rush to the nursery. Once we’re in the nursery, we rush to the playroom. Once we’re in the playroom, we’re looking at Harvard? Does it ever stop?

And do we lose what we’ve found in the steps before as we keep moving?

Being single gives us a mindset of independence, self–reliability, and confidence. I’m sure marriage gives you new perspectives and babies do even more – but I don’t think we should ever fully transition out of the single-lady values. Being “good on our own” isn’t something that should change when we move into the next step. I don’t think single is so much a stage as it is the foundation for the rest of our lives.

After all, it’s important to be able to depend on our own two feet before we play footsie with hubby or kiss the bottoms of our baby’s toes.