Beauty, Blessings & Bird Poop

This weekend, I was in a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad mood.

When I left the office on Friday, I went out for a drink with a man, who was so incredibly boring he doesn’t even deserve a Mr. title on this blog. As he selfishly discussed himself and his only question to anything I told him was “Oh, well, will I be on the blog? I could be Mr. Dreamy,” -I thought of the many ways I could have a dramatic exit, shouting out words that for the time being, I’m censoring.

After letting him know I was busy, for, oh I don’t know, forever – I caught the train uptown, listened to angry-rock band music, and avoided eye contact with any other straphangers. By the time I made it to the grocery store, picked up a miniature pint of ice cream and two rom coms, I was beyond frustrated and annoyed – I was flat out sad.

Cuddled up in my bed, watching a flick I already know the plot and ending to, I wondered what was wrong with me. Here I was, on a Friday night after a so-called “date” – protecting myself from the cold and perhaps, from the stress that can sometimes come with going out for the night. I looked outside, across the way into the windows of buildings beside me, and decided I needed to make a genuine effort to be hopeful and put-together the next day, as spending one night of the weekend in bed was acceptable, but not two.

Needless to say, I didn’t put forth too much of a fight and even cancelled plans on my friend J – further making me feel miserable for being unreliable. But for whatever reason, the only thing in the entire world, in this big beautiful city, I had a desire to do was to curl myself up in bed again, far away from anyone and anything.

Realizing I was home and alone on a night I should be mingling, flirting, or at least giggling with my friends – I took out a fancy bottle of wine I received as a gift from my publisher’s wife, and decided to uncork it. I had intended on saving it for a celebration when the next monumental change happened in my life, but where there’s a thirst for Merlot, the only medicine to hit the spot is Merlot.

By glass number three, I had almost forgotten I was doing a 12-step program. I started examining myself in the mirror, pulling and tugging on what I thought was ugly, sucking it in, trying on jeans I already knew didn’t fit, and sighing, when low-and-behold, they didn’t zip up. I attempted to clean my apartment, while condemning myself for only doing laundry once a month and barely cleaning my dishes more than once a week. I then decided to get ahead on my freelancing and blog posts, but ended up lingering and nit-picking at my sentences, before concluding I just wasn’t as good of a writer as the day before. And then, the temptation of Facebook became too much to resist, along with that fourth glass of wine, and against my better judgment and lessons I’ve learned over the last five months – I stalked every ex-boyfriend I’m still linked to. After seeing one-kissy face too many, I started dreaming of all the things I’ve ever wanted and then worrying that I’ll never have them. That I’ll never reach my goals, that I’ll never work for the magazine I want to work for, that I’ll never have a nice apartment, that I’ll never own $700 shoes, that I’ll never (yep, here it is) fall in love again. As I thought of everything I desired, I settled on the fact that what I really needed right then and there was….a man.

A tall, muscular, loving and funny guy. One with a great story. One who amidst every other woman who walked the world, he wanted to stand side-by-side with me. And as I hid under the covers, pedicure socks on and all, I closed my eyes and imagined what it would feel like for him to wrap his arms around me, whisper “Baby, I’ll keep you warm,” and fall asleep with the stubble on his chin and the stickiness of his breath tickling the back of my neck.

This of course, got me to thinking of the last man who slept in my bed and I started wondering what was wrong with me that I didn’t accept Mr. Possibility’s offer for an all-expenses paid, week-long trip to stay with him while he’s overseas. I mean, the weather there is 70 and above, the beaches are warm, he’s staying in a multi-million dollar hotel that’s fancier than anything I could afford. Plus, I’d get to see him every single night, eat more shrimp than I can fathom, and did I mention the suite had one of those Jacuzzi tubs? Before drifting to sleep, I slightly came out of my negative Nancy mentality and remembered another gal’s possibilities had been on those sheets, and though it would have been wonderful – I’d rather have my dignity.

By the time Monday rolled around and I was stuck in the office, unlike most of Manhattan, I still couldn’t shake my unhappiness. With our next issue going to press on Friday and interviews, and deadlines between now and then, I had more than enough to focus on – but yet, my mind was scattered. I kept concentrating on all of my shortcomings and wondered if I was doing enough. Are there more ways I can promote the blog? Can I help people in areas I’m not touching on? Are my blogs getting worse? Is this where I should be in my career right now? Am I saving enough money? Should my run time be better? Is that a new zit on the side of my cheek, I mean, really?

When the clock struck one and I needed to hop the train to meet a mentor for lunch, I walked slow (which is unlike me) and everyone who crossed my path was victim to my notorious death stare that I can never seem to hide, even when I try (not that I was, though). As I listened to her give me advice, support, and praises, I kept telling her how nervous I was and how I didn’t know what to do. After nodding her head along, watching my glass (and attitude) continue to turn half-empty, she simply said: “You know, you’re on this journey to self-love and you believe in it – so why don’t you believe in yourself, as much as you believe in the process?” She had a point, but I still couldn’t shake my mood.

And then, as we were saying our goodbyes outside, I felt something fall from above and hit my pink peacoat, the side of my head, and my ear muffs. I look to figure out what it is and stick my leather gloves right into a nice, warm, splatter of bird poop. When she reassures me it isn’t that bad, I defiantly cut my eyes at the bird, who looks down, with his little happy bird face and twerps. Before I can figure out how to reach him and ring his neck, I hurry back into the café to clean myself off, in a huff.

As I’m wiping my hair, rinsing my gloves, thinking of dry cleaners in my neighborhood, and watching my eyes well up with tears I think, “Well, it’s appropriate isn’t it, Linds? You’ve been shitting on yourself all weekend, so of course, a bird is going to follow in your footsteps.”

And with that, I smile, shake my head, gather myself together, put on my current musical obsession, and head back to the train. Because sometimes, you just have to laugh at your ridiculousness, forgive yourself for having an off couple-of-days, and keep in mind that the point of a journey isn’t the destination, but the steps along the way. That even when you don’t feel lovely or like things are going in the right direction, there is always beauty and blessings to be found around each corner, if we remember to look for them.

There also happens to be bird poop, as well. But from what I hear, it’s a sign of good luck. Right?

PS: If you’re a fan of Confessions of a Love Addict, please take this survey for a chance to win beauty goodies!

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13 thoughts on “Beauty, Blessings & Bird Poop

  1. Hang in there Lindsay, you ARE on the right path. It’s perfectly ok to have a crappy weekend every now and then. Ruts we find ourselves in are sometimes needed for us to climb out of and stand more firmly on the path we are meant to. I’ve been reading your blog for a couple of months now (and I’ve read your older posts as well), and you ARE an inspiration. You really know how to get to the root of the issues and your words of encouragement mean a lot to many readers I’m sure.
    Hang in there. Don’t worry too much about having off days, they are important to our growth as well.
    Luna :)

  2. Shit happens I suppose, ha ha!! At least that’s what my dad and grandpa always told me. That or “Life is hard and seldom fair”.

  3. Ha! I remember almost 2 years ago now I was having a week from hell! Beating myself up and just as you put it, “shitting on myself” and in one evening I got pooped on twice! Yes I shit you not… twice! And babe, I said the same thing to myself, “Luck or no luck ain’t no point in shitting on myself when every bird in Tel Aviv seems to want to shit on me instead!”

    p.s. Still waiting for my good luck to come!

  4. The posts get better and better :)
    It’s so reassuring to know I’m not the only one (that gets into days at a time bad moods). I get into these ruts sometimes, and it’s really hard to shake it off…no matter how hard I try. And I even attempt to remind myself of how pointless the doubting is, when I start getting into “the mood” yet again. I try to tell myself that there will be days when I’m down, whether I like it or not (it’s inevitable!)…but I sooner than later, I’ll need to return to that happy, optimistic place…otherwise I’m just wasting my time.
    I question myself! Oh do I question myself. Am I getting too old to go down this career path? Am I smart enough? Can I make it on my own? Why aren’t I prettier? How am I going to manage the debt that comes with an undergraduate and grad degree? Am I being selfish by not living near my family? Have I made the right decisions in my life? The list goes on…
    Not to sound all lovey and mushy, but, Lindsay…a lot of times…you’re my “bird poop”. I think of you, how hard you work to accomplish your dreams and how far you have come…and remind myself to stay strong and have faith in myself- like you do in countless ways.

  5. Hey there now!, I can’t have you feeling all bad for yourself, thats my job =) We all go through our little runts once in while it’s ok it’s just part of the process. Keep on keeping on. Remember you are doing some things that most people only dream of doing

  6. Maybe there is a happy medium, or should I say, a peaceful medium place between, “I am loving me and I am not looking for a man at all,” and “Man, I’m always going to be alone and I wish I could meet him right now this second.” What would such a happy medium look like? My zone right now is that I fully admit that my greatest desire is to find the love of my life, but until I do, I am going to use each moment I have to improve myself and love the people around me the best way I know how. That way, when you meet the right guy, you will be the best you possible. Work on being the kind of partner you hope to meet someday. Then you’ll have something to bring to the table. I think that we have to give ourselves permission to want to be loved. That is how we were wired. When I get into a funk and I am feeling sorry for myself, I admit my fears and then step away from them. Then look around for someone I can bless. There are people in your life you love you right now. What are you doing to love those people well? Just stuff to think about. I resonate with your blog post and these are just things I have found useful. Much love to you today.

  7. you’re helping a lot of people, probably more than you know. there’s something about the human condition that makes one feel better knowing that they aren’t alone and somewhere, someone else is experiencing the same thing- be it good or bad. you help people by sharing not only your steps, progress you’ve made but you help by also sharing your humanity.

    as far as the blogs getting worse, they aren’t. it’s interesting to see how you’re not only growing more and more emotionally independent but you’re growing in other ways, too. you’re still young. keep enjoying your freedom and all the adventures life brings you before you find yourself with a ring on that finger. this is your time to shine :)

  8. Pingback: Men Are People Too « Confessions of a Love Addict

  9. Girl this is a test that creeped up on you to try to degress your progress. You are strong, beautiful, and independent! Do not let your bad days tell you different! love ya

  10. Pingback: It Just Wasn’t There: Mr. Millionaire « Confessions of a Love Addict

  11. Pingback: Love Addicts Seeks Confessions « Confessions of a Love Addict

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