Author Archives: Lindsay Tigar

by - 14 Comments

Fully-Loaded Journalist

The main reason why I decided a long time ago (nearly 18 years ago) that I wanted to be a writer derived from the fact that in an essence, a journalist is a teacher. We open doors and discuss topics that we think other people care about, and then provide the necessary information they need to move forward.

Writing isn’t so much about a personal success or getting my byline above the fold or in the front-of-the-book on the masthead, but about the opportunity to reach people. To touch hearts, to inspire change, to cultivate reactions, and spark conversations. To get people, especially women, thinking in a new way that motivates them to turn their lives around…or just their day.

And I believe with having the ability to string words together in an effective way – a writer feels a lot of responsibility. There is this weight on your shoulders that you don’t really want to remove because you picked this profession – but this pressure sometimes gets to you. It’s this anxiety that stems from wanting to do the right thing, write the most truthful (and thoughtful) information possible, and feel proud and accountable for what you put into the infinite universe – where it be in a mag or on the streaming web.

When it comes to this blog and to this journey, I’ve thought about how in a way, I’m exposing the men who come in and out of my life. While, of course, I’ll never use names and unless you’re a friend intricately involved in my life, you’d never know who these guys are – I am, after all, displaying parts of our intimate relationship for anyone who clicks on my URL.

Is it wrong for me to share secrets and these feelings with strangers? Does it discount the relationship I had and the love I share? Or does it give it the spotlight it so deserves?

Often times, when I’m on a date or hanging out with a male friend who happens to know about my journey and my blog, they will be telling a story or confiding in me, and almost out of reflex, they’ll spin around and say: “Linds, don’t put this on your blog, okay?”

Now, don’t get me wrong – there are certain parts of my life I’d never put out for the world to read (well, maybe, anyways), but do I have an obligation to share whatever happens that affects my journey? With or without the discretion or disclaimer from other people? Should I be able to shoot back at them with: “Anything and everything that affects my self-proclaimed love addiction is fair game. Proceed with caution.”

There seems to be this disconnect between my journalist integrity who wants to tell the whole-truth-and-nothing-but-the-truth and the other side of my morality who thinks, “maybe I should protect those dudes and respect their wishes.” I’m often torn between what’s affecting my journey, what makes good copy, and what’s a little of both. And when someone specifically asks you not to put something somewhere, so they don’t risk being exposed, it almost makes you want to do it that much more. If anything, it makes you want to cleverly write so that others can be tempted to read between the lines.

If I’m honest with myself and true to this blog – I think any relationship, non-relationship, courtship, or fling that makes me feel negatively, teaches me something new, or is flat-out entertaining deserves a credit in the path to self-love and space on this blog. Because of this, I can’t promise to keep everything on the DL that’s asked of me and I certainly can never go off the record (since the record is my life, after all) – but I can use kindness when describing peoples, places, and events.

As I’ve said before, I’m going to ask questions and I’m going to seek answers. It is my nature and it is part of what’s made me successful as a writer. If you never ask, you never know. If you never question, you remain stagnant. And I can’t live with immobile wonder – it just doesn’t mix well in my DNA.

When a man asks you not to share something with your friends (as Mr. Idea often did) or discredits your profession – there may be something to think about in terms of the relationship. Secrets that are sensitive and experiences that causes great emotional pain that are shared between two people should be kept that way – but if we’re never “allowed” to speak what we feel, regardless if we publish it or not, we will never learn from the past. And without educating ourselves, we will never move forward to the futures awaiting us.

So regardless if you write it down or let it slip in your next Yoga class – talk about what you’ve been through. Put it out in the open. Give it fresh air and face it head on. You will often see yourselves in the eyes of your best friends, or as in my case, in the words of my readers. Too often, women keep everything we’re concerned about or think is out of the norm (when it’s probably not) hidden and in that, we never are able to progress.

I would never threaten a guy with my writing and if he does feel under fire when we’re on a date or in a relationship – I doubt he’s the guy for me. I may come with a fully-loaded pen and keyboard, but my safety is always on.

At least for now, anyways.

 

by - 18 Comments

Thankful for A New Kind of Love

When I started this blog months ago, I really had no expectations.

I had reached this point where I realized how much the yearning and the desire for love and for a man to validate me was tearing away little pieces of my heart each day. The pressure I was putting on myself to find “The One” and to finally stop searching and stop dating and stop fretting was immeasurable. I was exhausted, I was down on myself, and any ounce of positivity and hope I had ever had…was long gone from any recent memory.

And so, on a whim, I signed up for a WordPress blog and my friend M and I came up with the 12-steps. I never intended to write every day and I never thought anyone other then my best friends would read what I wrote. I never anticipated any sort of reaction at all and if anything, the blogs would be something I could hold onto for years to remember my 20’s and all of their madness. And of course, I had no idea if doing a self-proscribed and created 12-step process to gain back confidence and let go of chasing after “Happily Ever After’ would work. In many ways, I doubted I’d see any change at all.

But here I am, on Step 4, and seeing the progress I’m making each and every single day. I feel more relaxed and more confident than I’ve been in a very long time. I’ve transformed my thinking-processes (sometimes they get the best of me, but still) and the attitude I have towards love, relationships, and men. I’ve started taking away what I’ve learned instead of what I resent, and by not ruling out any man who is unavailable in any sense – I’ve gained a true, wonderful, friend (who just happens to be a dude, too).

I compliment myself and encourage myself to not only go above and beyond what I’m capable of doing but to rest and to cherish the quiet and the times of immobility. The hope that I thought would always be extinguished has started to weather a new flame, and something, down deep in the most profound parts of my soul – I feel like I’m doing exactly what I was meant to do.

And yet, there are days when I don’t want to write a blog. When the only thing I want to do is hide from the world, call in sick, turn off my cell phone, curse every man who ever chopped away my pride and my purity, and scream at the universe for making me so miserable and alone. There are questions that live unanswered in my heart and people I think of every day, but never call. There are memories that burn painfully inside and nights where even the city in its everlasting wonder can’t take away the pang of loneliness.

But it is in those moments, those down-low-and-dirty seconds where I start to lose momentum or the passion to continue on this journey and on this blog – that I think of you. And yes, that means you – whoever it is reading this blog right now.

When I made the decision to put it all out there – on my personal Facebook, on a Facebook fan page, on Tumblr, on Twitter, and on the winding web of WordPress (not to mention 20-Something Bloggers and BlogHer) – I did it because I knew I wasn’t the only single girl feeling the way I did (and still do at times). I knew I wasn’t the only one who felt things in the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t swallow, dare say them out loud. I knew I wasn’t the only one who longed for a Prince Charming or just a man who sticks around through everything, no matter what. I knew I wasn’t the only one who dreamed a little dream as a little girl, and in some little apartment in a great big city is making a little life for herself on a little budget.

Because that’s the thing about being a 20-something or being a single woman (or man for the matter) – sure, we’re all unattached, but in some cosmic, magical way – we’re all attached. We’re all connected in those same feelings and in those ridiculous fleeting thoughts and ideas that we get consumed by. We may be in different places all over the world, at a variety of ages, and with different men who represent Mr. Fling or Mr. Unavailable or Mr. Fire or Mr. Rebound – but together we stand single and dealing with it. And hopefully in time, celebrating our independence and freedom, while still having hope that when the time and the rhyme is ideal- we’ll meet that right person.

So on Thanksgiving Day and always – thank you. For proving to me there are so many other people in the world who share my struggles and my thoughts. For supporting me by commenting and promoting my blog to other people. For Tweeting about the blog and Tumbling away the posts. For emailing me such wonderful thank you letters and for sending loving Facebook messages. For laughing with me and sharing in my sadness. For giving words of kindness and of criticism to help me see things in a different way.

Thank you for making me thankful to be a single woman at this stage in my life so I can have the ability to help others and for the first time, realize how special and temporary this portion is. And instead of being depressed to be without a boyfriend at Thanksgiving dinner, I can think of nothing more promising and exciting then finishing the 12-steps and gaining that strength I so badly desire and need. Now, I’m thankful for a new kind of love – blog love.

And again (and again and again!) thank you for your continuous support and for encouraging me, no matter what, under any circumstance, to ever miss a day of blogging. Because now, instead of this journey just being about me and what I’m going through – it is about all of you and the path you’re going down, too.

And for as long as you wish, you’re more than welcome to walk by this single girl. We’ll even stop and get margaritas somewhere along the way.

by - 27 Comments

I’m Not Ms. Fix It

There’s this common belief that love cures all things.

That once you meet this dream person, that he or she in their infinite wonderfulness will take away every ache and pain, scar and bruise – and you’ll feel absolutely, totally brand new. Anything that was wrong or imperfect before, anything you worried about, or anything that made you self-conscious instantly disappears and because you have this person’s attention and they are giving you unyielding love – you’re fixed.

Now, I haven’t met someone who I could seriously consider spending until-death-do-we-part with, so I can’t say if this belief is true and I can’t completely discredit the late Dr. Karl Menniger when he said: “Love cures people – both the ones who give it and the ones who receive it.” I do believe that love (and not just romantic) is good medicine. However, it’s not a cure-all.

But what I can confirm with total confidence is that I’m no Ms. Fix It. At least not, anymore.

Tuesday night I was walking home after dumplings with Mr. Unavailable (I swear he’s addicted to those things) and I was in a particularly great mood. I usually do not listen to my iPod when I walk because the North Carolina in me is still a little on-guard in her neighborhood, but I was in the mood for jammin’, so jammin’ is what I did. I put my playlist on shuffle and the first song that came on was “Fix You” by Coldplay.

As I walked down my block, listening to the somber words and feeling my boots click against the streets and the wind blow my hair in unattractive circles, I thought of the men I’ve dated, the men I’ve touched, and the men I’ve loved (or all three). And I realized that in every relationship I’ve been in – I’ve tried to “fix” the guys.

Now, this doesn’t mean I tried to change who they were, shape their beliefs, or dress them up how I would like (though, maybe a few times with Mr. Faithful, but that was high school) – but more so, make them feel better. In a way, turn all of their frowns upside down all the time, and anytime they felt poorly about some function or faucet of their lives – I attempted to be the one to change it for them.

I tried to be Ms. Fix It, and though with some I excelled at helping them grow into a stronger, better, and more confident person – with others, I failed miserably. Mr. Idea had a fit for six weeks where he was rather unaffectionate (among other things) and I lovingly called this episode a “funk” and disregarded each and every feeling I had to focus on him and his needs. With Mr. Fire, I  pretended to lose my desire for commitment so I could fit into this box I thought he wanted me in.

I always, always put what they wanted, how they wanted it, and when they wanted it (“it” being a constant rotating wish-list) before what was important to me. In an effort to be the “girl who changed everything” or “the woman who made him a better man” or “the lady who swept away every badness and blessed him with goodness” – I stopped focusing on me and started concealing my dreams.

Now, I’ve already said that frankly, I do give a damn – and that’s still true, but even more so, I realize that I can’t make a man’s world. I can’t make a man who he is. And I don’t want to.

I don’t want to be the woman who swoops down and takes all of his pain and troubles away. I will listen to someone (man or woman) talk about the troubles they experience, the sadness they can’t get rid of, and the heartache that constantly tugs at them – but at some point, they have to get it together and deal with it. Sometimes, you just put your big gal panties on and you force yourself to push through it because it’s all you can do. I don’t want to be the one who jiggles his ego until it feels good or makes him realize his worth.

I would much rather be with someone who knows what they have going for them without me having to constantly remind them or solve their issues so they can reach happiness. It isn’t my responsibility to ensure someone’s joy or the success of their life or dreams by being the one to place them on a pedestal and shower them with compliments. My role, as a girlfriend, a lover, or a friend is to be there when they need me, and of course, to encourage them – but never, ever, define who they are. Or put them back together.

Part of the journey to learning to love myself is be just fine on my single two feet (pun intended). And to of course, fix my own problems. To be secure and wise and independent and value the power I have within to move forward through any situation. At times, I stumble and I fall, and I admit and face my weakeness straight on.  But it is me, in my single-ness, who picks up the pieces and glues them back together. No man-part required for construction.

So, for the next one I get involved with or for the guy I will ultimately marry (or not) – please realize right this very second that I do not come with hammers and nails and screwdrivers. Whatever issues you’ve dealt with before you met me, deal with them, and I’ll deal with mine. When we are both complete and self-assured individuals – then we’ll meet. Then we’ll put our gorgeously chipped but stable whole pieces together and make something bigger than both of us.

Until then, I’ll be just fine here, collecting all of my many shortcomings and chaotic disasters and celebrating the beautiful mess that I am. Because I know, that with or without a love to “cure every inch” – I’ll be perfectly happy just in my own company.

And most liberating, I don’t have to be Ms. Fix It for anyone but myself.

by - 18 Comments

A Lifetime of Magic

And so it has finally arrived.

That moment I’ve been waiting for my entire life. That instant where the world stops, the earth becomes still, and you feel like you’ve finally felt that one thing you’ve always wanted to feel…in the place you wanted to feel it. Pieces of your soul float together and your heart mends in a single moment, with one little look, and one glimmer of shining, brilliant hope.

Yes, my dears, Christmas has arrived in New York.

The streets are paved with thoughts of sugarplum fairies, the windows are frosted, and people of all shapes and sizes look all-sorts-of-adorable in their mittens and their coats. But most profoundly, there is this vivid feeling surrounding the city streets and corner-lights: magic.

As soon as Macy’s finished their decorations, I wasted no time in scoping out the extravagant displays and walking through each floor to see what holiday-madness I could find. Since it is my very first Christmas in the city, I will forgive myself for acting like quite the tourist for a few weeks. And while I’m relishing in this freedom -I plan to do it in style.

To top the hat off of Macy’s cheerfulness, a friend of mine, M, asked me to be her date to Radio City Music Hall’s A Christmas Spectacular.

It was her last night in the city before moving back to North Carolina to support her family and continue down a path she was born to walk on (or strut, rather) – and we wanted to take this little island by storm before she left. Her seats were first mezzanine and center – basically the very best seats you could have gotten in the house. We decked ourselves out in Christmas-ey dresses and stockings (with heels of course) and got there early to get the full-Rockette experience.

When we walked into Radio City, my mouth about hit the floor: it was about as classically Christmas as anyone could imagine. I was surprised to not hear a jazz band playing “The Christmas Song” in the corner with a woman in a red dress leaning up against a baby-grand singing in a sultry voice. And once we sat down and the show began – I was taken back to another time in my life.

To those Christmas visions at the holiday season when you’re a child. When there is nothing more important than being good so Santa will bless you with his many toys. Where shaking boxes wrapped under the tree could take up an entire hour of your time easily. Where the first snowfall that brought the chance for a snow day was almost as great as your birthday or Christmas Day itself.

Where there was no reason to doubt magic because you just believed.

There was no questioning or wondering if you’ll get that one gift you so desperately desire -you knew it would be under the tree when you wake up at the crack of dawn. When you thought about growing up – you knew exactly what you wanted to do, no matter how absurd or unrealistically achievable it may be. You never wondered if you would get to kiss your Prince Charming underneath the mistletoe one day, and frankly, it was not really a priority – because you just knew it would happen. Everyone got happily ever after and everyone became a princess. Everyone got that mini-truck or the Barbie Dream House because why wouldn’t they?

Magic is simply guaranteed and we never really think we’ll grow up into big boys and girls, until we find ourselves as a 20-something, in the middle of Radio City Music Hall, realizing we’re completely on our own. And not only that, but for the longest time we’ve been skeptical about the splendor that we once thought would always be ours.

When do we lose that beautiful, pure, and unrelenting hope we all had as children? When do we lose that sparkle and that bubbly faith that comes with being inexperienced and out-of-tune with the functions of the so-called harsh reality of life?

As I watched the dancers, the singers, the actors, the ice skaters, and the musicians who put on literally one of the best performances I’ve ever seen – I thought about how at one time, all of them were children. Just like I was. They had big dreams and perhaps, at some point, they said unquestionably to their parents: “I’m going to be a Rockette one day!” And now, there they are– tapping out a beat on the stage they knew they’d always grace. But even so, after they bow and take off their dancing shoes backstage – they probably criticize and belittle their achievements or their talents and always think “I could have been better. I could be more entertaining. I’ll never get to my full potential.” Or maybe the man they were seeing promised to show up and even though they are a smokin’ Rockette or an incredibly talented figure skater – he decided to cancel at the last minute.

Do we stop believing in the promise of magic because somewhere along the way, we allow our spark to be put out? Because we start analyzing and comparing ourselves to others or dwell on the idea of absolute perfection? Or when we get a glitch in our hearts, we decide feeling that immense all-consuming feeling of falling in love is impossible in the future?

As I watched the show, listened to the words, and thought back on my wild and wonderful hopefulness as a little girl, I thought: what’s the harm in believing?

Everyone tells me not to have expectations because then if something even half-way good happens, I will be pleasantly surprised. But what if instead of being satisfied with the ordinary, I actually gave myself permission to believe that the extraordinary was a true and real possibility?

I left Radio City with a swollen heart completely in awe of the city I live in and the stage of my life I’m blessed to be exploring and experiencing. M and I walked to Rockefeller Center and it was almost as the heavens rained down magic for this special night. As we walked around, I witnessed every stage in my life: there was a little girl with her best friend and their moms, smiling for the camera with curls and bows in their hair and saying “Ice skating!!” And then we walked a little further and saw a group of high school girls and boys infamously flirting with one another on and off the ice. There were groups of twos and threes, solos and families – all skating on the same rink, in the same direction – but at completely different points in their lives.

Leaving the center, we looked at each other, with this sense of knowing we were talking towards our futures in some majestic way, to whatever stage may come next. And sure enough, there was a limo, signifying sure success, and a couple stealing a kiss on the corner of the block, showing us that believing in magic maybe isn’t such an outlandish idea, after all.

Does believing hinder my growth? Or my self-proclaimed recovery? Does relishing in the soft cloud of hope make me vulnerable for falling to a slow, painful, heart-breaking demise? Nah, I think it just gives me a power above the rest. It keeps that youthful, inexorable glow that we all have as children but let go of a little more with each Christmas we experience.

I will never be able to see through the same pair of eyes I looked through as a child, or as a teenager, or even the me I was before I moved to Manhattan. But if I keep this reminder of hope inside of me, at this very special time of the year (and always) – maybe those visions I dreamt of, those kisses under the mistletoe I’ve longed for, those holiday parties I’ve wanted to attend at the magazine of my dreams – will become more than a image in my mind. But rather, they will grow out of the magic already burning inside into something even more outstanding: my reality.

by - 10 Comments

Thou Shall Live Thy Life

I’ve always enforced a lot of rules on myself. I must do XYZ to achieve my goal. I must be the first, the best, the boldest, and the kindest. I must do the good for someone else and put myself second. I must wash my hands after touching anything even a little dirty and of course, I shouldn’t talk on my cell phone while attempting to cross the a NYC street.

While some of these mandates I should still enforce (I don’t want to get hit by a bus anytime son), lately, I’ve been allowing myself to break a few of these restrictions.

Maybe it’s because I’m traveling along this journey with an open heart and an open mind, or possibly, I’m just changing – but I’ve been thinking more out-of-the-box thanI have in a very long time.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m going to be this age once in my life. There is no going back three months ago, three years ago, or three seconds ago. Today, in this instant, in this feeling, in this moment is my existence. And if I choose to go off of my straight-and-narrow path to try a different adventure I never thought I’d be capable of doing, so be it. If I happen to get hurt along the way or wonder why I made the choice I made – then I’ll deal with that situation as it comes.

I know that I’m a confident, smart, and self-sufficent lady who knows what is best for her, and if I have the gumption to blaze a new trail and take a leap of faith – I know there will always be something to help me through anything that crosses me.

So, in celebration of being a newly-born rebel, here are some of the things that I’m telling myself it is just alright to do, if I so please (keep in mind, I haven’t done all of these, but I just might):

Thou shall not kiss on the very first date

-Sure, he’s just a friend. Yep, he’ll never be more. Oh my, he’s cute. I think I’ll kiss him. Maybe more than once.

Thou shall not gain five pounds and go to the gym five-times-a-week

-Chinese food for the second night in a row? Super greasy? Yum. I’ll take two eggrolls, please.

Thou shall not tell little white lies

-How much is that puppy in the window? The one with the curly hair and cute little bark? Can I afford him? No. Will I pretend like I can and lead the salesperson on, just so I can snuggle up with him? Yep.

Thou shall save more money and not treat myself

-Hmmm. Sample sale on fifth? Kate Spade bags? They do accept credit cards? I think I’ll be taking my lunch break early today.

Thou shall not flirt to get my way

-Man, oh man, I spent way too much money last night. He’s kinda cute. Looks like he needs some company. Maybe if he sees these new jeans, he’ll buy me a drink. Then, me and the girlfriends can ditch ‘em. (Sorry dudes!)

Thou shall not wear super high heels

-Are my feet going to hurt all night long? Will I have to lean up against something at nearly every place I go to? But will my legs look super sexy all night long? Yup.

Thou shall not have relations out of relationship-lock

-I may get attached to him, but if I can try having a friends-with-benefits with someone whom I trust and care about deeply, I should. Right? I think so.

Thou shall not leave makeup on and go to bed

-I will probably wake up with more zits than I went to bed with, but sometimes, washing my face just seems like so much trouble.

Thou shall be super critical of everything I do

-Instead of thinking another gal is better, I think paying some compliments to myself and to my friends (just to make them happy) is a little healthier

Thou shall not think in terms of end-all-be-all or never-ever

-Embracing ideas and thoughts that encourage fear or self-defeating actions are not healthy. So instead, I’ll think in terms of the here-and-the-now

Thou shall not drink that extra glass of wine

-Though my head will definitely be feeling the pain tomorrow, so what if I happen to down another sip of grapey-red-goodness?

Thou shall not forgive myself

-We all make mistakes. And I’m sure I’ll make more than a few here and there, but at the end of the day, I have to love myself. With and without those flaws.

Thou shall not stay up late writing…again

-Woops.

Thou shall not live my life just as I think I should, but with rules to keep me safe and protected.

-Nope, instead it is on my terms. Without limits. Just living.