Category Archives: Step 2

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Why’d You Write a Love Story?

Every other Friday I volunteer as a Young Author Mentor for 4th and 5th graders who have difficulty with writing. It’s been one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve had in the city, and while they are extremely rowdy -I look forward to seeing them and teaching them the skills of the trade.

Yesterday, we were showing the kids how to create an outline for a story. We read a short story out loud to them and then asked them to identify the different parts of the story: the setting, the conflict, the characters, the theme, etc. Then, of course, they had to write their own outlines so they could put what they just learned in practice.

This particular session, I’m paired with two girls and a boy. The girls are writing their outlines, which happen to be about “not fitting in” or “being part of the popular crowd” or “being pretty”, and the boy is in the process of writing his outline that had something to do with scaring people on Halloween, someone wanting him to stop scaring people, and he wouldn’t, and then something big happened? I’m still not quite sure.

As they are writing and I’m answering their questions, the boy sweetly asked, “Ms. Tigar, where’s your outline?”

I hadn’t been writing anything because I was too preoccupied helping them, so I decided to make something up off the top of my head (that’s what you’re supposed to do, right?). I started scribbling down some story about a guy named Adam and a girl named Lucy and how every Saturday they would go running in Central Park and then get coffee at this cute little corner shop. Then one day, Adam trips and falls and they have to rush him to the emergency room, and in a panic, because Lucy is so upset, she professes her undying love for him.

As I describe this story, all three of them look at me confused, and the rather smarty-pants girl says, “Your story is a love story?” I nodded, and the other girl asked, “But they end up happily ever after, right?” I nodded again, and they both seemed satisfied. The boy in true typical man fashion asked, “Why did you want to write a love story?”

That’s a good question, kid.

Back when I was their age, I probably would have written about not fitting in or not feeling pretty (I really doubt I’d ever write about something scary) -but the first thing that popped into my head was to write a story about two people who have to find their way to each other and then they fall in love and end up in perfect bliss. So realistic, right?

Hmm. Maybe I need to take a writing lesson from the kids I’m teaching, eh?

My current chapter in the story of my life isn’t about romance or intrigue or passion. It’s not even about lust or crushes or incredible sex (although, I wouldn’t complain). This time in my life is more like this:

Lindsay’s Outline

Character(s): Lindsay

Setting: NYC

Conflict: Lindsay has an internal conflict where she hates being single, doesn’t love herself how she should, and has to learn how to be content as an individual before finding Prince Charming.

Plot: Lindsay moves to NYC, finds a job and an apartment, goes on lots of dates, breaks up with her ex-boyfriend in a dramatic series of unfortunate fights, realizes she sincerely has a problem, embarks on the journey of 12-steps to solve her issue…

Theme: No matter where you are, who you’re with, what adversary you’re facing, or what happens in your life -you have to have faith in and love yourself.

The Beginning.

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Second-Hand Flowers

Life is funny sometimes.

Last week, I wrote about how my co-worker, J, was sent flowers to work and the jealousy that spewed out of me because of it (FYI- he was sent flowers 3 days in a row…not kidding. Yeah, I know –my jaw dropped too). At the time, I was so annoyed and sad that someone didn’t send me flowers or that no one was thinking of me or just that…there is no one who is even a possibility in my life right now.

And then this week, I was sent second-hand flowers. Now –I’m not complaining in the least. Flowers are flowers and seeing them sit so elegantly on my desk brings a smile to my face, not to mention they smell incredible.

But –I was the second person to receive them. Mr. Unavailable’s grand gesture didn’t sit well with his ex and so she returned the $200 chocolates and the bouquet of beautiful oriential lilies to him. Even though his heart was aching something awful, he sent me a message that said:

“You know how you told me you believe all that’s meant to be will be? Well I think these are ending up right where they were to be: with someone who appreciates and deserves them.”

Now, don’t get excited –it’s not a love signal or come-on, but more just a sincere and kind way of giving these items to someone who would like them instead of just throwing them away. I’m positive he didn’t want to look at them anymore and I don’t blame him. They arrived in my office, just as they arrived at her doorstep, and my co-workers enjoyed the champagne truffles (as did I) while I placed the lilies in water.

All flowers represent something, and though he gave her lilies because they are her favorite, they actually mean: “very simple and beautiful, the universal symbol of beauty, an expression of decadence, purity and innocent beauty.”

Central theme? Beauty.

Lilies are also often used at funerals, symbolizing the end of one life and the start of a new one –something I think is very fitting to this program. I’m starting over, in a sense, trying to cultivate a new attitude and loving myself for all the beauty I have (inside and out), and going down a new path.

I’m learning to believe in my own beauty and in what I have to offer, and more importantly, I’m starting to trust in the beauty of destiny or fate, as Mr. Unavailable noted. These flowers were not purchased with me in mind, but they ended up with me. By accident? I don’t really think so.

Without pushing or pulling or wondering or pleading or dreaming –flowers ended up my desk, exactly a week-to-the-day I was steaming with envy about someone else receiving flowers. And I’ve been feeling down about my looks lately and these specific flower represents all things beautiful and pure.

Step 2 is about learning to having faith in a higher power that is capable of getting rid of negativity and self-defeating thoughts and actions. That this higher power can bring me peace and sanity…and love of course.

Yesterday, as I was cleaning up around my desk, I noticed that one of the lilies had bloomed. It was so absolutely gorgeous that I touched it to make sure it was real:  It radiated a fragrance that fills up my little space and I swear it is the whitest flower I’ve ever seen. I was so amazed by the simple bloom that I brought the flowers around to my co-workers, E & J to show them what happened overnight.

These 12-steps aren’t going to happen in 24-hours, in a few weeks, or even a few months –but they will happen.

And with this gorgeous, flourishing, and enchanting flower right in front of me –I know there is someone up there guiding me in the process. There is someone who is helping me to come out of my own comfortable bud and routine, and bloom into the person I was meant to be. This intoxicating and brand-new bloom symbolizes me.

It’s just going to take a little shower of self-love and the glowing light of hope. After all, all things grow with love –even if it’s second-hand gestures and self-admiration. Right?

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Gmail’s Language Lesson

Addicts have addictive personalities –we are more likely to develop an additional obsession to the one we have. While I could make a wager on having a high-heel fixation –I believe my true second addiction is Gmail.

If I roughly estimated how many times I check my Gmail on a daily basis –it’d probably be close to 75 or more. It’s always up at work, although I set my Gchat status to “Busy” (with the cute little color-coded buttons!). I often will chat with someone via Gchat, read other people’s “Buzz” updates, and every time I see I have a new email –I seriously get excited. I always anticipate getting an important, urgent, or fascinating email that delivers incredible news. I’m not exactly sure what email I think I’ll be getting –but my eagerness never dwindles.

I actually check Gmail before I even check Facebook and I have five accounts –my personal, one for ChickSpeak, one for the ChickSpeak assistant, one for my day job, and one for this blog. I don’t check each of them every single day –but at least once a week. I love all of the features and I think you’d be crazy (or born before 1980) to use any other platform other then Gmail (A little promotional maybe, but if Google sponsors me, I’d be game).

So you can imagine my despair when I woke up Tuesday morning to discover my personal Gmail account had been spammed. Someone or something (not exactly who “they” represents who hacks into accounts) sent a spam link to over 500 people from my name. This doesn’t only include my address book –but basically anyone I’ve ever sent any email to: possible employers, those I worked with at Cosmopolitan or Seventeen and my current job, family, friends, Craigslist postings, and the list goes on and on.

After waking up at the very last alarm at 7:30 with only an hour to spare before having to catch the train –I quickly needed to send out an email to all of those addresses before they woke up to click on the link. As I composed the email warning people not to open the last email from me because it was spam and could potentially cause damage to their computer –I started to wonder about what “spam” exactly is.

Yes, it’s some sort of meat (maybe) concoction that crazy people find tasty, but as defined by Wikipedia (my generation’s Encyclopedia), it’s the “use of electronic systems to send unsolicited bulk messages indiscriminately.”

Think about it: spam infiltrates our computers or our email accounts –both of which are near-and-dear to our hearts, holding all sorts of personal information and proposes the risk of damaging everything we determine has value.

But what about our minds?

I’d say that’s a pretty important part of our bodies. Even though it’s valuable, holds all of our personal information –we send spam through it each and every day. And we allow it to travel throughout our systems –causing possible destruction to our hearts, minds, and overall well-being.

I realized how much my thoughts control my mood, my attitude, my walk, my talk, my concentration, my organization, my eating habits, my stamina, my motivation…my everything.

And every single day –I send out consistent spam through my thoughts. I started paying attention to some of the language I use as a thought-spammer: “It’s just not going to happen for you. Others are meant for love, you’re not.” “You’re not as pretty as she is. Or as skinny. Your skin isn’t as clear either.” “You’re working for a business magazine –is that what you moved to New York for?” “A guy like that wouldn’t like you.” “You need to run more.” “You’re going to be single forever. You’re meant to walk home from my gym alone every single night.”

Wow.

My Gmail gets spammed once in the four years I’ve had the account and I sincerely freak out. I spam myself daily –and I never took note of my negativity. No wonder I obsess or I feel awful or down on myself. No wonder I think poorly of how I look, how I handle things, or how I act. No wonder I feel the need to be validated by a man’s love to make me feel important, worthy, or beautiful.

So what if (this is a good “what if”, no worries) I decided to start notifying myself of the spam going on in my head? What if, when a bad thought goes through my head –instead of listening to it, opening it, and allowing it to filter through my mind –I mentally “emailed” myself to warn me of buying into the spam?  What if I sent out a message similar to the one I sent to all of my contacts that said “Warning: having this thought over and over again will cause you to be sad, angry, depressed, and lonely. It will infect your entire system and outlook –so under no circumstances, do not listen to it. By the way, we haven’t caught up recently, Linds, what’s good and new with you?”

What if I fought my “thought spam” as diligently as I fought my email spam?

Self-defeating, negative, and obsessive single-hating spam has no place in my mind, in my Gmail, or in my life. No archiving, no labeling, no Gchatting with it, or replying to its antics. No storing it for later use when I have a bad day that yields to peanut butter and tears. No filling up the account to its maximum capacity with repetitive notions that serve absolutely no purpose and clog up other outgoing thoughts.

The only way to handle thought spam is by just deleting. And then emptying the trash to make room for better things to anticipate and get ridiculously excited for.

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And Fall is Here…

As I closed the door to my apartment and headed towards the park –a new feeling came over me. The air was crisp and cool, the steps up to my brownstone were covered in leaves, and I pulled my jacket tighter to my body. There was a sense of calmness and yet the feel of the city was warm and inviting.

I then realized that it’s here: the most beautiful time of the year. Fall.

There has always been something about fall that makes me melt. I love everything the season has to offer: pumpkin spice lattes from Starbucks, cute boots and lightweight jackets, the smell of a campfire (well, maybe not this year!), and the ever-changing colors of the trees.

And of course, it’s the season of possibility.

Maybe because my birthday is right around the transition from summer to fall, or because I’m a fashionista like the next New Yorker, but to me –the new year begins with onset of Autumn. With all of the old dying away, all the sweat and lust of the summer fading, and the beauty of change unveiling in nature –how can you not feel like possibility is before you?

In year’s past, Fall also meant the start of school. I absolutely loved going to school, and I always made goals for myself. From making “all A’s” and “getting on honor’s list” to “getting better at doubles in tennis” and “writing more frequently” –I wanted and needed to always push myself.

When I reached college, Fall was always about what cute guy would be in my classes or if I would finally have a boyfriend while at Appalachian. The start of the school year meant a whole new selection of guys to choose from, who I was sure I had never met. And of course, after getting a rockin’ body every summer, I was ready to show off all of my goods and see what looks I got in exchange (yes, I’m admitting that).

But this year, Fall symbolizes something else.

Yes, it’s still about change and beauty and love. But it’s about changing my mindset to focus more on my inner (and outer!) beauty with a more positive attitude towards love. It’s about learning to love myself and to fall in love with who I am and what I have to offer this world.

I won’t lie and say the colder weather doesn’t make me crave a chest to lay my head on, feet to tuck my toes under, and someone to walk hand-in-hand with through the park while drinking coffee. I won’t lie and say it doesn’t bring up ghosts of boyfriends-past and the memories I had with them during this season. I won’t lie and say that seeing pumpkins for sale doesn’t make me want to buy one and have a “flirty carving evening” with an attractive guy.

Of course, I feel all of those things.

But for the first Fall –in a very long time –I’m enjoying going down the block for a cup of Joe on my own, running through the park with only my breath to keep me company, and curling up, alone, with a cup of tea –and all of my dreams of tomorrow tucked away lightly and lovingly…in the back of my mind.

This time, I’m going to fall in love with myself.

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Anger, Peanut Butter & The Single Girl

I’m very bad at being angry. In fact –usually when I start to get mad, I get upset with myself that I’m mad, and then I think I’m being too hard on myself, so I get sad that I’m being so self-defeating, and in return I start to cry, and then get angry because tears are splashing down my cheeks.

Exhausting, right?

Part of recovery, I’ve discovered is getting very mad. It’s not a part I enjoy and it’s not something I like to admit, but if I’m being honest with everyone and trying to rid myself of all of my negativity –I’ve got to lay it out there.

As mentioned a few days ago, I’ve started a new friendship with T (read about him here). It’s been encouraging for the process to have a non-gay (hey, it’s a rarity in the city), male friend who will be there for me to talk to. He’s easy to get along with, easy to look at, and even easier to be around. We haven’t known each other very long, but we’re comfortable and open –and because we both know a relationship is off the table, there is absolutely no pressure.

He’s working up his grand gesture to his ex-girlfriend and he has been running his ideas by me. It’s been entertaining and inspiring to help him with a romantic presentation that will certainly (fingers crossed for him) win her back.

I really don’t mind helping him and I really do want to be his friend. But, at the end of the day, I started asking myself: “Why hasn’t anyone done this for me?”

Partly because I’m trying to rid of these negative questions and attitudes towards love and partly because it frankly just frustrates me –I got mad. I got upset. I left the office in a huff, wondering what was wrong with me.

I thought:

“I’m a 22-year-old, 5’4” (but usually 5’7” because of my high heel obsession), in shape (and with a shape) woman. I’m independent, self-supporting, and ambitious, yet I like to be needed and to need someone. I landed a job and an apartment within the first three weeks of moving to NYC and I can hold an intelligent conversation. I’m not exactly funny, but I think I’m rather charming. I’m not a model, but I think I was given beauty. I volunteer because I thoroughly enjoy it, not because I have to, and I would bake cookies every single day if I could afford it or had the time. I tend to be a pretty good listener, I can get along with almost any type of personality, and while I’m a planner, I also enjoy adventures. Did I mention I’m from the South, which makes me super sweet, friendly, and courteous, too?

Why hasn’t someone noticed? Why am I not good enough for someone? What the hell is wrong with me? Where is my grand gesture?!”

After a surprisingly easy three mile run, I still wasn’t over my anger. In fact, while attempting to talk to my parents, I ended up getting so frustrated that I had to end the phone call after it barely got started. I sincerely couldn’t take my mother saying “It’s all about timing, dear.”

Of course it’s about timing. Of course I have to patient. Of course I have to let it all play its course in perfect rhyme and rhythm, and have faith that all is unfolding as it should. I’m trying very hard, I really am –I’m giving this recovery every bit of energy I have.

But still, last night, I ended up in sweatpants, my favorite sweater with three crumpled napkins by my computer, and dipping a large spoon into my jar of peanut butter.

Am I still making progress?

Yes. I allowed myself to get upset. I allowed myself to cry (for the first time since this blog started). I allowed myself to get very mad and have all of those negative thoughts. I allowed them to come and to leave, and after I was finished with my temper tantrum, I sought advice from my two sponsors, M and J, who gave me some words of encouragement and kindness. I then sat down to write this blog, with a container of pudding (I’m being honest, here), and admitted my level of anxiety.

Single can suck. Single can be incredibly difficult. Single can making you get down on yourself and ask a million questions you will never find answers to –even by reading this blog, searching online, or reading self-help books. Single is part of the journey and it can be a major pain in the ass sometimes.

But I can’t (and neither can you) beat yourself up for hating it sometimes. No matter what step I’m at in the program, how confident I am, or how much self-love I build up –I’m always going to have hard days. I’m always going to have a moment of jealousy, a time of insecurity, and nights where all I want to do is be held.

As one of my sponsors, J, said: “This is all normal.”

The only thing that’ll change is my reaction to being upset and the time it takes to let go of it. Last night, it took from about 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. Three hours isn’t too awful, but eventually, I’ll be about to calm myself down faster and more lovingly.

I also, hopefully, will learn not to keep peanut butter at arm’s reach. That probably wasn’t such a great idea.