Category Archives: Step 4

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A Single Snowflake and a Single Girl

Yesterday morning, as I frantically hurried out of my apartment to catch the train that probably had already left, I stopped dead in my tracks as soon as my face hit the outside air.

It smelled cold.

Now, for some this distinctive scent doesn’t mean much, but for this Southern girl it brings back a whirlwind of loving, romantic memories and hopes. I’ve fallen in love in all different seasons, but there seems to be something unique about the days that transcend November through March.

While everything that nature bore is withering, something more inviting is always growing inside the buildings that protect us from all the conditions beyond the front door. People are gathered together around something – a fireplace, a Christmas tree, o’dourves and champagne, or a table. And regardless if it is literal warmth – there is something about winter that illuminates electricity. Somehow, when it’s cold outside, there is no better place to be than as close as possible to those you love.

In year’s past, I remember being in my one-bedroom, peering out to the falling snow, wondering when I would have the chance to be hand-in-hand with a man who adored me. I could imagine him, whoever he may be, with this passionate look in his eyes, smiling back at me as I picked up a handful of snow, ready to play with him, and instead, he knocks it out of my hand, wraps his arms around me and steals a kiss. And this Mr., in my dreams, will view me as the single most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and he will not be able to control his fervor to touch me, to be part of an essence that only belongs to me. And he would be thankful that we’re sharing the simplicity of snow, rosy-cheeks, and hot chocolate together.  Cheesy and completely idealistic? Absolutely. Desirable? Utterly.

Will it happen this season for me? Probably not. But for a reason unknown to me and possibly credited to this blog and journey – I’m okay with it. And not just okay, really, but happy and satisfied.

Like the seasons change, so much of life is an ever-cyclic transition. I’m going through so many firsts the longer I live here: from the first time I about died from the summer heat, to seeing Fall arrive in every brilliantly-colored leaf and wrap-sweater, to seeing trees light up and candy canes line the street corners.

Soon, I’ll feel the first flake fall from the New York City skyline–and for the longest time, I always dreamt of experiencing that moment, that silence that only comes with snow…with a man. But somehow, my feelings have changed. I’ve decided that if I’m not alone when the atmosphere breathes what I used to call “cotton from the clouds” – then the moment will be ruined.

Because as I’ve discovered being a single woman and learning to embrace the solitude that comes with that title – there are some instances where being alone can bring just as much magic (if not more) than being with someone else. And especially if that other person isn’t the person that you really do want to share such a cherished memory with. Sometimes, you’d rather just be a single girl with your single snowflake.

I have so much to do, so much to see, so many places to go, mistakes to make, books to read, articles to write, jobs to accept, plans to break, rules to dispose, and I can’t have every single little thing I’ve wanted in Manhattan within the first year I get here. If that was so, the city that never sleeps would lose its luster. If I can make it here so easily, where would the challenge and mystery be?

I look forward to a winter season that I don’t make lonely or depressing due to my singledom and I’m crossing fingers and toes that when I do see snow for the first time, I will get to be just in the company of myself. Does this mean that I’ll forget those wishes and dreams of romance on the ice or under the gray ambiance? Of course not.

When I see couples kissing in front of NYC landmarks that I’ve always idolized as inexcusably romantic in the winter like Rockefeller Center, Bryant Park, Fifth Avenue, Central Park, and so on – a small part of me still aches.

But instead of entertaining the longing, I’ve recently learned to dwell in the possibility.

In the opportunities that I’ve been able to take, the blessings that I’ve been lucky enough to experience, and the love that I’ve shared with some pretty incredible men. And without a doubt, the relationship I’m developing with me, myself, and I, and with this dream city that is finally my reality.

And one day, there will be a man who stands by my side in the sweltering days of summer, in the crispness of fall, and the blistering yet beautiful days of winter. Just because he isn’t here, I know my life isn’t to be put on hold. It isn’t to be spent lingering. I’m not to be a lady in waiting.

But a lady in the embracing, a lady who opens her eyes as wide as she opens her heart – to not only the snow and cold that’ll flush her face, but to the self-love that’s flourishing…and to the love who is surely on his way.

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Tempted By the Fruit of Moving Forward

One of my best friends, R is having a hard time getting over her ex-boyfriend. For the sake of this blog, we’ll call him Mr. Bail.

I was a big fan of Mr. Bail when R and him started dating. He was so incredibly in love with her, always supportive, and he broke her out of this protective shell she kept herself in. Generally speaking, even though he’s younger than me, he’s an attractive guy and most importantly, R was very happy and as long as she’s smiling that lovely grin of hers, I’m satisfied.

However, when R and Mr. Bail started running into complications and some terribly dramatic situations – he did what his name suggests: he bailed. It seemed like when the fantastic turned to the detrimental or difficult, instead of stepping up to the plate to face his (or their) problems, he tucked his tail and ran away. While it is never a stand-up choice to make, at the specific time he chose to be a coward, R was going through a time in her life that no woman should ever have to experience, especially at 19-years-old.

Though R has handled all of the many surprises and transitions with beautiful grace, because of the rollercoaster that’s defined her life for the past year-or-so, she’s had a tough time cutting the final chord from her relationship with Mr. Bail. She doesn’t want to be with the kid (and I use the word “kid” because of his lack of maturity) anymore and her romantic inclinations have declined, but she wants this settling peace of closure. And possibly, a friendship. Because we often rely on each other to handle our freak-outs (they get a little messy), she sent me a text yesterday that asked: “Will it take dating someone else to fully get over everything I went through with Mr. Bail?”

And without even thinking, I replied with: “Yes,” and gave her an example. Of course, because she’s just as inquisitive as I am (and I love her for it) – she said, “Why does it always take someone else? I want to be able to do it on my own.”

To release the most recent boyfriend who lingers in our minds and our hearts, no matter how hard we try, do we have to meet a new man to erase the after-taste of an ex?

My dad hasn’t really given me a lot of relationship advice other than “You’re so beautiful, so wonderful, so amazing, so incredible and there will be a perfect man who will be everything you ever needed. And he’ll have to ask my permission to marry you!” If you can’t tell, I’m the apple-of-his-eye, and he would say anything to bring a smile to my face. Since I started this blog (which he reads every single day) – I’ve had to correct and him and say, “Now, Dad, it isn’t about finding love from a man, but finding love for myself as a single woman!” He usually mumbles something that has the word “grandchildren” and “true love” and we move on to another topic.

However, one thing he has always said other than threatening to call the “mafia” on my ex-boyfriends, is: “To stop crying about one, you should find another.” To heal your heart, according to my pops, you just move onto another guy. When R texted me, I got to thinking about how I’ve honestly moved on from guy-to-guy in my dating history, and it occurred to me that I’ve been following my father’s advice…without even knowing.

When Mr. Curls and I broke up, it took until meeting Mr. Faithful to let go of him completely. When Mr. Faithful and I broke up it took Mr. Rebound for me to fully release his 3-year-old hold on me. And then when Mr. Rebound became well, just a rebound – it wasn’t until Mr. Fire that I stopped beating myself up for allowing Mr. Rebound to trick me. And then when the embers burnt out with Mr. Fire, Mr. Buddy went back to my friend, and Mr. Fling stopped flinging me up against walls – I met Mr. Idea. And I fell in love with him. If I’m honest, I still have feelings for him, and in some strange sort of way Mr. Unavailable is helping me to let of Mr. Idea, even though Mr. Unavailable is romantically unattainable.

Whew.

While it seems like they were right after another, my dating history is nearly 10 years long and even though I had so many wonderful travels, uncountable adventures, massive accomplishments, a few moves, and excelling health – at every point in my life, I have always been getting over or starting to fall for a guy. Of course, I’ve consumed ungodly amounts of Chardonay, danced with strangers at bars, downed Ben & Jerry’s, and obsessively cried and talked to my best friends to release the strings of love-gone-astray – but I never fully let go until I had a man to let me lean on him. Does moving to another dude help because all of those loving, initmiate moments that you once shared with another, are now replaced with someone new? Or because then you feel validated by capturing the interest and intrigue of a new man?

R proposed a very reasonable question that I never considered: How do we do it on our own? How do we get over someone without depending on another hand to hold, lips to touch, or body to graze? Without a rebound or the next-relationship?

Well, I don’t know. I admittedly haven’t done it.

I think though, it starts with taking a step back from emotions, from the heartache, from the projections of what I thought the love would be, and start looking at the relationship (and its demise) at face-value. Instead of turning moving on into a competition like I usually do (who meets someone new first? Who is smiley and unaffected first?) or spending time dwelling in the coulda-woulda, and looking for a new flame – why not focus on ourselves? Spend time alone. Do things solo. Take a trip without anyone else in tow. Stop looking for a man to feel the gap that another one left, and fill it up with admiration for yourself and your many beauties and gifts.

And practically speaking, think before leaping. Sure, as I’ve experienced, being tempted by the fruit of another can be a great tool to escape from pain – but it never really heals those wounds fully. The minute we are actually single in between the last guy and the guy who will be next – we’re left thinking of every boyfriend, lover, or jerk there ever was.

If we took that time to really figure ourselves out, and dare I say – love ourselves without thinking of the past or future companions, maybe we’d actually own that leading leading lady role in our own lives. Without all the drama and love triangles that come up. And we surely wouldn’t be that annoying supporting actress who jumps from heart to heart, bed to bed, never recovering from the one who was there before.

No, we’d just look at ourselves for all the scars and bruises we have, and realize that it is really just self-love and a precious thing called time, that helps us to mend…instead of the guy we’re going out with on Friday.

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Make-Believe Boyfriends

When I was a kid, I played a lot of make believe.

From cops and robbers with my next door neighbor and Mary Kate & Olsen detectives (forgive me, please) with my childhood best friend to Peter Pan & Wendy with my pre-school playmate – I was always imagining a world outside of my own. And, when my friends and I took a more classic approach and played “house” – I refused to be anything but the girl because well, I am a girl, after all.

I can remember full days of pretending to be something else – a princess, a mermaid, a singer, a movie star, and of course, a reporter. There was something magical and wildly entertaining about escaping from reality and entering into a new realm where I could be free to explore and to capture a persona I didn’t actually embody. Plus, who doesn’t enjoy a great dress up (even today!)?

As we get older, the masks we put on and the roles we play change, and while it’s not make-believe, per se, we present ourselves in different manners depending on what the time or situation calls for. We can turn on happy-and-enthralled while at a networking event, or super-duper professional for work, or pseudo-interested for a date that’s going all wrong.

And sometimes, if we are clever enough to trick even our most difficult critic, ourselves, we can pretend we’re in a relationship when we’re not. We can even call them non-dates and non-relationships and non-love because we’re calm, cool, and collected about the situation. We can even have sex without terms or conditions or without saying the infamous three words or without spoken expectations.

But – in terms of love and well, dignity – is it ever healthy to play make-believe with a man? Or is it better to send Mr. Non-Committal back to where he came from?

I can’t say I’m in the situation where I’m seeing someone I want to call my boyfriend or I want to be exclusive with. But, I will admit, without giving names or specifics, that I’ve dated a few guys that could have possibility in this big, beautiful city. Somehow, though, my relationship with myself is currently trumping all of them. Call me selfish and self-absorbed with this journey, and I’ll nod my head in agreement – but somehow, the getting to self-love is helping me grow in leaps-and-bounds, without requiring a man in the mix.

Though, as I’ve been going on non-dates and kissing non-boyfriends – I’ve thought a lot about the relationships we go through as single ladies that never “technically” (by Facebook standards, anyways) ever become official. Does a lack of a title or commitment make them less important or influential? Or is a label something we place on a courtship because with commitment comes a promise that we can depend on?

I’m not sure if actually becoming a pair as opposed to just mimicking one, truly changes the relationship – but I will say that playing make-believe with love doesn’t result in a happy ending…in the long run. But at the beginning, before happily ever after, I think a period of pretend is necessary.

The reasons for make-believe and dress up in the first place – where it be as a little girl or a 20-something woman – are to test the waters and try something new that you enjoy. How do we know if we will ever be a famous celebrity if we never act? Or how can we be sure we’d accept the princess lifestyle if we don’t give it a whirl in our minds? (I doubt any of us would decline putting on Kate’s shoes, though). The same goes with any new courtship with a dude – if we don’t act like we’re in a relationship, without the title or the supporting documents, we can’t be sure we really want to be part of an “us” with them.

At some point, the talk we all dread bringing up needs to be addressed – but when you’re just starting to get to know someone, why rush? Before I started this journey, as soon as I started remotely liking a guy, I was damned-and-determined to reel him ‘em and put a “taken” bow on his forehead (and profile). I wanted to do everything and anything in my power to make sure he made me his girlfriend so that I wouldn’t risk losing him to another chick.

But now, instead of letting myself get lost in the rush and the romance and visions of our kids and what my last name would be – I step back, I enjoy his company, and most importantly, I just take it slow. I picture in my head and feel what it would be like to be by his side, on a permanent basis, and I figure out if I want to move to the reality of a relationship or if playing pretend for a while is all I really need. While I do want a committed relationship one day, there is no need to be Ms. Committed when I first meet someone.

There is no hurry, no reason to worry – because if during playtime you realize you don’t want to be a fairy princess or a famous musician or a girlfriend – you just take off the crown, put down the mic, and let go of his hand…and go back to you. But if you do happen to enjoy it, while playing make-believe, that magic you feel reminds you that anything is possible.

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No Deadline for Love

When I was in college, I was a hostess at a restaurant in the outskirts of town. The place was reasonably priced for a surprisingly rich cuisine, and they allowed (well, encouraged) me to wear pretty dresses, so I stayed for the extra wages into my final semester of school. One night when it was slow up front, I had way too much time to think about the sour patch I was having in my relationship with Mr. Idea, the difficulties with my friends (primarily due to Mr. Idea), and the feeling that I was all-in-all so ready to leave my sleepy university village for the never-sleeping streets of Manhattan.

As I usually do when I’m bored or emotionally distracted, I started scribbling some notes and some ideas for articles or ramblings (which have now turned into this lovely blog). Many of these notes consist of lists and quotes that I find meaningful or inspiring, and because apparently I’m a 13-year-old in a 20-something’s body, I usually write the words “all pretty” or sign my name like I’m a celebrity (but I have deleted the hearts and smiley’s, for the record).

One of the lists I made that evening described everything I hoped to have by December 2010. And ironically, as I was cleaning my apartment, I stumbled upon the folded piece of paper –the eve of December 1.

On my wish list for this point in my life, I wanted (in specific order):

-A job paying enough to be secure in the publishing industry.

-For the job to be in New York City.

-To find a decent apartment that’s affordable and in a safe neighborhood in Manhattan.

-To meet and be dating the man I will marry.

-To remain healthy and fit and continue to become more beautiful.

-For my father to get better and for my parent’s marriage to be saved and rekindled.

-To mend my relationship with my father.

-To never under any circumstance give up on finding the love of my life: a man that will make feel incredibly happy and loved.

Well, 7 out of 8 sure isn’t too awful, right?

As I read through these words and mentally checked off items on this list, I thought of how much of my life is mandated by deadlines. My career in itself is defined by them and while those are not optional, the limitations and restrictions I place on myself are.

This mini-list of desires for this exact time in my life is a minimal example of the constraints I’ve always strapped myself to. I can’t think of a time (even now) when I haven’t had a countdown to something (birthday, trip, Christmas, weight-lost goal, etc.) on my dry-erase board. I’ve perfected my resume and added on freelancing gigs for the mere fact that I knew I needed to have a robust and diverse writing background by my age. I’ve given myself an allotted amount of time to “get over” someone and move on. I still have lists that I must meet before I’m 30 or before I have a baby or before I get married or before I get my first wrinkle. Now, not all of these are necessarily bad or limiting, but if I’m always living on a deadline, waiting for the next phase to get here before I can set a new due date – am I ever really just living? Sure, I’ve been able to meet some of these set-in-Lindsay-stone dates – but is that only because I needed to move on to the following item? Or at the very least, create a new time stamp? Does everything work that way?

The one thing I haven’t checked off my December 2010 deadline – find and be dating the man I’ll marry – isn’t something that quite belongs on a story lineup for tomorrow. I can’t check off “meet the love of my life” and move onto the next task at hand because it doesn’t ever end. When I meet this person, I’ll stay with them until the end of time (because we will hopefully beat divorce statistics).

So why, prior to this blog and to this journey, was I in such a huge rush to meet this man? The reason a limit is ever set, at least in publishing, is because the mag is going to press at the middle of the month or the article is time–sensitive, or the breaking story must-get-out now or it will lose its value and its newsworthiness.

But does love ever lose its importance? Will it ever not be worth screaming from the rooftops when you feel that thing that we’re all told we will feel with Mr. Right? Is it necessary to set a date before we even literally set a date for our “I Do” exchange?

Following my usual run, I sat on the rug in the middle of my miniature Manhattan apartment (that’s affordable), thinking about the job that allows me to live in the place I adore, and the family that has grown and healed in countless ways since I wrote that wish list, and the blog that’s only intensified my faith, not only in finding everlasting love with a man, but in myself too. And so, I made a decision:

I ripped the list into tiny little shreds.

And on a new sheet of paper, I wrote eight new wishes:

–Believe in my possibilities and my gifts.

–Experience life’s many wonders and opportunities.

–Grow into myself.

–Dream of more.

–Do good for others and for the universe.

–Give my thoughts, my heart, my time, and my patience.

–Question the limits and the traditions.

–Explore my world and my fears.

…..and

–Love myself without exceptions.

As for the deadline? Every single day, all day long, with or without a man, my family, my job, my city, my looks, my friends, my bank account or my youth. Because really, there is no deadline for happiness. And, even though it may scare me to fully admit it and let it go, there is no box to check or list to make or deadline to meet for finding love.

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The Almost-It Love: Mr. Idea

There was a period between my junior and senior years of college where I went on a string of really awful dates. Sometimes the guy would like me, other times we’d both realize how wrong we were for each other right at the start. While I didn’t really stop dating, I became incredibly frustrated and once I felt like my New York move was within reach, I declared I would stop going on such terrible  first dates and save myself the trouble.

I mean, if I wasn’t preoccupied with bracing myself for another man who literally slurped up his pasta, I’d be able to concentrate on more important things, like freelancing, my friends, and enjoying my last semester before graduation. And so, for the first time in my life (now being the second), I stopped looking for a relationship. I put up my guard and decided that I didn’t want anything to do with the opposite sex or the hassle they ultimately brought to my life.

And that was right when Mr. Idea walked in.

Most literally, I saw him walking down the street towards me in this green shirt (that I can still see clear as day as I type it right now) towards me and a sliver of hope said “Oh, let that be him!” A friend of mine, S, had set us up on a blind date and though it took me a while to agree, when I saw him with his big goofy grin and his 6’4″ frame strutting my way – I couldn’t have been happier to meet him. Our lunch date turned into dinner and a movie, which turned into us staying up all night long, talking and laughing, gradually feeling the fireworks burst between us.

Within a week, he started calling me his girlfriend and the love that we were growing so effortlessly continued to bloom over the next few months. Being around him was so easy and the way we melted into each other’s hearts and bodies seemed perfectly ideal. And our union came with so many signs – something that has always been important to me. He was from New York, I had always wanted to live there. He told me his name meant some sort of butterfly (jokingly, of course), and I had always said that whoever I ended up with must give me butterflies in every inch of my body. He always said we were putting the carriage in front of the horse because we moved so quickly, and for a while, I had always wanted to be proposed to in a horse-and-buggy in Central Park. He left me notes in random places to surprise me and brighten up my day, and as a writer, I always value written words.

I could list countless other romantic signals that made me feel like he was The One for me. I couldn’t imagine anything more aligned with the universe and I certainly had never felt anything so magical, so peaceful, so passionate and so surprising. We fell incredibly quick and before I knew it – I looked back at this person who I thought was so right for me and realized, I didn’t know who this person was.

And things started to change as fiercely as they began. All of the red flags that I ignored in an effort to keep the love alive for him started sprouting up in such vivid warning colors that I couldn’t ignore them anymore. We were incompatible in the bedroom. We were incompatible emotionally. We wanted different things. We had opposite drives – both in sex and in our careers. We valued and wanted vastly different things out of our partners and our futures. Suddenly, the couple that everyone wanted to be turned into the couple who fought, stayed up all night , and the flutter in my heart morphed into a severe sting that I still feel today. Right this very second.

I had put off writing about Mr. Idea because even in the duration of this blog, he’s been in-and-out of my life by calling or texting or emailing. You see, even though we broke up several months ago (nearly a year, now) – we haven’t been able to just let go. Sure, we don’t see one another, nor will I ever agree to be a couple with him, but for whatever reason,  it is insanely difficult to let go of him.

During our relationship, I learned much more about what I want (and what I don’t) – but more importantly, I learned about myself. Before Mr. Idea, I was the gal who said she would never let her social life go when she became part of a pair. But when he walked into my life and I started loving him – his priorities became first. His desires became supreme. What I needed and what I deserved became secondary to meet his requirements. I stepped away from my friends, from my writing, from my goals, and positioned myself as his everything. Because there were so many romantic signs and I had this idea of what we would be, I would be silly to walk away – no? I would be wasting all the work and the tough times I stuck through for him if I just broke it off, right? No matter how miserable I was or how often I cried from his selfishness – I knew I couldn’t leave.

Until finally, it occured to me that I literally had no other choice.

If I didn’t pack up my heart and my pride and any type of confidence I had left, I would lose everything I had worked so hard to get to. I would start compromising what was most important to me and 20 years from now, I’d look back and wonder what in the world I had done. And so, with the most courage I could derive from my stomach, I said goodbye. I cried harder than I knew possible and there was more fear inside of me then I had when I boarded the flight to New York.

Because, I still loved (and love) him. I knew he wasn’t my Mr. Right and though he had qualities that would never satisfy me in the long-term, he did bring happiness to my life. He did help me grow into a better person. He did help me through some difficult times. In the beginning, there was a lot of passion and incomparable butterflies that reaches my toes, like I wanted. And anytime you leave someone who you still care about – you have that emptying feeling of fear. Of hesitation. And at times, you want to go back – but you remind yourself that stepping into a relationship with someone who was merely a dream…will end in a nightmare.

I’d by lying if I said there was a day that went by that I didn’t think of him or I didn’t wonder if I made the best decision. But I know I’d be a fool if I returned to a relationship that did far more harm than it did good. Or a love where I lost every other love in my life to focus on a dead-end relationship.

On the surface, in photos, and on paper – he is everything I wanted. But when I broke up with him, I did it because I realized I hadn’t fallen in love with him for who he is, as a person. I had been swept away by the idea of him. And the image of what I thought he and we would become. I saw things I didn’t like, things I knew I could never live with, and things that didn’t match me at all – but I stuck around because I believed that something would change. That the magic we felt so immensely in the beginning would come back around, and I’d realize that whatever troubles we faced were just temporary. It took a couple swift kicks to my heart and my head for me to come to my senses and start to let go of this idea.

And really, what dies more slowly and more painfully than a dream? A heartbreak will leave you broken, but you’ll feel the gumption to go on another date eventually. But when you fall in love with this amazing dreamy idealistic plan that you dervied with someone, it is so difficult to let that longing go.

I will never forget him nor what he taught me and brought to my life. He is not a bad person and at his heart-of-hearts, he is a sincerely wonderful individual who is all deserving of everything kind and wonderful. I would never wish him anything but happiness and the best of love.

I just know that I’m not the love of his life, nor is he the love of mine. Because when I think of finding Mr. Right or Mr. The One – I don’t want to be smitten with an image or an idea, I want to love the real deal, the honest-to-goodness reality and truth, and all of the flaws of another human being. If there are no silly romantic symbols or pennies leading me to him, so be it. I’d rather have no signs then allowing myself to be misled by my own idealistic desires.

After all, ’tis better to feel and lose true, profound love, then to get lost in something that’ll never be more than an idea.