Category Archives: Step 4

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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.

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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.

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Becoming a Luxurious Dater

A few days ago, I took myself shopping in celebration of some recent accomplishments. For the most part, I’m a penny-pincher, but every once in a while I will go out to a big, fabulous dinner or buy myself something elegant, expensive, and beautiful…just because I deserve it.

In today’s economy and especially in a competitive marketplace, there is this idea behind commodity vs. luxury. Consumers, like me and you, are questioning the value and the worth of what they purchase. Do I buy the super cheap coffee pot because I just need my morning java, even though I know it’ll break in a year? Or should I make an investment in something more pricy, so I have the piece of mind that it will last me longer?

While I don’t need to eat a meal that is overly-priced, but tastes so rich, fresh, and gratifying – giving myself the luxury of experiencing something out-of-the-norm and away from Guy & Guillard is a privilege for me. And that same goes for the $70 red sweater dress that hugged me just right.

But what price tag do I put on myself? How much worth do I show the world and especially in terms of relationships? Do I come across as a commodity girl-next-door that’s a dime-a-dozen, or a luxury lady that’s commendable of the best manners, the best dinners, and the best love? Am I treat or something you can find on every corner any day?

Do I settle for less than what I deserve because I’m accepting second-best or third-shelf instead of aiming for first place?

I’ll admit I haven’t always given myself the credit that I deserve and in times past, and I’ve played down who I am in an effort to satisfy, allure, and retain a man. But with this on-going journey and gradual climb in self-confidence – I think I’m due more than the average girl and my presence in a man’s life or on his arm…is a luxury.

And I know I deserve and now will demand, to should be treated as such.

If I’m always settling for Mr. Non-Committal or Mr. Good Enough or Mr. Yeah, Alright, He’s Okay – am I putting myself in the right areas and pointing myself in the correct direction to meet a man who will actually recognize all that I’m worth? And lowering my standards for the pure reason to not be alone is not only a silly idea but it is far from what I know I’m capable of having.

And this idea of being a luxurious dater or woman doesn’t translate into gold-digging. Frankly, I really don’t care what you do for a living (just needs to be legal of course) as long as you do it with passion. If you don’t make a ton of money, that’s fine by me, I have my own paycheck – but do something that brings you that independent fire. Something that gives you a reason for getting up in the morning and doesn’t involve me at all. If I determine myself as one-in-a-million, you should feel the same way about yourself -without me having to constantly remind you or toot-your-horn.

With love I give or love I share or love that I receive – I want it to be special. Out of the ordinary. Ridiculous even, if the time calls for it. Because unless it’s mad or extraordinary – what’s the point? It’s the relationships and the love we really put our investments in that make the long haul. If you’re not willing to invest yourself, invest in me, and invest in our relationship – I’m not so sure I want to take a risk with you to being with. My stakes are far too high.

By giving myself a high price-point that’s determined by all that I have to offer – I may not weed out all of the men who fall short or break my heart, but the quality of who I’m dating will hopefully rise. Remember, it must be about quality instead of quantity in the competitive landscape of dating. And in return, the investment I make in myself is different from the prices I’ve paid in the past because instead of making myself a commodity offer, who will go on a date with anyone, I’ve turned myself into a luxury dater who knows any old Joe, just won’t do.

In the meantime before I do happen to stumble upon a man who will realize my value or if I never meet him at all – I will continue to splurge and provide for the most important relationship I’ll ever have: the love for myself.

And the cost of that is immeasurable – regardless of any Harry Winston or exclusive dinner I could go to or receive. You can’t afford the value of falling in love with yourself as a single, happy, confident, luxurious woman. Because simply put – it’s priceless.

 

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All the She-Fishes in the Sea

I’ve never been “one of the guys.” When I younger, I longed to be called me a “tomboy” – but now in hindsight, I haven’t fit that nickname once in my entire life.

And because I’m not coined as a guy’s girl, I’ve gladly and proudly accepted being a girly girl. Being a feminine lady has a lot of perks, in my opinion, and the best of all – is having a ton of lovely girlfriends. My friends have helped me cope when nothing else could get worse, when my heart was crumbled, and when I felt far from beautiful. They’ve also been there to celebrate my victories with champagne, hugs, squeals, and night’s out on the town. There is nothing more sacred, precious, or beautiful then the bond between two women who were meant to be the very best of friends. Like I’ve said before, my group of closest ladies are my soulmates, through-and-through, 24-7, forever-and-always, and no matter how ugly or old we become one day.

Before I moved, I knew I’d have to find a job and a place to live. I was prepared to live off of Ramen noodles and PB&J sandwiches for months or take a waitressing gig if that’s what it took to stay in this magical city. But what I never anticipated was how insanely difficult it is to make friends.

Making this transition in my life meant I would have to leave behind everything I’d ever known and everyone who had meant everything to me. I knew by chasing this dream, I would go alone, far away from the rolling North Carolina hills – and pounding that city pavement would be my own personal quest, without a companion. In many ways, the decision to move to Manhattan was a selfish one, and something that I did just for me, and in no way would I ever go back and make the jump with a friend or boyfriend. Part of the victory beauty, and accomplishment to me, is that I did it as a single woman.

And while I’ve learned how to enjoy dates with myself and evenings in solitary confinement – sometimes, I just get lonely. And this loneliness doesn’t stem from needing or desiring a man – but from needing and longing for my friends. I miss laughing and being ridiculous. I miss getting all dressed up for no reason other then its Tuesday and we feel like it. I miss parading around to powerhouse woman songs and someone (or me) asking twenty times “Do I look fat? Now, really, tell me if I do. You’d tell me, right?”

Don’t get me wrong, being the go-getter I am, I have wasted no time in attempting to find women with similar interests. I’ve gone to happy hours in my industry, joined volunteer groups, signed up for the gym, and tried to get some of the many gay men in my life to introduce me to their “wives.” And yes, I’ve made a few amazing and dependable friends this way – but I still find myself sitting alone with a movie and a dustpan some Friday nights, wondering where in the world my social life has gone.

I realize building everlasting friendships is always a work in progress and that no one on this planet could ever replace my core group of friends growing up. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want someone here to vent my life to, share our mutual achievements and difficulties with, or go get fruity drinks and flirt with boys we’re not interested in at bars…simply because they’ll pick up the tab (sorry, it’s the sad truth, guys).

So what’s a gal gotta do to find her group of friends in a brand-spanking-new zip code? If we all want the Sex & the City lifestyle – no matter how far from the actual reality of New York as it is – you can’t have a Mr. Big without a Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha to talk about him to.

In some way, I think my love addiction intensifies when I’m bored at my apartment and feeling un-friendable makes me reach out to men that I’m not even remotely interested in. Or it makes me consider texting those Mr’s from my past simply for the attention I know they’ll give me. And meeting new men almost seems virtually impossible, unless I want to sit alone at the bar alone, which makes me look like I have a different type of addiction. Right?

Finding friends feels like a chore and a part of my recovery that I never thought would be such a critical component. To overcome something that’s so insanely burned into your DNA – you need support and guidance. And while my friends from home are constantly emailing, texting, messaging, and calling me with their endless wisdom, honesty, and kindness – sometimes all I really need is a hug. Or a night out without any male interruptions.

Is it possible to be heartbroken because you simply can’t find a best girlfriend in the very best city in the world? If it has never been hard for me to meet friends, why is it so difficult now, in a city with millions of people?

What part of the friendship puzzle, secret handshake, or girl code…am I missing? If there are so many friend–she-fishes in the sea, why can’t I find a few who fit me?

 

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And The Beat Goes On

I’ve always felt a sincere connection to my heart. Maybe it comes with love addiction or I pay way too much attention to subtle changes – but when I feel something, I feel it to my core. Surely, if there is anything at the center of me, it’s my heart.

And in that heart, the ever-beating, ever-growing heart… lives a lot of love.

I’m a fan of Eat, Pray, Love (more so the book than the movie), and in it, Elizabeth Gilbert says everyone gets a word. This word can change at certain points in our lives or in different places, but this word, at whatever point you’re at in your life, defines what’s important and represents who you are.

Two separate friends, A and R, who know me extremely well told me that my word is “love.” R went as far as to say: “You love your parents. You love your friends. You love your city. You want to feel love, give love, understand love. You love yourself – that’s why you do everything you set out to do, accomplish all of the things you want to accomplish – because you love your dreams. And that love means everything to you. It’s not just romantic. It’s meaningful and it’s yours.”

I’ll admit I’m in love with the idea of love, but I will also attest to the fact that I see love all around me. Romantically or not, when I care about something, someone, some place, some activity, some ritual – I don’t just like it, I fall in love with it. I embrace it face-on, relentlessly, and with the velocity of a wildfire.

And sometimes, that heart opens up to someone who may seem promising. It allows itself to be vulnerable and real, beautifully messy, and extraordinarily human. And at times, that heart gets some cracks in it. Some breaks, rips, and tears from love that was, love that never came to be, and love that changed me – for better or for worse. Those imprints aren’t something that I can prevent or transform, nor would I really want to.

This heart, which will forever find love in all of the places around it, wears those scars with courage. And it also realizes that while Neosporin can’t be applied to the actual heart, when it hurts – some much-needed time and self-support can erase those bruises that once broke it down.

Too many women (and men for the matter) call their hearts “damaged” and declare they will never be able to love again –because it just hurts too much. That whoever it was who took their once-full heart and then pounded it into the pavement, somehow shattered any chance or desire they had for love again.

I beg to differ.

The heart is meant to feel love and it’s also meant to feel pain. When you start feeling those butterflies or the lovely beat of anticipation in a new relationship – you literally can feel your heart inside your chest. And when you’re broken down, let down, and keeping yourself down –that inevitable sting will find its way to you, too.

But the majestic truth about the heart – is that it knows all of this. And more importantly, regardless if it’s felt that way before or been in the same predicament at a time previous, it realizes that this impairment is only temporary.

In time, especially when you allow the heart to open again. When you give it permission to go out on another limb and push your way through the fear and the wounds. When you rip off the band-aid to reveal the once ugly and painful cut that you covered up (for dread that it may get worse), has now disappeared…and maybe only a slight reminder remains.

And learning to love yourself, even with those little and large scars that remind us of the love we shared and the ones we’ve cared for will always be part of us, but…we’re still surviving. Our hearts are pounding and filling us with the breath it takes to keep moving. Our blood is still pumping, warming us and ensuring that we can once again feel it boil with passion again. It goes where you go, it stays alive and vibrant – regardless of the trials fate insists we go through.

When I’m nervous or when I’m afraid, or when that this-could-be-love knot is growing in the depths of my heart – I put my hand over my chest and I feel the beat. I tell myself to go ahead and jump, relax and believe I can do anything. That no matter if I’m single or if I’m married, employed or broke, hundreds of miles away from my best friends or sitting right next to them – my heart, my core, my center – stays in me. It sustains me, gives me hope, and triggers my next move, next chapter, next stage. All I have to do is listen and feel and trust. And even if my heart is grieving or having a hard time believing, I know it’s still beating.

And that no matter who or what comes and goes, that love will remain inside of me. And regardless if it is faint or fierce, the beat will always go on.