Category Archives: Step 4

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The Unconditional Love: Mr. Faithful

If you’ve ever visited Hayesville, North Carolina: you would be certain of two things: the southern mountains and lakes are among the most beautiful in the world, and small towns cultivate loneliness that’s much wider than the length of the county line.

My sophomore year of high school, when my family picked up and moved to our lake home in Hayesville – you could say I was a little less than stoked. I had grown up seeing the same faces, hearing the same voices, wondering the same familiar roads my entire life, and to be dragged further into the country than I already was, far away from everything I knew (and loved), was incredibly scary.

At first, I had confidence in making friends and finding my place because, as anyone can see, I’m not exactly shy. But after a few weeks of intensely trying and still having no one to eat lunch with…I lost some hope. I turned to the school newspaper and the local one (thank you for my start, CCP!) to vent my thoughts, but I longed for friendship and companionship more than any byline.

And as if the heavens parted, allowing some brilliant light to rescue me, Mr. Faithful walked into my life. Almost literally – I met him as he was walking from math past my biology class where I was waiting to enter. He flashed his pearly whites at me and with a short burst of gumption; I invited him to my family’s barbeque (slipped my phone number in his shirt pocket and all), and he accepted.

After a round of truth or dare required our lips to meet, we were inseparable.

Mr. Faithful became my boyfriend in less than week,  and for the next three years, right up into college, he was my everything. To this day, when I think about lying on a swaying dock underneath the stars with my head on his shoulder –I feel that beautiful love we shared. It was something so simple, so sincere, so sweet – and so perfectly ideal for that time in my life.

During this period, my dad’s illness was progressively getting worse and I can’t even count the hours on the phone I spent crying, worrying, and talking to Mr. Faithful about how much fear I had and pain I was in. He was there to support me, physically or emotionally, to hold my hair while I was sick (yes, he was that nice), and to reassure me in my darkest hours.

I cheered (from the stands) at his football games and helped with homework, he watched my tennis matches and read all of my articles. I baked him cookies and he wrote me love letters. He agreed to watch girly chick flicks and I agreed to go fishing. While I’ll admit I did most of the taking and he did the majority of the giving, the relationship we had was pretty easy and amazing.

Even after my family moved back to my hometown the following year, we stayed together. The long distance presented a long list of challenges and though we broke up a few times, we never strayed too far from one another. To this day, he is the only man who has ever given me a thoughtful Valentine’s Day, Christmas, and birthday. Mr. Faithful always knew what to say, when the say it, and how to make me feel absolutely beautiful. He is my very first love, the first man to see and explore every part of me, and someone I will never, ever forget or stop caring about.

It was my own insecurities and curiosity that robbed our relationship of its innocence. I was only 15 when we started dating and while he always had such security in us, I always had my reservations. There were things about him that I didn’t know I could live with my rest of my life – and I surely didn’t want him to be the only guy I passionately made out with. And that thinking led me straight out of the relationship with Mr. Faithful and into the arms of Mr. Rebound.

For better or for worse, our relationship ended…and not well. Once I realized my mistake in breaking up with him the start of my freshman year of college, it was too late. I pushed him to a point he couldn’t return from, betrayed his trust, and his image of me and everything we had, was ruined. After many awful fights and tear-fests, we stopped all communication. After about a year, we met up again, tried the whole dating thing and quickly realized it wasn’t going to work. But at that point, I think we had both finally had enough and were at peace with what we shared.

Regardless of our story, who did what or why it ended – Mr. Faithful taught me so much about life and even more about love. When we were together initially as each other’s high school sweethearts, his love for me was unconditional. He forgave me for any harsh word, poor action, or cruel mention. He was always there for me and I never doubted his sincerity or feelings for me. Of all the men I’ve ever dated, I’ve trusted him the most. Maybe that’s because I had never been sincerely in love or had my heart truly broken until him, so there was no scar to keep me from believing.

The hopeful romantic in me wants to think we will always be connected in some “First Love” magical way, and the realist in me thinks everyone has that initial taste and introduction to love, so really, it’s nothing special. Nevertheless, certain songs, particular places, the sight of elves at Christmas, long car rides, and Donald Duck will forever remind me of him – and those thoughts are not painful ones, but peaceful memories of the love I once felt.

Mr. Faithful is an important part of my journey and my life because he made me believe in the power of love. And not just romantically. He didn’t have an easy upbringing (although his mom was always supportive) or a ton of money – but he strived for something higher and he always sought to give me the best with what he had. He hardly complained and rather, only worked towards what he wanted with diligence. Currently, he’s finishing up his last year in college before going to graduate school and eventually medical school. Last I heard, his lovely girlfriend, A and him are planning on going to school together, and they seem very happy together. (She’s even complimented this blog, so thank you, A!)

I was always amazed at his ability to forgive and forget, to keep going when the going was absolutely terrible, and above all other things, remember to love me to the highest of his ability. Now, if I ever question something or if I wonder if true love is actually out there, and if I’m meant to have it, I think of Mr. Faithful’s dedication to me (hence the name) and to the whole idea behind love in the first place. He now serves as a reminder to me that out-of-this-world love not only exists, but endures, too. And of course, just as he was with me, it is also patient and kind, it does not envy, it does not boast…

…and above all, it believes.

Our relationship worked because we respected and encouraged each other. I was constantly telling him he could do anything he wanted and the world was an endless adventure for him to explore, and he reassured me that everything, with my dad, with my career, with New York, with college…would be okay and I shouldn’t worry. In addition to all of the memories of him, something he gave me still sits prominently on my dresser in my New York City apartment.

Towards the end of our relationship, we were walking through the mall in my hometown, and of course, I dragged him to Halmark because I was (and still am) addicted to it.

Secretly, he managed to buy a plaque for me as an early high school graduation gift and gave it to me outside the store:

“She believed she could, so she did.”

That saying has stayed with me the last five years I’ve had it, and it’s always traveled with me. From every dorm room and college apartment, to summer vacations and New York city lofts…to where it sits now, right at my doorway, so I see it every time I leave and every time I come home. It doesn’t always remind me of Mr. Faithful, but it gives me a certain strength and surge into my already fiery ambition.

So, to you, Mr. Faithful – thank you. For always being available, for loving me, for sharing so much of yourself with me and allowing me to do the same, and for continuing to be a shining example of unconditional love. I wish you nothing but the very best of love, of life, of success, and of happiness. I can’t wait to see Dr. in front of your name one day!

Always, Elf.

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Distracted by Distractions

Almost every day of the week, I go for a run.

It is my time of the day to relax, to center, and to just be completely alone. Sure, there are always women running near me, but they don’t matter: I zone out everything else and focus on escaping. I haven’t always been a runner and I choose not to do marathons (I’ll do a 5K if begged) because I don’t want to ruin the pleasure and serenity of my only quiet time in one of the busiest cities in the world.

Most of the time, my runs are relatively easy and I lose track of time as I’m releasing stress, pounds, and that stop at Papaya Dog the other night (Damn you hot dog and french fries!). Other times, I catch myself gasping for breath, counting down the seconds until I reach a certain mileage, and overall just miserable.

It’s when I’m about ready to push the “Quick Stop” button that I mentally take a step back. I turn off my iPod, I flip my cell phone over, and I start listening to my breath. I count to five as I inhale, and then ten as I exhale. I feel my chest rising up and down and just like that – I find my stride and I’m ready to take on a few more miles with that runner’s high you don’t think is possible until you experience it.

By concentrating on my breathing and allowing my focus to turn inward instead of getting caught up in music and possible text messages – I eliminate every interruption.

But in life –interuptions are plenty, especially when you’re trying to learn to find peace in your singleness. They come in the form of handsome strangers who shower us with compliments or friends who we wish would be more. Sometimes, they are in quick goodnight kisses that may turn to second-thoughts in the morning. And always, these attention-stealers are only momentary. They give us our short fix for a slight period of time before we’re left alone and back to battling our fears and our love obsession.

Even knowing this -is it ever possible to cut out every distraction that keeps us from focusing on what’s most important? And in this journey, do I need to rid myself of any current potential disruptions so I can sincerely, full-heartedly put my energy, my breath, and my spirit into finding this confidence?

At the gym yesterday, as I was constantly checking my phone, and racking my brain to say what to a certain someone who has made his way into my heart and into my life – I realized he was not only disrupting my run, but my process. I’ve known him almost as long as this blog has been active and in that period, I’ve had him to depend on to reassure me, give me attention, and keep me satisfied with the instant gratification I’ve missed.

So by having him in my life, am I running away from problems and being led by distractions, or sincerely stepping up to the plate to face them?

Having this guy who is at an arm’s reach and yet completely unavailable emotionally is a huge issue – and one I need to admit. He has been nothing but brutally honest with me and I’m thankful that if I did decide to get mixed up with a man, it’s a sincere one – but, yet, I’ve allowed my mood to be dictated by him.

Is this taking a step back? Possibly. But in the past, I never realized my actions and corrected them, so to me, it’s still progress. Yes, I’ve checked my phone. Yes, I’ve done things and acted in ways that are out of my character and moral boundaries. Yes, I’ve wished and hoped that something in our “platonic” friendship would morph into other feelings.

But in my heart of hearts, in the deepest corners of my soul, in the back of my mind that I try to avoid, and in my breath that is catching up with me – I know I need to start focusing on me. On my journey. On my progress. On the me I sincerely want to become – a me that doesn’t freak out and isn’t obsessive and is okay in her single shoes, no matter how long she walks in them.

So do I cut him out? Do I stop going on dates? Do I stop the flirting? Do I write him off in my long list of almost-but-never-really-boyfriends?

Nah.

I just stop giving him attention. I stop allowing him to be the center of my thoughts at times. I stop letting myself get caught up in something that’s not meant to be. I stop the confusion before it becomes painful. I slow down. I put away my phone. I smile at myself in the mirror. Tell myself what I have to offer without needing him to reaffirm it. Give myself a break. Forgive myself. I move forward with confidence and with gentleness. I relax and let myself step back from my actions and revaluate.

And most importantly, I breathe.

PS:  And if you need a distraction from today’s school or work load, go vote for one of my best friends. She deserves to win! Click here to vote for her.

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The Puppy Love: Mr. Curls

My middle school was broken up into “teams” by grade. For the sixth grade, in honor of the state of North Carolina, we were broken up into different regions, and I was part of the “Mountains” team.

The teams consisted of a social studies, English, math, and science teacher and we rotated between them to get acquainted with the class-change system. I don’t remember much about being on the Mountains team, but I do know that I met one of my very best friends, E…and Mr. Curls.

He was a tall, lanky, and acne-ridden, curly-haired boy who was in my homeroom – and I never really noticed him until we went on an overnight class field trip in October of 2000. The trip was to Camp Greenville and I was excited about sleeping in bunk beds and eating at the “mess hall” (I was also obsessed with the movie It Takes Two at the time, if you’re wondering).

On the first or second night (my seventh grade self would hate me for not knowing the exact details, but I think I’m starting to get old…sigh), we took a hike up to Pretty Place, a chapel that’s open (no walls or ceiling), overlooking the land below, and lit by the houses and highways in the towns before it.

We were all told to sit down, and Mr. Curls happened to sit next to me. Being the 11-year-old charmer he was, he started chatting it up, and big-eyed and easily impressionable-me was flabbergasted. He had a cute smile and when the breeze swept through the outdoor chapel, I tensed, and he squeezed my hand to let me know it was okay.

And with that little nudge, the love obsession began.

Thinking back on it now, I feel like I should mail chocolates or thank you cards to my friends and my family for putting up with me talking about Mr. Curls endlessly. While we met in sixth grade, our actual “relationship” didn’t start until the seventh grade, and my obsession with him didn’t come to a halt until I started high school.

It was the age where every touch, every word, every brush up, or smile meant everything. Where the simplest of actions could make me melt and squeal ridiculously. It was the time when I remember anticipating every glimpse or meeting, and hoping incessantly while listening to Britney Spears and Backstreet Boys (they really did know how to illustrate how I felt, ya know?).

Mr. Curls and I talked on the phone constantly for about a year and danced at sock-hops while our friends surrounded and watched us. Apparently, both sides of the team knew we needed to make it “official”, but Mr. Curls was hesitant for whatever reason (funny how some things don’t change). My parents even bought a longer chord for our phone so I could walk out on the back porch, and wrap myself up in the white curls while dreaming of Mr. Curls’ dark ones. My diaries are filled with images, memories, and reminders of him. And my heart is still filled with some sort of an “Aww! My first little love!” impression.

Finally, after about a year, I pulled a Lindsay-classic move and decided to give Mr. Curls an ultimatum. Now that I’ve “grown into myself” more, it doesn’t seem too much out of my pushing-character, but at the time, it was super difficult for me to do. In a not so subtle way, I got my friend, L, to tell Mr. Curls “40 days.” She wasn’t allowed to say anything else but that, but eventually, I think maybe after a few days, he figured out what it was I meant: ask me out in 40 days or I’m done.

And so, on the phone, I believe on January 30 (yep, I still remember), he asked me to be his girlfriend. After we hung up, I screamed something fierce, to which my parents came running because they thought I was hurt. But no, I was just blissfully “in love” as an 11-year-old seventh grader who just got asked out by her all-time crush.

Over the next three months, we’d walk around the mall, try to (and succeed) get our friends to start dating one another, go to movies, write each other little notes, and he’d always walk me to my “car” at the end of the day. I still have a Valentine’s Day card from him that had a horse on the front and says, “Do you know, you make my heart go woah?” Aww, sweet Mr. Curls.

At some point in April he started becoming distant, and being this obsessive gal, I became extremely worried. So much to the point, that I used my press credentials from the middle school newspaper to pull him out of wood-working class to talk to him. I remember him wih this worried look on his face as he said, “It’s just not working out, Linds.” And I of course started to cry, as I probably would today (just not in front of him), and he tried to hold me as I dramatically ran away.

I called my mom to pick me up early and she took me out for brownie sundaes and we talked. She says it broke her heart just as much as my heart was broken to see me so upset – and she knew it was the start of my long journey with men and with love. She told me I would find another love and it would be better, brighter, and everlasting, and as a devastated pre-teen, I didn’t believe her.

A few years later, after Mr. Curls dated and ended things with someone else, we met at the movie theater and rekindled a little bit – or really, just made out. For a few weeks, I really liked him, and he sent me a birthday card, but then I met Mr. Faithful, and all was lost.

At first, I didn’t think to put Mr. Curls in this journey because I wasn’t sure what part he played in my life. I mean, everyone has a first puppy love and gets their heart broken – but how much does it really affect us? Sure, we always remember, but in the grand scheme, I don’t think of Mr. Curls as one of my great loves or even the guy who introduced me to being in love (that title goes to Mr. Faithful).

So why even have Mr. Curls as part of my recovery?

When I was in the south last, I was going through all of my past writings and I stumbled across an old “article” about Mr. Curls. This boy, in some form or fashion, taught me to learn from my relationships. Sure, I didn’t recognize it at the time, but even then, in what I wrote, I talked about how giving up on love is pointless and taking away lessons from love-gone-wrong is more beneficial then turning bitter.

Mr. Curls may have not had that great of an affect on my life, but I think my experience with him ignited my interest in relationship writing. I’ve definitely improved as a writer since that age, but I realized a common thread between the journalist I am today and the one I was then: I want to inspire others. By giving information, sharing experiences, or opening doors that were closed.

So, thank you Mr. Curls, for “breaking my heart” and making me move on – and for all those silly young butterflies. And in celebration of our “love” – here’s the ending of my article, dated 2001, called “Wish Upon a Star”, where I told our story word-for-word (mind the spelling, it’s taken verbatim):

“Sad ending, huh? I think so too. And the truth is, were not even friends now. Which is bad for me and bad for him. My mom says we both look hurt when we see eachother. And I guess she’s right. Now your wondering, Why am I telling you this? Why do you want to know about my little reletionship? This is why.

Many people tell you wishing apon stars never happens. But I belive stars have a deeper meaning. I belive stars are God in desiguse. He granted my wishes and he will grant yours. Find your star and always wish apon it, if it is the first star of the night. Another thing. Yes I had a great relantionship with this boy, and I had a horrible break up. I know you all must think I’m crazy because I was only in the 7th grade, and I have to admit I was overly serious. But still, from this I have gained so much. At times in our lives, we have troubles and problems. But I just remember that the right boy is out there for me. Even if this, even if that. I’m waiting for him and he’s waiting for me. And I know I’ll find him. Maybe it is and maybe its not this one boy, it doesn’t matter.”

And over 10 years later, the hopeful romantic in me isn’t gone. Oh yeah, he’s out there. But first, I’m finding me.

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Trick or Treat?

Halloween gives us the opportunity to step out of our comfort zones and play a different character for the night. Some of us decide to go scary, while some become a little more scandalous, and a few break out the creativity – regardless, we all put on a face that doesn’t belong to us and go to brew up some trouble.

We all have the excuse that it’s Halloween and we can do and be whoever and whatever we would like, because the next morning, we’ll wake up, wash off the makeup or face paint and be back to our normal selves. The image we portray is temporary and with everyone else joining in on the charade, it’s easy to pretend.

But in matters of love and of our hearts, is it ever okay to play make believe? Can we trick ourselves into a treat, or out of one, because we become something we’re not? Or is it okay to experiment and see what we feel, what we think, and how we respond to something out of our character.

Is experimenting bad or is it just part of the journey? Part of recovery? Part of the falling in love with ourselves?

Lately, I’ve been trying not to put myself in a box. I’ve always been very rule-oriented – maybe because I’m a Virgo or because that’s just who I am, I’m not quite sure. But I’ve always supported self-imposed rules that have dictated my choices, my actions, and my feelings.

I’m guilty of using phrases like “have to” or “can’t” when it comes to everything from exercise and sex to my career. I can’t kiss him or he’ll think I’m easy. I can’t have sex with someone out of a relationship or I’ll feel awful about it afterwards. I have to go to the gym at least five days a week or I’ll gain weight and look bad. I have to have a certain amount of internships to make it in publishing. I have to write in a certain so I’ll get the specific job I want.

I should, I can’t, I must, I won’t, I have to – all of these words are so limiting. They don’t allow me to treat myself or to try something new. They play mind tricks with me that make me feel guilty or make me feel like I’m not good enough or I have short comings. It makes me feel suffocated and stuck in a rut that I’m so desparately trying to break free of.

No, I don’t think I should start sleeping around or stop going to the gym (I do love running, after all), and I don’t think I should stop freelancing or stop improving my writing. But I do think my language needs to change and so does the amount of pressure I put on myself.

If I want to kiss someone, I want be able to do that without fear of what other people think or feeling less ladylike. If I want to take more than one day off a week from working out, I want to be able to do that without worrying about my hips spreading.

And I shouldn’t have to trick my mind into allowing me to treat myself – but rather, just go with the flow. Love myself in the same unconditional form I love my friends and my family. Forgive myself if I do something that later I may not feel 100 percent good about. Believe that every experience, every bump in the road, or sporadic decision is just bringing me one step closer to security and self-love, and eventually, the love I’ll find with the right man.

I don’t want to put on a face or stay locked up in a routine or a mindset that limits me from exploring, being, and trying all that I want to experience. I don’t want to have to put on a costume to taste a new flavor I haven’t before, but I also don’t want to miss out on my youth for fear of doing the wrong thing.

Where is the line between treating and tricking? Where’s the happy ground between living openly and freely and staying true to ourselves?

Can you ever really, have the treat, without the trick?

 

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Trail Blazing

It’s easy, it’s natural, and it’s captivatingly simple to me. It comes without any trouble, without any worries, and without any fears or complications. It gives as much as it takes and it can make me feel better in an instant. It is part of what defines me and what makes me get up each and every single morning.

Writing.

Regardless if it’s an article, this blog, freelancing, or Tumbling – I know I was put on this planet to be a writer. Yes, of course, everyone in New York is a writer of sorts, but I truly believe I was given the gift of being a word craftswoman and that it’ll take me wherever I want to go. And I also know I have the ability to write as I do so I can help others with their struggles, their thoughts, and their daily lives.

Recently, I met with an editor at a magazine who is in charge of a networking group I’m part of. We met to discuss my career, taking a leadership role in the group, and advice about moving forward. Not only did she compliment me and tell me she knew I’d go far and that my ambition was admirable – but hearing about her accomplishments and witnessing her career…gave me a surge of energy.

While I’ve always had confidence in my career and in the steps I’m taking to be successful, having someone else validate you gives you that extra kick ya need. And that feeling – that kick, the ecstatic feeling in the pit of your stomach that makes your heart swell…is incomparable.

As I left her office and got on the elevator, it took every ounce of maturity in me to not jump up and down the hallway. And when I was on the streets, I practically was skipping and my smile was as wide as the Grand Central Terminal I was entering.

That feeling when you know you’re doing exactly what you’re meant to do, in the place you want to do it, at the time you’re supposed to do it…wow. When I see my byline in print or online, when I get a check for freelancing, when I get fan mail from this blog, the joy that intensifies in my soul is more powerful than any feeling a man has ever given me.

That happiness, that beautiful, irreplaceable confidence in myself, my career, and my ability to achieve makes me realize how important writing really is to me. No matter who I meet or who I marry or who I fall in love with – they will never be able to give me this energy or this joy.

Because that joy, that perfectly-aligned with your soul feeling – comes from a place they’ll never reach. And I wouldn’t want them to. This happiness, this immense pleasure is just for me and for the hard work I put into being who I know I’m meant to be, and helping those I know I need to serve.

I feel like I’m at the brink of something incredible. I’m learning to love myself, be confidently single, and I’m advancing myself to the next level I want to be at in my career. Something is brewing in the atmosphere and something even more amazing is brewing inside of me.

I sincerely feel like I’m on fire and wherever I go next will light up all around me, illuminating a path for others to follow. This passionate flame that burns so intensely inside of me cannot and will not be extinguished because it’s been there forever – without faltering when anyone comes in and out of my line of fire.

Watch out, world – I’m blazing a new trail, and I’m taking this spark with me to the next adventure. And…I’m doing it all by myself.