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A Broken Give-a-Damn

The day before my college graduation, standing in streets covered with a slippery thin sheet of ice, Mr. Idea and I screamed at each other hunched under an awning a block from my apartment.

It wasn’t either of our finest moments.

It ultimately led to me throwing a high-heeled shoe in his general direction out of frustration, unchartered emotion and a little bit of booze. It didn’t hit him but he was astonished at my actions so much that he screamed (much to the dismay of my roommate): “You threw a shoe at my face! Lindsay! What’s wrong with you?” Equally as loud but through a thick stream of tears and unflattering nose-runnage, I replied: “I just want you to make me feel like you care and you don’t!!! Why can’t you just make me feel better?”

I’d like to say I’ve grown out of that immature statement but the truth is, I’m not sure we ever do. Maybe those totally-Zen, consistently healthy and one-with-the-world people are clear and peaceful in their relationships, but I don’t happen to be part of that demographic.

I’m emotional. I’m impatient. I can overreact. I have a tendency to overanalyze. I think people should give me just as much as I give them, though I don’t take all that much. When I’m mad, I cry. When I’m sad, I cry. When I’m furious, I need to take a walk (and apparently throw things). And when I’m upset in a relationship, as I was with Mr. Idea and probably as I’ll be with any man I date, I tend to think they should make me feel a certain way.

They should be understanding and kind. They should sometimes prioritize me above other things. They should have my best interest at heart and work hard at bettering my life, just as I hope to make their day-to-day brighter. Promises should be made and kept, not haphazardly planned and forgotten. I consider myself a great catch and you, whoever it is that I’m dating, should treat me as such. You should know what you have when you have me, and gosh-darnit – you should make me feel like the most amazing creature on Earth.

Right?

Well, maybe that worked once upon a time in never-never land, but in real life, in real relationship that are messy, complicated and flat-out irritating at times – things aren’t so cut and dry. While your partner should make you happy and positively affect your existence, they are not and should not be responsible for making you feel any way. And if you find yourself yelling at the top of your lungs, Jimmy in hand, begging them to make you feel differently – maybe you should check yourself. Check your emotions. And above all – check on the relationship.

There will be ups and downs and there will be fights. Hell, arguing can even be healthy occasionally and shows you how someone handles themselves in the heat of the moment or when tensions brew. But if there are more bad times than good, if you’re not getting what you want, if you’re not feeling what you want to feel, if you’re not finding that loving feeling as often as you’re battling the urge to run away – then what are you doing?

You’re waiting for someone to make you feel a way you can’t with them and maybe asking them to feel something they don’t. And if you can’t and they don’t, then the answer to your questionable exit strategy is…go. Breathe. Revel in yourself and in the possibility to meet someone who doesn’t frustrate you. Who doesn’t stand outside in the cold threatening to break up with you on the eve of your college graduation.

Because really, the only person who can make you feel the way you want to feel is you. The you who one day finds a love that doesn’t make you doubt or wonder constantly. And if you’re with the wrong one, you can never meet the right one. If you’re too busy fighting, you don’t have any energy to love. And if there is no love left, then girl, go out and find it.

And before you find it, find yourself. Decide your give-a-damn is broken and make yourself feel so in love with you that nothing else can compare.

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An Unjustified Title

I can’t tell you how often I’m compared to Carrie Bradshaw. It’s practically an everyday occurrence now. While I’ve been home, my mom has even introduced me as her daughter, Lindsay New York, who writes just like Sex & the City. I am a fan of the show and of the first movie (second one wasn’t for my age bracket) and I do take it as a compliment, but I’d like to think I offer a more realistic view of a writer than someone who writes one column a week, lives in the UES in a fabulous one bedroom with a closet full of clothes and shoes that total up to way more than her rent.

But I digress.

This trip has given me the big ol’ dose of relaxation that I needed, some quality family time, and fun adventures with Mr. Possibility. It’s also challenged me to accept that fact that I’m in a relationship. You see, it took some encouragement and several months for me to admit to the blog that Mr. Possibility had become more than a possibility. Each time I’d see a friend who reads this blog, they’d ask: “So when are you going to say that you’re not…well, single?”

I’m going to meet everyone’s accusations and refer to S&TC, but I’m with Mr. Big on this one – I don’t like the word “boyfriend.” It just sounds way too…young. And referring to Mr. Possibility as my boyfriend just doesn’t have the ring to it that I’d like it to. And unlike Carrie, I’m not witty enough to respond cleverly and deem him my manfriend, nor do I like the sound of that either.

And this week has been full of introductions. Though it may seem like a big step to bring him home to meet the family, it was more a matter of convenience – there was a wedding I wanted to go to, I wanted him to be my date, and why would we waste money when we could stay for free? The decision was simple and the vacation has been pretty seamless…except when it’s time to claim him and really give him a title.

Why am I so timid about it? Why does it feel odd sliding through my lips? Isn’t this what I wanted? I did start writing this blog because I had obsessed about needing and wanting a boyfriend. So now that I have one, why does calling him as what he is seem so out of character? When asked by my friends, my family, and friends-of-the-family about my boyfriend, why is my initial reaction to dismiss him?

I think it boils down to some pretty huge differences that have happened over the course of this step-by-step journey to self-love. First and most importantly, I’ve done a lot of growing up, a lot of forgiving, a lot of detoxing, and a lot of re-evaluating my wants, my needs, and my fears. I’ve really learned more about myself and accepted myself for all that I am in the past nine months than I have in my 20-something years on this planet. And so now, though I have a boyfriend, though I do care about him tremendously, he doesn’t feel like the end all be all. He doesn’t make my sun rise and he doesn’t balance my orbits. He’s part of the light in my life, but not the light of my life.

And then there’s how much our story differs from relationships I’ve had before – in ways I’ve described and in ways I’d never dream of putting on these pages. We developed a friendship, we grew romance at a steady, relaxed pace. We took the time to get to know one another and we let things happen instead of forcing them. We didn’t rush, we didn’t overanalyze, and we didn’t place pressure where points could burst. We treated whatever it was that we had with care and in return, whatever we had turned into whatever it is now.

But I don’t want to scribble his name on notebooks. I don’t feel like I always have to hold his hand when we’re walking. I don’t have to tell the whole world that he’s mine for him to be mine. It’s not about being together as defined by traditional standards or by Mr. Zuckerberg’s updates that makes me comfortable with him – it’s just being around him that puts me at ease. And of course, the exclusivity factor is nice, too.

It’s not that we’re too old to be labeled as boyfriend/girlfriend, it’s just that I don’t think those terms are justified anymore. They are used so often and so haphazardly that they seem careless and insincere. I think partner is the preferred title. Because he stands by me, I stand by him. We’re friends and we’re more, but more than anything, we’re partners. We get each other, we get along, and we get what it takes to keep us going.

And introducing him as “Mr. Possibility” instead of “My boyfriend, Mr. Possibility” is better because it shows that we’re partners, that we’re together, without using the same word I’ve used since kindergarten. I mean, isn’t it time to switch it up? To grow up? To be a partner and not just another gf?

I think so.

 

 

 

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Penthouse With a View & 6’3″

New York doesn’t care for Spring much. One day you’re in raincoat, wondering why it’s 50 degrees in May and then you’re smoldering inside a small, non air-conditioned room, wishing for a gust of chilly wind. Even if my new accessory is sweat, I couldn’t be happier to greet the sun this weekend with big blue eyes, one teeny-tiny bikini and two girlfriends.

At a park in Williamsburg filled with hipsters and puppies, we laid on tattered beach towels, sipping on $4 beers in styrofoam cups, we chatted about the types of men in Manhattan. One of the gals is a new friend, B, and she asked M and I about where to go to meet fun eligible bachelors and though we were far away from sailors (they tend to stay in Times Square), we gave her some simple truths about this tiny island and it’s male inhabitants.

In Chelsea, don’t expect to find a straight man and if you do, he is probably there with his girlfriend or he’s joining the gay bars tempting his curiosity and probably not interested in how killer your legs look in sky-tall heels. Or if he is, it’s most likely out of jealousy than thinking you look sexy. In the Upper West Side, you’ll find men so endearing, so kind and good-natured, so funny and exuberantly happy, you’ll find yourself magnetized to them, wondering where they’ve fond such a profound joy. And as you’re searching, walking closer to try and steal their attention, you’ll meet your competition: their wife and children. Children dressed in Ralph Lauren with lovely eyes that match their mother’s.

And then, if you venture to the Lower East Side or Union Square, you won’t find a guy older than 21, though his ID may indicate otherwise. The Upper East Side offers wildly attractive men from old money who wear stunning clothes and more than likely are unavailable…or the type of guys you’d rather take as a lover than a partner. Murray Hill isn’t a place you want to go unless you never filled your frat guy appetite in college or if you would like to date someone from Ohio or the South. If you way downtown during the day or right after work for a happy hour, you’ll find banker upon banker upon banker, but go past 9 p.m. and you’ll feel lost in desolate, empty streets. Williamsburg features men who don’t shower, Park Slope has dudes with strollers and Jersey City…well, just say no. The West Village offers a bit of everything above and you’ll need to be a dedicated resident (like my friend K) to have the stunning ability to tell the difference between gay and straight, married and single, available and unavailable.

I’ve met guys all over the city, on buses, online dating, at the bar, in the park, through a friend, through a networking contact, over pasta, at the gym, and the list goes on and on. I’m amazed when folks say it is difficult to meet men in New York – I’ve always found that part easy. It’s finding one that you actually want to hang around with and one that enjoys your company is the tough thing to do. With so many fellas to date and so few we’d like to see past the second kiss, how’s a girl supposed to make it work?

M, B and I discussed that one way to navigate the single gal’s world is to first, figure out what you want. Seemingly simple enough, we each went through our types: B goes for metro dudes who take longer to get ready than she does; M doesn’t have a specific qualification, but can sometimes get lost in finding something enchanting about the person and confuse it with liking them; as for me, I tend to go for the tall (6’0″ and above), the life-of-the-party, dimple-stained and blue-eyed man. (Enter Mr. Possibility)

I’ll agree that deciding what fits your fancy before getting into a relationship is important…but I don’t really recommend knowing precisely what you desire before you agree to a date. The thing is, you’ll never figure out what you want and more importantly, what you don’t want – until you go out with it. Or sleep with it. Or have your heart crushed, smashed and crumbled by it.

Through the many neighborhoods of Manhattan, the apartments and male dorms in college, the summer romances during summer vacations, and all of the bus rides in between – I’ve grown to figure out what I really don’t want and what I won’t settle for. I’ll make some modifications here-and-there, compromise on certain things and give up on some specifics I was once gung-ho about – but the nitty-gritty charms that make up a person, well those, I can’t let go. I would have never know what turns me off if I never gave it the chance the turn me on. I would never know what I love if I didn’t lose my faith in something that wouldn’t commit to me. Through it all -I’ve discovered that what I don’t want is maybe more important than what I do. Regardless of where the man’s from, where he lives or if he’s my type – if he just isn’t what I want…then he simply won’t do.

And even a penthouse with a view owned by a chiseled-6’3″ smart, foreign and funny dude won’t change my mind.

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Releasing Regret

I’ve been very blessed in many ways –and often, I take all of my good karma for granted. I can complain easier than I can breathe and I can find reasons to be unhappy much easier than I can find reasons to be thankful. All self-loathing aside, I have been lucky in my life that I can happily and easily say I have no regrets.

Maybe that sounds like I’m trying to brag that “I’ve done everything right in my life and have made all the best choices” –but that’s far from the truth. Sure, I’ve made many mistakes, said things that I probably shouldn’t have said, broken hearts that I could have prevented breaking, and manipulated people or opportunities more than what’s acceptable.

I’m not perfect (I certainly don’t claim to be), but I realize that part of life is screwing up. Even though I’m not a fan of being single (I am, however, working on it), I realize that like all good things in life – without a little work, you would never value them as much as they deserve.

Recently, Mr. Unavailable (another guy who tells me to chill out) sent me an article he thought I would find interesting about regrets. This popular blog has now been turned into a book (hint, hint, hint) and is a sounding board for people to write what they most regret in their past.

Lemondrop published an article based on this blog/book called “20 Things 20-Something Women Regret.” Of those 20 regrets, 18 of them relate to lost relationships, unrequited love, marriage, or lust.

Hmm. Of everything we’ve ever done or not done in our lives, the things we regret the most have to do with relationships. Why is that?

Why are the choices we make concerning the ones we love, the ones we make love to, the ones we want to love, but don’t, or the ones we love who don’t love us back – so damn important?

I spend more than enough time thinking about the past – and while I’m satisfied with the decisions I’ve made concerning previous loves, I find myself asking “What if I would have handled the situation differently?” or “What if I would have just accepted him for who he is?” or “Why didn’t I walk away sooner?” or “Why wasn’t I what he wanted?”

I realize concentrating on the coulda or the woulda or the shoulda is not healthy, but I believe its part of human nature (as validated through this blog).

But instead of regret –why can’t we look at the end of a relationship as the opportunity to find all of the wonderful things to come? Being stuck in a relationship that doesn’t work only prolongs the process of eventually finding the right person and doesn’t do anything for your self-confidence.

Instead of regret –why don’t we trust in a presence higher than ourselves who controls the fate of what’s meant for us? No amount of wishing or hoping will change that a relationship ended, regardless of who ended it or why.

Instead of regret –why don’t we stop blaming ourselves or putting ourselves down because of those who walked away or shattered our hearts, and realize there is a reason for it? If they could live without us (and we most certainly can live without them, I promise), then they would never give us the love we need and desire.

Instead of regret –be proud and be thankful of what you’ve learned and that tomorrow, a whole new page could turn into an exciting and passionate chapter of your life (either single or taken).

They say it is better to of loved and lost than to never have loved at all. And I say it’s better to believe in tomorrow and live today, than to dwell in yesterday.

This journey is teaching me to embrace myself, today, right now, in this moment, and to stop wondering about all that could (and will) be or should have been.

So take a plunge, all of you who are living with regret, including you, Mr. Unavailable (my difficult and charming friend), and surrender all of it. Just give it away and let the floods rush through you.

You can’t stop them. Believe me, I’ve tried. You won’t regret them. Believe me, I never have.

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Baby on the B Train

Yesterday morning, I was completely hung-over on my way to work (hey, we had our Small Business Awards, I was allowed to be) and generally, not in a great mood. I didn’t get any sleep, the buckle on my red coat broke, my head hurt, and I was convinced my ass was looking a little wide in my new black sweater dress –isn’t that supposed to be a slimming color?

I always grab a paper on the way into the subway to read on my ride and as I was turning to page two, I heard the cutest laugh known to man. I looked up and saw a little girl (whom I later learned is named Olivia) bouncing in her stroller as her mother and father smiled down at her.

She looked over to me and giggled and waved, and of course, like any other woman, I waved and giggled back. I was admiring how insanely adorable she was –when suddenly, she looked at her mom and just burst into tears. And then she was screaming and attempting to get out of her stroller. The whole train was watching and her little face turned bright, bright red.

I instantly felt awful for her and felt the need to scoop her up, hold her close, and tell her that everything is going to be alright. Which is exactly what her mom did in one swift movement. Within a matter of seconds, Olivia was back to her beautiful, cooing-self, and was again baby-flirting at me.

For the rest of my train ride, Olivia and I waved and smiled and played peek-a-boo, along with other straphangers sitting near me. She watched me with her big brown eyes as she left the train, and once she was gone, it occurred to me how little we change from the time we’re babies until we’re adults.

I mean, every once in a while, don’t we all feel like bursting into tears in the middle of the subway (or anywhere, really) for no apparent reason, just because we want to?

And when we get ridiculously upset because it feels necessary at the time, don’t we want to get up from where we are, bury ourselves into someone (preferably handsome, tall, and strong) who will tell us that, “Baby, it’ll be okay. I love you.”

Isn’t that kind of why being a single gal is hard?

Say, hypothetically, I did burst into tears while riding from the Upper Upper West Side (Alright, Harlem, fine.) to Chelsea. And before I decided to let the floodgates open, I was just sittin’, smilin’, and gigglin’ at some cute stranger. What would happen?

I’d be considered crazy and someone, probably an older woman of sorts, would come and pat my back and tell me to calm down, that it’s alright, and ask me if I needed help. Someone might even throw some change at my boots.

But somehow, that kind of comfort doesn’t seem liberating. It doesn’t relieve the sadness or stop the tears –it just provides attention. What we really want is just to be held by someone we know loves us.

Part of being single is learning how to comfort yourself. It’s about learning how to stay strong, stay grounded, and have coping mechanisms that don’t involve a love interest. Sure, my friends receive ridiculous text messages randomly at all times of the day or night –but in general, I handle most of my emotions on my own.

What I want to be able to do is surrender all of those feelings: the wanting to cry, the feeling awful, feeling ugly, feeling disheartened, feeling discouraged, and feeling like my days of being a single will last forever. That I will never get my version of a darling little Olivia.

I hope my higher power can just take all of it away. Please, just take it away. Make it not as heavy on my heart and free me.

I can’t burst into tears on the middle of the B train. Just not a great idea.