Tag Archives: being single

by - 7 Comments

Hey There Beautiful

Before starting this blog, I wasn’t a big fan of Valentine’s Day. Even though I pine over things with delicate little hearts (forgive me future child for your nursery decor) and cry almost every single time I read Modern Love in the Times – I’ve always felt like V-Day was more about consumerism than cupid.

But two years ago, I decided to challenge you — yes, you! — to write a different kind of Valentine. Not one you’d give to your crush or husband or anyone. But instead, one that’s written to you. Taken or single, the day isn’t about chocolates and dinner dates or wondering if you’ll be the only one in the office who wasn’t sent flowers…. it’s about self-love. So why not count all the ways you love, you?

Because you’re pretty great.

And beautiful. And incredibly brave and strong. Determined and kind-hearted. Forgiving and a free spirit full of charm, wit and dreams. You are all of these things — and you deserve to read it.

I’m excited to announce the third edition of Valentine’s To Yourself on Confessions of a Love Addict. It’s really simple — click this link and write a letter of love from you to you. If you’re a blogger and you want me to link back, I will. If you want to be anonymous, that’s cool, too. I’ll publish them all. (Just like I did in 2011 and in 2012).

So, hey there beautiful — go ahead and get started. It’ll take you weeks to list everything that’s great about you…

by - 11 Comments

Falling in Love on Fridays: The Most Important Love Story of My Life

This week’s Friday post comes from a dear college friend of mine, Michelle. She’s bubbly and brilliant, brave and intelligent. She’s one of those girls who takes chances and follows what she believes, without wavering. That’s part of why I love her story so much — she really did have to love herself first before she could find that special man. Though I haven’t met the lucky guy, I look forward to it — and to reading more posts on her new blog. Hope you fall in love with her story below and if you want to submit your own, read this.

The Most Important Love Story of My Life

Most people that know me would label my love life as…educational, at best. With quite a few relationships of varying degrees, I have wined, dined, and rolled my eyes with more than a few gentleman callers. Only a couple seem worth remembering for their lessons and values–most served their purposes depending on the time of my life. There have been times when I’ve been bored or feeling mischievous or desperate, but all of those feelings and emotions tend to blend together after time. There have been times of feeling broken-hearted–months of agonizing relationship faults and wondering what I did wrong, trying to love myself again since the man that had left me made me feel worthless. Times where I felt dumb and defeated, but swore I would forget the feelings any thoughtless man had given me, and rejoice in the love I had in myself.

This desire for self-love lasted for a very long time.

Long enough for me to forget butterflies from former flames, to be foggy of times that had felt so real, so important at the time. The romance I embarked upon with myself became the most important love story of my life–it is because I learned how to love myself, my faults, and my strength that I am the woman I am today. Two years of self discovery led me to something that was so much bigger, so much more wonderful than anything else I had ever imagined. Because I allowed myself to be in love with my own heart first, I am now in absolute, head-over-heels, crazy love with the most perfect man I have ever met. If it hadn’t have been for that time period of falling in love with myself, I would never have been ready for the kind of love he has brought into my life. If it weren’t for the terrible experiences, I would never be able to appreciate the man he is to me, and what our life together has become.After an intervention from my mother and sister, I decided that it was time I “put myself out there”. I absolutely despise that term–it’s not like I was ever closed off to the idea of being in a relationship, it’s just no one seemed that…great. My mom and sister insisted that I was closing myself off on purpose–I had been hurt, led astray, and infuriated with guys before, so I was shutting all future suitors out before they could get in. At first, I was annoyed by their assumptions–I had just gotten a new job that I liked, I was getting involved with community theater, and had a group of friends that I adored. I thought I was getting my life together, and that a guy would happen when it was supposed to–I shouldn’t have to go looking for it. It would just happen, right? But they pointed out that although my new job was great, it took up a great portion of my time. My group of friends, although wonderful and hilarious, allowed me to create a barrier against any strangers when going out–it is intimidating to approach one single girl in a group of rowdy folks to ask them for a number or a date. I huffed and puffed, and reactivated my Ok Cupid account.

I had used OkCupid when I lived in Washington, D.C., mostly to fill the void of loneliness I had moving from my college town to a huge city. I had some moderate success, but nothing really stuck, so I was hesitant to relying on it for true romance in my new city. With some new pictures and witty one-liners, I updated my profile and allowed the rest of the universe access to my vulnerable dating state. It was nerve wracking.

I messaged a few guys here and there, but was mostly underwhelmed by their responses. One night with a glass of wine and a rom-com in the DVD player, my sister insisted on looking at my profile, editing it, and finding some suitable gentlemen for me on the site. I reluctantly gave her control, and as she deleted and searched, I wondered if what I was looking for could be found on a site used primarily for booty calls. While browsing, she clicked on one fellow in particular–a Mr. “unnecessarybeef”. “He’s cute!” she exclaimed. I looked at his pictures. Cute, yes, but he looked like a jock with his marathon photos. “He won’t be into me, I hate sports,” I said, but my sister pushed on. “Just message him. What do you have to lose?” she responded, and while rolling my eyes, I looked at the rest of his profile.

In the section labeled “You should message me if:”, he had a long list of quirky, personal skills that he had, that he wished to share with another person. I found this endearing right away, but my eyes lit up at the sentence “You want to learn how to shoot a bow and arrow”. Seeing my gateway line, I sent him a message saying hello, and that I was dying to learn archery.

A couple days later, I got a sweet response saying that he would love to teach me. He also wrote that he didn’t know many other girls in their 20’s that had an interest in learning to shoot a bow, and inquired why I was interested. I knew I had to be honest. It was a compatibility test of sorts–could this guy deal with my nerdiness? I told him the truth: I loved the young adult book series The Hunger Games, thought Katniss was a bad ass, and wanted to learn her life-saving skill in the books. I clicked send and waited for the universe to decide what to do.

I got exactly the response I had been hoping for. “I love The Hunger Games, that is awesome,” he wrote, and I had a good feeling about this guy. We exchanged numbers and set up a date that week at a local bar downtown. He asked if we could each exchange a book that we loved when we met, and my good feeling turned into a feeling of “Oh my God, who is this prince?”.

When I walked to the bar and saw a fit, handsome, and well-dressed man awaiting me outside, my mouth dropped. I saw him before he saw me, so I don’t think he noticed, but I was in awe. His smile and greeting eased my nerves, and we went to the lower level of the bar where we chatted non-stop about anything and everything for two hours. He had brought me a Noam Chomsky book which made me realize he was as intelligent as he was adorable, and I brought my favorite collection of Augusten Burroughs essays so he would know I was funny and open-minded. I found out that he loathed sports but found a lot of joy in running, which was relieving. He didn’t kiss me good-night, but we made plans for a date the next night, and when I got in my car I called one of my best friends. When she asked how the date went, I told her I had just gone on the very last first date I’d ever have.

We’ve been inseparable since that meeting, and I couldn’t ask for a better partner. He challenges me to be the very best that I can, and supports me with his wisdom and heart. He makes me laugh so hard it makes my stomach hurt, and he has introduced me to so many new hobbies and skills (including shooting a bow and arrow, which I am awesome at). He helped me train and ran my first 5K with me, and together we’ve gone on adventure after adventure. I love how mature and put together he is, but also that he is incredibly goofy and passionate for life. I never want to know what a day without talking to him is like. He’s successful and kind, he loves to help others and make people laugh. He is my missing puzzle piece, and it is because of him, he has completed the love story I have with myself. He loves me so deeply, that it allows me to view myself the same way he views me.

Currently we are house hunting and chatting non-stop about our future–it’s exciting and fun and crazy and everything in-between. I am so happy these days, and it is because of so many things. A job that I love, a family that supports me, a community of friends that I wouldn’t know what to do without, and living in an amazing city that I never want to leave. But it’s him, my partner, that pulls it all together in my heart. I wish that everyone can experience this kind of love. I hope you all find it.

461675_10100340804058028_1853660020_o

by - 2 Comments

When You Listen

It’s easy to ignore especially since it’s nearly impossible to detect unless you let yourself escape away with it. You can tune it out and pretend that you don’t hear the gentle, nudging — maybe even nagging — rhythm it beats. It’s simple enough to just go on about your day and all of the errands and tasks that define those 24-hours, trying so hard to focus on the car horns and the street signs, the dance of the traffic lights and the unfamiliar faces that pass.

But then it gets a little louder.

It gains momentum and tries different tactics to steal away your attention, oftentimes without you even realizing its sheer force and determination. You can’t adequately describe what exactly it is. Even with your best attempts, the words don’t come out the right way and your friends just can’t wrap their brain around this alluding, and perhaps deluding concept that you seem so fascinated by. You explain and you examine, you question and dissect your options, hoping that by some pro-con list or magical realization that you’ll find a way out. You’ll discover the easiest path to take you the easiest way, and you’ll never have to step up to the plate and battle that thing that’s ringing in your ears.

That thing that for whatever reason feels a lot like an intuition.

That feels eerily like a voice telling you to do something that you can’t really explain. It’s the same irritating, pesky feeling that makes you do things that make you uncomfortable and explore emotions that you’d rather hide away where they’re safe from any harm.

But then, if you’re anything like me, you start singing that song of urgency and you follow along the notes until it takes you to the very spot in the middle of Times Square that not only makes your skin crawl but puts you so far out of your warm-and-fuzzy-mode that you’d basically do anything if you could just run far, far away, back uptown to your apartment. With your dog.

So there I was, standing in a room of strangers at a trendy-ish bar in midtown, refraining from plugging my ears from the raging DJ’s awful taste, not knowing one single person, and yet, knowing I was meant to go to this party. It was a fundraiser for a new charity in New York and from the moment I saw the invite on Facebook, something — that silly something — told me that I had to go.

When I started bringing up the Friday-night event to my friends, it seemed like every last person I knew on this island couldn’t attend: “I’m sorry, I’m out-of-town!” “Oh, I’m not feeling good. I might be able to do it, I’ll get back to you.” “I’m going to stay in tonight and be lazy, have fun!” “It’s in Times Square? Sorry, just can’t handle it.” “I have plans with my boyfriend that I can’t break, miss you!”

Ugh. So, I flew solo, just as that intuition instructed.

Now, why am I supposed to be here? I wondered while making small talk with another small town girl from the South over a $5 glass of champagne. She was talking about dating in the city and seeking my “expert” advice while pointing out men that looked like celebrities. That one looks like Ross from FRIENDS! And that dude by the bar looks like Channing Tatum, doesn’t he? Maybe a little? She was quirky and sweet enough, but I knew it wasn’t her that I was supposed to meet.

Or was I supposed to meet anyone? I considered. Maybe my mission this evening was to join yet another non-profit — since I can’t seem to refuse to help anyone — and give just a bit more of my free time to another cause who needs me. But that’s not it, I told myself as I signed up to join the marketing committee, mentally calculating how in the world I was going to make this work with my already jam-packed schedule. 

I decided to give the party another hour while I mingled and moved about, desperately trying to find the source of this lingering voice that made me come to the party to begin with. But the minutes came and they ended, and I was still uncertain of why exactly I was drawn to this establishment, and I started to doubt my ability to distinguish between intuition and restlessness. As I started to make my way to the front, I started to lose the voice I had heard all week, and I decided that maybe, my imagination was just getting the best of me. Or was it my ever-hopeful heart?

After closing my tab and unchecking my coat, I glanced at my phone to see a number that only started texting me the day before. The number, those 10 unsaved digits that meant really nothing to me, wanted to buy me a drink on the Upper West Side. Tonight. Like in an hour.

Then suddenly the voice was back. It just had the time frame all off. And the actual location. But it returned with more clarity. It wasn’t screaming or demanding and it didn’t need any words, I already knew its directions: go. Just say yes. Without hesitation, I agreed. I listened.

And you know what happens when you listen? You get rewarded for following your heart and trusting in its timing and its patience. When you listen… you sometimes get lucky enough to meet someone who really, truly, for the first time in a very long time, could be… someone.

by - 8 Comments

Falling in Love on Fridays

Whenever I meet a new couple or I speak to someone who gushes about their partner, I always ask about their how-we-met story. For whatever reason, the way two strangers turn into friends or into lovers or into friends and then lovers, fascinates me. Maybe it’s because I believe in fate or the power of the universe (thanks mom!), or it’s just my romantic disposition at its sappiest – but I love learning about how folks somehow, in some magical or terribly ordinary way, found their way to another person. To their person.

I’ve had a few meet-cutes of my own: I fell down in front of Mr. Possibility on a bus on the way back from JFK Labor Day weekend. I saw Mr. Idea working and found a mutual friend to introduce us because he looked so darn dashing in his green shirt. I used to pass by Mr. Faithful every day in high school until finally, I invited him to a BBQ by putting my number in his pocket. I interviewed Mr. Fire for an article in the college newspaper, and once the feature ran, he asked me out.

All of these meetings could have made for the start of happily-ever-after if the guys didn’t turn out to happily-after-never – but the way we stumbled into each other (sometimes, literally speaking), will always hold a special place in my memories of each of those relationships. Our stories of how we fell in love (or sweaty, amazing, passionate lust), are tales I tell here and ones I keep close to my heart, reminding me that if I can love once (and twice and three times…), I can always love again.

But the story of how I fell in love with myself – as I’ve depicted through hundreds and hundreds of blogs over the past two years – that story is just as beautiful and endearing. It’s been brutally honest to a point of pain and also full of light, hope and gentle peace. It’s had ups and downs, and I’ve fallen in and out of love with this city, with my life here, with the woman I’m becoming and the woman I want to be over, and over again. That’s what makes it a great story – from the meeting to the ending and everything that had to conspire in between to make those two points important.

And so – I want to know your stories.

Of how you fell in love with the man you’re dating or married to. Or the one you broke up with three years ago. Or the one you just can’t get over, but want to. I want to know the story of how you fell in love with yourself after the breakups, the makeups, the unemployment periods, the days you got the dream job, the moment you felt your best and sexiest, the periods of complete self-satisfaction. The stories of moving to a new place or falling back in love with an old one.

Every Friday, I’ll post a “Falling in Love on Friday” blog. You don’t have to be a writer to submit, but if you do have a blog, I’ll gladly link back. Pictures aren’t necessary, but always encouraged. Email me at confessions (dot) loveaddict (@) gmail (dot) com. I’ll try my best to respond to everyone.

Tell me your stories – and I promise to keep telling you mine…

by - 2 Comments

You Can Say It

Maybe it’s being in your mid-twenties or just the thought process of those in the not-so-deep South, but inevitably, the question I’m always asked when I retreat back to the state I came from is: Are you seeing anyone special? 

It used to really bother me and make me feel like I was perceived as less complete or less successful or less satisfied because I was flying solo instead of heading toward happily-ever-after with a great guy. Sure, in New York, everyone delays marriage and it’s totally normal (if not encouraged) to say “I do” in your 30s. But when you leave the mecca of independence, the nation’s average bride is 25 years old. So, you know, right around my age.

To combat my insecurities about getting to the marrying age, I used to put up a bold, shining smile and ward off that pesky inquiry by saying things like, “I’m married to my job!” or “No, I’m single and loving it!” or “I’m totally in no rush, everything is amazing in New York!” I thought that if I appeared unscathed by my single stature or my lack of a loving, intimate relationship, then relatives and friends would stop asking when I was going to walk down the aisle and believe that I actually am happy without a man.

Because really, I am. I am very committed to my job (even aching to get back since I’m stuck inside my Upper West Side apartment thanks to Hurricane Sandy), I do enjoy being able to do as I please without checking in with someone, and I’d rather postpone matrimony until I know that I’m totally ready — and my guy is, too. All of those things are factual and suitable answers to queries about my relationship status — but they’re not the whole truth.

There’s a difference between being fine single and still wanting to find someone. Some girls, I’m sure, may be satisfied without dating or really looking for a guy who could be a great match — but if I’m honest with myself, I just don’t fall into that category. While I’ve been single for a year and it doesn’t cause me much stress or sadness, my eyes are also wide open. And though it’s a little hesitant and scared of what it may find, my heart is too.

But somehow, replying with, “I’m happily single and ready for the next big thing!” makes me feel…well, less of a sassy, savvy professional and more like a lady in waiting. Like I’m just twiddling my thumbs and pacing my apartment, anticipating the knock on my door from some midtown, Wall Street or Brooklyn gent to come to my rescue and sweep me away. Like my life isn’t rich and full, bold and beautiful without a guy to share it with. Like I’m not sturdy enough to stand on my own two feet without someone to lift me off of them. Like I’m not a real woman until a real man shows me what it means to have a real, everlasting, forever-and-ever kinda love.

It’s my own double standard and something I’ve had to work out time-and-time again in my head to be able to speak it out loud. It’s something I’ve had to accept and know that it’s okay for others to accept about me. It’s something I’ve had to overcome and realize over the course of writing this blog, but it’s something I’m now proud to declare.

It just means that I can say it. I do want a relationship. I do want a boyfriend. And you, you can say it, too.

You can be strong, and still long for someone who lets you depend on him. You can be fulfilled with what you have, where you are and in the company you share, but still want to fulfilled by a man who absolutely adores you. You can have so much love that comes from every face of your life, and still want more — there can never be too big of an abundance of love for anyone. You can be perfectly happy, perfectly fine, perfectly you, perfectly alone, and still find yourself looking forward to the day when you’re not. You can be self-sufficient and stunning, marching along without missing a step, and still want someone to walk hand-in-hand with.

You can say it. You can own it. You can wish for and hope for and work for it. Because, it really does take work. It doesn’t make you dependent, it doesn’t make you less of the fierce , unstoppable woman you are. It doesn’t mean anything at all except that you’re human. That you want to mate. That you want to love. That you want a partner. You can admit it: you’re happy, but yes, you want to find an incredible, loving, funny, intelligent, handsome man — and that’s okay.

Really, it’s okay. You can say it. You can say that you’re single, but…you’re looking.