Tag Archives: being single

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With a Month Left to Go

Eleven months ago today, I started this blog in the cafe of a local grocery store with my legs laid across the chairs, glancing down at my tattered heels as I typed. It was one of those evenings where I was particularly filled with ambition and yearning for a big change in my life. More than any drive though, I was ashamed of myself.

The night before (which happened to be the day after my birthday party), I curled up in the fetal  position of an old Victorian tub, crying my eyes out in hysteria, making demands instead of prayers toward God, and attempting to avoid the scary mold on the shower curtain. I was so distraught because I was so incredibly, pathetically, longingly, ridiculously single.

The months before, I had signed up for OkCupid and PlentyofFish – resulting in plenty of “ok” dates that never turned into anything. I had yet to have sex in New York (I know, sad) after living here for quite some time, and though my friend base existed, I didn’t feel like I had developed any strong connections. I had a job that I liked fine, I was meeting rent, I was living in Manhattan and not in a borough, as I had wanted – and yet something felt like it was missing. I was convinced that I needed a boyfriend to fill that space. Someone to come home, someone to call when I wobbled back to the train on a Saturday night, someone to snuggle up to and kiss, someone to make love to, someone to love me, someone to complete that silly little void I couldn’t shake.

But I didn’t have that, I thought, feeling the hot water pound my stomach. I winced at the thought of being alone, of becoming one of those bitter cat ladies who lived with bookshelf-lined walls in rent-controlled apartments in the West Village, reading about romances they will never have. I was terrified that my looks would go before I could snag a husband, that I wouldn’t be attractive in my wedding dress, but wrinkly instead. That the New York love story I had always wanted was a far-fetched fantasy that wouldn’t come true, unlike every other dream I had for this damn city.

I had already moved to chase what I wanted and so many had hoped I would fail, so many condemned me for just being who I am – but I had made it. I had a foundation and I could walk on it, though as much as I thought I wanted to walk  alone, I was now determined not to. Crying it seemed, felt better than trying. I didn’t want to go out there and date anymore. I didn’t want to shoot arrows on OkCupid or go fishing on PlentyofFish. I didn’t want my nights out with the girls to translate into flirting until some poor chump was suckered into buying us drinks for the rest of the evening. I didn’t want to play the texting game or to act like I was going home with someone when I knew from the beginning I had no intention to. I was looking and searching the faces of strangers, wondering if they would become a lover that would ultimately turn right back into a stranger when the love affair failed.

Because they always do, don’t they?

Wallowing in this self-pity mess, though, I looked down at my naked body and felt the naked emotion running down my cheeks. What was I doing? What was wrong with me? What do I have to complain about? I’m not going to walk the runways, I thought, but I’m attractive. I’m not going to cure cancer, but I have gifts and I’m smart, but most of all I’m brave enough to go after what I want. I’m not perfect, but I accept my flaws. I don’t live in the part of town I want to, but I have faith that I will. Working at a business magazine isn’t my dream job, but I’ll get there, won’t I? I may not have a very best friend, but I have support. I may not be in love, but won’t I be, one day?

And just like that, it clicked. It was time for a change. It was time for me to stop worrying about love and to start living my life. Time to start building it into what I wanted it to be instead of waiting for a pseudo-Prince Charming to rescue me from an existence that was frankly already pretty magical.

So I picked myself up out of the tub, threw on makeup and clothes, and headed to click “Publish” for the first time on this blog. I wanted to really love myself, really define myself, really just be myself without worrying about a man or a lack of one. I never dreamed my decision to create and follow at 12-step program by writing daily for a year would give me what it has. I was shocked to find my blog on the homepage of WordPress, for it to produce dozens of Internet/blog friends from all over the world, to meet a close friend because she figured out the identity of one of the Mr’s. I didn’t expect for its pages to be attacked by an ex-lover and her friends of Mr. Possibility or for friends I haven’t talked to in years to come out of the woodwork to say they relate to what I write, regardless of how old they are, where they are, or what they do.

But all of those things happened and so much more, and now that there is only a month left to go, I’m in awe of what’s changed in the past year. I start my dream job on Monday, I have a beautiful, wonderful best friend who gets me so well, I live in an apartment that I adore and I may even move downtown within the next 12 months, I did have sex and I did fall in love in New York….and I never gave up on writing these posts. No matter the circumstance or what stress was going on in my life, I found a way to come up with something. I was honest and open with myself, my friends, my readers. I believed in the 12 steps and in myself, but did they work?

Time will only tell, but I’ve learned to accept my flaws and my shortcomings, to admit my strong points even if they aren’t deemed significant in the eyes of others. I’m learning how to continuously stand up for myself in relationships and how to walk away before too much damage is done or bridges are burned. I’ve decided that I’d rather be a 37-year-old bride who marries the right man instead of a 27-year-old bride who rushes down the aisle because she’s afraid she won’t find better. I know that if given the choice today to meet the man I’d marry or have my career be booming and fulfilling for the next five years, I’d pick the career over and over. And now, I know that’s not such a bad thing – there is plenty of time for everything we want to have, there’s no deadline for love, there’s no trick to this most-confusing thing called life.

You just have to live it.

And if something or someone asks you to sacrifice parts of yourself for their happiness or for something to work, then you have to have the courage to choose yourself. To love yourself and have faith in the life you know is destined for you instead of hanging onto the notion that something or someone could change. The 12-steps don’t fix obsessive thoughts or an addiction to love – I still have crazy ramblings, and of course, I still want to find that once-in-a-lifetime love.

But it’s not the most important part of me anymore. It’s just a piece of what makes me me, not the end-all-be-all or the start of my happily ever after. For the first time, I’m truly happy with where I am and that’s not dependent on any man or any fairytale I wish to have. It’s merely dependent on me.

With a month left to go, on the 11th step, I’ll be sad to see this blog end, but I sure am thankful for that depressing night in that disgusting tub that made me see the light and take a chance on loving myself.

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I Do it Myself

When Mr. Possibility and I visited my family in North Carolina earlier this summer, I felt bad for him. Being the doting parents of an only child, my mother and father couldn’t resist the opportunity to show him at least one home video. They have records of everything I’ve ever done, a “wall” of fame for my journalism and pageant awards, plus diplomas and they still carry around a photo of me to show strangers.

I’d say it’s embarrassing, but it’s really just quite adorable. Mr. Possibility thought so too, especially after he had a few drinks. That seems to be the magic solution of surviving Lindsay as an energetic, defiant, and talkative toddler. While I’ve only grown a few feet and inches since then, my attitude is roughly the same. I’m still optimistic and too independent for my own good.

This was illustrated by my third birthday party, when my cousin attempted to help me unwrap a present and while sporting pink bows and a frilly dress, demanded: “I do it myself!”

That’s basically how I’ve felt all week – I’ve wanted to do it all, all by myself. I go through stages really, where I want to be around my friends or Mr. P constantly. Sometimes I crave company as badly as I do pizza at 3 a.m. on Friday nights – but at other times, there is no place I’d rather be than alone. In those moments or days, I don’t text as much, I appear invisible on Gchat, I don’t comment or update the Book of Faces as often, and I spent time working on my personal to-do list of things that really aren’t that vital. Like at-home pedicures, color-coordinating my closet, attempting a difficult recipe, or finding books to sell at Strand and clothes to give dollars for at Buffalo Exchange.

And when I’m really ambitious, as I was last night, I take on a day-long task at 7 p.m. at night. While giving my room a thorough cleaning, I decided on the fly that I was bored of the layout and wanted to rearrange. So with Pandora blasting in my fuzzy pink socks, sweatpants and sports bra, I moved my dresser, desk, bed, and bookshelf single-handedly. At one point I was cornered with no place to go and had to become Spidey-like to climb over top my furniture, while praying Ikea wouldn’t let me down with its flimsy durability. I replaced photos in frames, restructured my getting-ready-in-the-morning setup, threw out shoes that saw their last day years ago, and finally concluded that I’ll never be a 34A again, so holding onto training bras probably is a waste of space.

Around midnight, when my room makeover was complete, I stood in awe at my work. And of the change.

That little bit of reorganization makes everything look different and feel fresher. It makes me cleaner for a few weeks and gives me a new appreciation for the apartment and roommates I was lucky to find. And though I’d say most anyone reading this blog could do the same in their own space, I thoroughly enjoy the feeling of doing something by myself. I’m no Southern Belle who poses as a damsel in distress, but a young woman who would rather be sore and filthy than to rely on anyone to do the things I can do without help.

It’s that mentality, I think, that gets me far – in my career and in my love life. Accepting myself as an independent, as someone who can do most things she sets her mind to has given me the confidence to go after those things that seem unreachable. To push harder, to believe in my abilities, and to take responsibility for both my successes and my failures. It’s made me a product of my own doing – capable of not only being the person I want to be, but doing those things that others have said I can’t or have tried to do for me. Perhaps it make me a little much to handle in a relationship, but if a guy can’t hold his own while dating me – there’s an express train a few blocks away and I’ll provide the $2.25 he’ll need to catch it.

If someone else wants to come along the journey, they’re welcome to – just don’t slow me down or instruct me how to walk or to talk,, what to see or how to be. Because as I promised over twenty years ago, I’ll do it myself and I’ll be damn happy about it.

 

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This Little Light of Mine

When you move from a peaceful, quiet small town to the big city, everyone has an opinion to give and advice to share. They’ll tell you that New Yorkers are rude and brittle, the type of people who are self-centered and egotistical, raised with the mentality of cold, brutal urbanites. These city folk wouldn’t be kind and accepting like the South teaches, New York and its people would swallow me whole if I didn’t fight them every step of the way, proving that I belonged here, too.

I never really believed them though – I was always under the impression that New York gives you what you give it. If you expect disrespect, you’ll find it, if you’re fearful of crime and deception, you’ll face it, and if you think people are up to no good, then you’ll meet those people. But if you approach New York believing that there will always be goodness crossing your path and blessing your way, then you’ll find yourself happy and confident, living the way you could have never imagined.

Because really, being a bitter being is dependent of geography. There are cruel intentions inside of each of us, it’s just that most people allow the sun to shoo away the shadows. There will always be those who are oblivious to the luxuries they enjoy that most do not, and those who are profoundly thankful for all that they’ve earned. New York hasn’t been perfect, and of course there are dangers that loom and precautions you have to take to be safe. It’s not about where you’re located, it’s about being realistic and smart.

I’ve recently received a second wind of admiration for this place – it suddenly feels different. Or maybe I feel different. I’m starting a new amazing job soon, I’m enjoying the company of my friends, and soaking up all those life experiences I’ve always craved. I have an extra kick in my step, a better attitude and a stronger appreciation for all the luck that’s found me. The city seems fresh and new, but I don’t anymore. Instead, I feel like I finally belong. It’s not just a dream anymore, I’m living my reality. And best of all, I worked hard to create it without losing hope or faith in my abilities.

So I’m smiling more these days. I’m taking more time to inhale the buildings and the scene, as well as the characters who flood the streets. I take a stroll instead of rushing on the subway, I treat myself to afternoons sitting under an umbrella with a glass of wine and a new book, watching passerbys and being overly gracious to waiters. The summer will soon pass and then the fall will arrive with its bold colors and cool airs, making all the struggles I’ve faced lately dim memories, simple reflections of the path I picked for myself. But for now, before the next chapter unfolds in this brilliant waiting period, I’m learning to just be.

To take my mother’s advice and remember that I only have to take one step and then another, the rest will work itself out. She’s right – it always does, it always has, no matter how much I’ve thought it wouldn’t or simply couldn’t. It is in the darkness after all, when you’re worried that everything everyone said about New York may in fact be true, that you learn how to let your light shine. You figure out how to keep it flickering and more important, how to breathe new life into it when the old wick isn’t applicable anymore.

And there are always people there to remind you – like today, when I took the uptown train after a glorious breakfast at Ciprani on Fifth and boarded with a group of fellas harmonizing their rustic voices to “This Little Light of Mine.” After the song was over and they were starting to exit, an old man when a crinkled face and sunglasses on, bent over and said, “You have a beautiful day, gorgeous,” and unlike I ever do, I actually thanked him.

Because he recognized, just like I have recently, that after much delay and much hesitation, I’m letting my little light shine. And ya know what? It’s shinin’ mighty fine.

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Just Fine With Just Me

I’m rather fond of my name – particularly my middle name, Aurora. It means “the dawn” and my parents found it rather amusing that I would be “AuROARing Tigar”, but the idea to scribble it on my birth certificate came from my dad. He claimed to have an Aunt Aurora on his mother’s side but later discovered he didn’t. So, I’m named after an aunt I don’t really have.

Never bothered me though, I was more excited as a child that I had a royal name – Sleeping Beauty’s official title is Princess Aurora, and therefore she instantly became my favorite. I knew all the songs, had a dress that switched from pink to blue, and wanted more than anything for my prince to come.

Funny thing is – probably up until I moved to New York, I still roughly knew the songs, had pink and blue dresses and still badly wanted my banker-doctor-lawyer prince to find me. To rescue me even from the exhaustion of going on yet another date with another guy who I ultimately wouldn’t be interested in or would be and it would be unrequited. Though I was barely 21 wen I packed up and left the South, I had been on what I thought were enough dates and just wanted to wake up from the deep sleep of loneliness I felt like I was in.

If I’m being honest, I didn’t shake that feeling of wanting happily ever after until I really starting focusing on this blog and this journey. And then I started meeting women I admired – women who were older than me and wildly successful and….single. It didn’t seem to faze them, though – they were focused on other things. Things that brought them tremendous happiness, things that they created for themselves, thing that made up a lifestyle they loved.

And it didn’t involve men. They weren’t against men, but dudes certainly weren’t necessary either. There was no need to be rescued. Evil stepmothers could be tamed with distance and financial independence. If they wanted to live in a whole other world, they could get there by taxi or train, no need for a magical rug that would probably need to be dry cleaned, anyway. They weren’t held captive under the ocean or a castle, and if they were under any spells, it was merely the curse of being beautiful, successful and independent.

They weren’t princess and neither am I. Sure there are some modern-day fairytales (enter Kate Middleton) but those are very few and far between. Even Ms. Duchess didn’t need to be rescued, she just happened to fall in love with someone who happened to be a prince. And these women who I’ve developed strong friendships with, some have since gained a plus-one but they haven’t lost themselves in the process. They have given me the confidence and the knowledge to stop looking for someone charming to free me from singleness. To never depend on a man for anything and to count his presence as a blessing if he’s a good one, or his absence also a a blessing if he’s a bad one. To realize that really, the best kind of happily ever after we can find has absolutely nothing to do with a guy.

In fact the best happy I’ve felt has always come from accomplishing something on my own. By finally getting that dream job (yes indeed!), by severing any dependence from my parents, and living in a city I love.  No man made those things a reality, I did. And should a man never come into my picture or Mr. Possibility bite the dust like the others, I know I’d still have something quite powerful to depend on. Something unstoppable and relentless. Something that took a long time to find, something that took hard work to develop, and something that brings me peace in the places I need it the most. Something that regardless of what happens or where my life goes or who I marry or don’t marry, what job I find or what job I lose, will always remain a constant.

Something that I’ve always loved, even if at times I couldn’t find confidence in it. Something that’s most simply – me. And if I happen to live happily-ever-after alone, then I’ll spend my life helping others, having incredible sex with lovers who won’t offer me a diamond, building an empire, adopting babies like I’m Angelina sans-Brad, and realizing that I’m just fine with just me.

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You Shall Not Pass

I’m not someone who avoids change. I wouldn’t say I embrace it fully, but the thought of my life changing isn’t one that’s terrifying. Instead, it’s exciting. I accept and anticipate the fact that a year from now, my life may look entirely different. I may want different things, I may be still with Mr. P, with someone else, or single. I may be at a completely new company, freelancing full-time, living overseas, or in an opposite industry. I could be ten pounds lighter or heavier, I could be fluent in another language, I could be in love, I could be nursing a heartbreak, I could be…anything.

Our youth is good for encouraging spontaneity and the pursuit of change. Before I’m sanctioned into a marriage, busy with children, or at a point where money is more for saving and planning than for passing this month’s rent check and blowing dollars on brunch. Before my life as a Mrs or mommy begins, I get the chance to really take chances. To take the detour instead of the hard way, to date someone just for the hell of it, not with the intention of forever-and-ever-and-always. To leave New York if I wish or to stay. It’s a beautiful thing really – knowing that in any moment, with one phone call, with one glance, with one chance, with one experience,  with one connection, with one single something, life as I know it – could be transformed. I could look back at this moment, wearing Mr. P’s tshirt, eating leftover spaghetti while listening to a mix between his attempt at learning German via Rosetta Stone and some John Legend, and it all may seem like a distant memory, a universe that I’m not longer apart of, but a vision I’ll never forget.

My mother (and my friend K) always spew off the cliche promise, “This too shall pass” when I’m worrying that the now that’s not working seems unbearable. When I’m frustrated or feeling like there will never be anything better than this awful experience I’m part of, this seemingly hopeless existence I’m existing in – I remember that time passes, people change, and life will look different before I know it. The world will turn and so will my attitude, in a passing, fleeting moment that I won’t remember in a few years.

But while things will change and so will I – the me that I am at my core, won’t pass. Just as some graffiti artist said in surprisingly legible handwriting…

Life changes and we’re allowed to make mistakes that make us into better people. We’re allowed to stay put longer than we should, move this way or that, love this person and then stop, be who we want to be and then be someone new. But that heart that feels so fragile, that soul that continues to thirst for more, and that mind that won’t stop spinning both in the good times and the bad – those all stay the same. Sure, they’ll get tougher and stronger, learn how to endure and decide when enough is enough (or when a little more is better) – but they don’t pass us by.

Maybe that’s the trick of it all. If time tells us that it’s coming with or without permission or notice and we’re just all an object of the universe, meant to be manipulated and stand trial in front of the heavens – then our only responsibility is to keep ourselves in tact. To let life change, let people come and go, let everything around us crumble and fall, be built again, love and lose – but to not pass ourselves by.