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The Fight for Freedom

Apparently a great listener, Mr. Rescue took note of something I slipped on New Year’s Eve: sushi and I get along pretty darn well. In fact, if I needed to list my top three favorite foods, it’d probably be sushi, avacado, and bacon (make me something with all three and I will marry you).

And so, we met in Chelsea and out he took me to a popular sushi place in the city, where we talked and shared a ridiculous amount of rolls. Truth be told, though I’m not really the biggest fan of dating – there is something incredibly refreshing lately about my newfound attitude towards all of it. Since I’ve been able to separate my own emotional expectations and worries from the dude in question, I’ve been free to get to know someone and not get all-bent-out-of-shape if it doesn’t click.

After our dinner, I gladly took him to a pub around the corner that’s been one of my very favorites in the city ever since I interned several years back. Every time I return, I have this little fear that the bartenders who use to keep me company during the week, when I was underage and without friends, won’t remember me. They are all married and adorabely Irish and they never fail to say, “Lindsay, darling, you wear your heart on your sleeve!”

Maybe so, but that’s a much better place to wear it than where some do (anyone seen The Ugly Truth?).

As we’re sitting at the bar, drinking some beers and catching up, he asks me about the blog, about my career, if I’m enjoying NYC like I thought I would, and other pretty typical “I want to know more about you” questions. Though I’m usually pretty good at responding when the tables are turned and I’m the interviewee instead of the interviewer, he did shoot me a question that left me speechless and stumbling.

“So, what are you exactly looking  for in a guy, anyways?”

I paused, looked at him and then sat my beer down. I’m sure I spewed out some adjectives and qualities that ranged from inteligent, attractive and loyal to honest, tall, and funny, and he seemed satisfied with that answer – but I couldn’t get the question out of my head. Or rather, the way it caught me off guard.

If you were to line up Mr. Faithful, Mr. Idea, Mr. Fire, Mr. Possibility, and all the others, there would be very few physical similarities. They are all tall and have killer smiles (kinda my weakness), but I don’t really have a type. The men whom I’ve fallen for have been in a wide range of careers – from finance and doctors, to in the army and musicians. I’ve been swept away with romance and candles and also equally intrigued by playing beer pong (classy, I know) with Mr. Idea early into our relationship. I’ve been with men who can make me laugh until my side hurts and tears are streaming down my face, and guys who even though it may not be the very best way of dealing with something, completely, brutally, painfully honest with. Sometimes at their expense or at mine. I’ve dated cheaters, been a cheater myself, men who cry on the first date, those who never show any emotional weakness, dog lovers, cat lovers, those who enjoy hunting, those who threw up when they accidently hit a rabbit – and the differences go on and on.

So, while it is more than an appropriate question to ask someone who you’re on a date with, I really have no idea what it is that I’m looking for in someone. The only thing I really do know – is what I’m not looking for.

And that, if I’m utterly honest, is a relationship.

I’m not opposed to going on dates or getting to know someone and I’m certainty not closing my heart to opportunities that may arise. If Prince Charming suddenly pounds on my door, ready to share his unconditional love with me – I would grab my coat and a coffee, but I’m not sure I’d want to go riding into the sunset. Even if that happens to be down Fifth Avenue to Cartier. Because really, being in a relationship right now scares me. I told myself I’d never make rules on this blog about what I could and couldn’t do, and that remains true – but I also promised to always be true to myself and to my heart. That no matter how ridiculous or unattractive or silly something may come across, if I can’t accept who I am and what I feel, then I’d never make a great partner anyways. Nor would I truly ever be happy.

For someone who has always wanted to be in a relationship, who hated being single, who longed for a warm body more than she yearned for food to eat – this is quite a big step for me. I feel such a freedom, such a relaxing peace of mind, such a newfound sense of self that’s separated entirely from a man. I don’t think I really need one to be happy or to live the life I’ve dreamed of. I don’t want my fire to be distinguished, I don’t want to call someone every single night before bed, I don’t want to give up weekend plans for the interest of someone I’m committed to, I don’t want to change my Facebook status, and I don’t want to be completely, one hundred-and-ten percent sure of where my next great kiss (or love) will come from.

Maybe that’s not what Mr. Rescue (or Mr. Possibility, perhaps) wants to hear but I can’t allow that to be my greatest concern. There will be a day when my singleness is less important and I’ll desire being part of a couple. Sure, one day, I will be more than ready to walk down the aisle and see the faces of my children, but for now – I think what I want, what I’m looking for in a guy, what’s significant in my life – is freedom. Not to sleep around or go on fabulous dates or not be tied down – but the freedom to live my life. That instead of basing my happiness on someone else or on making someone else happy, I’d rather fight for and believe in the liberties and the justification of singleness.

The liberties of realizing what you’re looking for more than anything else – is yourself.

PS: If you’re a fan of Confessions of a Love Addict and want to be part of a new page on the blog, email Lindsay or send her a Tweet.

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Girl’s Got Game

It’s a story I don’t need to tell because it’s been told for decades before me, with different variations along the way: boy and girl meet and seem to hit it off, boy and girl exchange numbers, boy says he will call; girl waits around for approximately three days before “casually checking in” and officially starts freaking out.

As they say at the start of the Olympics, “Let the games begin.”

Sadly, as we figured out through “He’s Just Not That Into You” – our mind games and obsessing and reading into mixed signals (that maybe aren’t as complicated as we make them), start from the time we have that very first crush in kindergarten. By the time we reach middle school, we’ve decided who is in our league and who isn’t, and in high school, we fall so deeply in love with a sweetheart (could be reciprocated or unrequited) that we can barely stand to think of anything else. College rolls around and that first love syndrome leads to the first real heartbreak, and we battle the trenches of utterly confusing, mingled, and mangled “relationships” that may or may not have strings attached.

By the time we reach our 20s – if we haven’t mastered the game of love (and lust) in all of our battles and victories of the past, we decide either in frustration or in stride, that it’s time to start learning the tricks of the trade.

So we start dating Mr. Google, read blogs and articles that give us clues and how to give “the look” that’ll get us a drink and more, and we talk constantly (through BBM, Twitter, Facebook, Gchat, and so on) to our girlfriends, analyzing what we should do and what we shouldn’t, what he thinks and what he doesn’t think, if he’s interested or not interested.

And then, if you’re like me – you become such a pro at getting a man to look your way or ask you out on a date, that the whole first date scenario…sincerely becomes a play-by-play that you can predict. The game becomes irrelevant because it stops being interactive and you realize you’re just going through the motions as opposed to getting into the spirit and the energy of the practice.

I won’t say that I enjoy dating, but I also don’t dislike it completely either. One of the reasons I started this journey was due to the fact that I was getting too caught up in the “game” that I became discouraged. Dates were becoming absolutely and completely boring and I was sick of scripting what would happen before I even arrived at the restaurant.

I’m not sure if that means I mastered the game or I lost it.

Regardless, now I find myself at an odd crossroad. I’ve learned a lot from the dating scene, but because I’m not seeking (letting them come to me instead), a lot of the pressure has been taken off. I take some winning strategies with me on dates with guys, but I try to leave the fixation of expectations in the wind. I don’t project who I think they are, but I take them at their face value. And if he doesn’t call, well, he just doesn’t call and it’s time to turn on Jay-Z’s Onto The Next One.

The next man up to bat is Mr. Rescue. He’s been quite sweet this past week and pretty reliable with text messages and wit. Though I’m not quite sure where we’re going as I write this blog, we do have a reservation for dinner, and it’s snowing outside – so maybe I’ll get to kiss in the snow. As insignificant as it is, because I gave him a Mr title, he decided I needed one too, so he refers to me as Ms. Bradshaw. Quite cute, indeed.

And so far, I don’t feel like my head’s in the game or I’m really reading into anything. The obsession factor isn’t existent and I haven’t figured out if there is a chance for something of substance with him or not. If overcoming love addiction means learning to really take my time and choose what’s best with me, then I’m well on my way to health.

I don’t think a “game” is always necessary and I’d like to say that we should all stop being active members in the contests, but I don’t think it’ll ever go away. We all like some chasing, a spark of challenge, and a great story to tell the grandkids one day. As long as there is healthy sexual tension, the game will continue, and in the words of Shakespeare, we are all merely players.

Though I’m sure my rants and my analyzing (I am a Virgo, after all) will come back at some point, along with my first-date grilling methods – for all of you love addicts out there, like me, here are some pretty helpful tactics I’ve discovered that really help the game not seem so strenuous:

Don’t save his number.

I view my phone as the Holy Grail of my life. Maybe that’s a little extreme – but if you’re going to be saved in my phone, I either think you’re someone who is going to stick around or you have a voice I’d rather not hear. So when a guy gives me his number when I meet him, I take it – and then I delete it. And really, I don’t save it for a while – I think with Mr. Possibility, it took me about a month to allow him into my phone. This not only makes a guy seek you, but it prevents you from listening to the red, red wine when it whispers: “you should text that cute boy from Thursday” in your ear.

Ask open ended questions.

If you really want to get to know someone, ask them about themselves. Sounds simple enough, but as people we like to talk about ourselves and it is easy to go on and on about what you do, what you think, what you feel, on a first date. I’ve learned that if I slow down and let the guy open himself up a little bit, the date is far more enjoyable for me and I make better decisions for date two. Plus, if I’m totally not interested and can’t wait for the date to end, it gives me a break.

Stop making rules.

Ok – we all have boundaries and little things we usually stick-to-our guns about, but why are those so important at the start of dating? And really, why do we tell guys we’re on dates with, what our rules are? He goes in for a kiss and you say “I don’t do that on the first date!”, but why? That kiss could be the kiss that trumps all smooches to date –so why not try it out? And where did the three-day rule come from? Sure, it’s there, but it doesn’t have to be. When I loosened up on the rules, the game became so much easier and less complicated.

Make other plans.

In the past, when I first met a guy, I used to clear out my calendar for the weekend following “just in case” he texted me or wanted to wine-and-dine me. Yes, I’ve been that girl who cancelled plans with friends for a man, but really, chicks should always be before dicks – especially if it’s a man you don’t even know. Now, instead of “playing hard to get” or “being unavailable” – I really just have other things filling up my time. This isn’t playing the game; this is having a life outside of a man.

Demand dinner.

A lot of my friends in college and even now constantly ask me “how do you get so many guys to take you on an actual date and not just drinks or something casual?” Well, because I never agree to drinks. Maybe it’s my southern upbringing, but to me, if a guy wants to get to know me, I want to actually go on a date. This doesn’t mean a fancy restaurant with candles and flowers, but if a guy asks me if I’m free for drinks on Tuesday, I’ll say, “No, but I’m free for dinner on Friday.” Cocktails are for my girlfriends and I, not for my new male game player who I’m considering allowing getting to second base.

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The Company of Confidence

For a few years now, running has been my way to escape from all the worries, the distractions, the sadness, the anxiety – and just go. To jam up Gaga and Fergie and feel the heat of the pavement on my soles.

Maybe it’s because I feel like a hamster on a revolving wheel being cooped up inside or the new gaggle of New Year’s resolution-ers who are determined to lose 10 pounds by Cupid’s Day – but lately, my daily run has been so monotonous. By the time I hit mile three, I’m ready to hop off and get back to my apartment – and not because I’m tired or out of breath, but because I’m just bored.

This has happened before and it is usually the time when I jack up the speed, switch to the elliptical or the bike for a few weeks, add in an extra mile, or sign up for some additional Pilates classes.  As a person who lives for the next challenge and can’t imagine not moving forward in her life – it is incredibly hard for me to take a back seat to anything or to ever just relax.

Including love.

Aside from Mr. Possibility (and now Mr. Rescue), when I met a guy – I dove right into the middle of everything. I looked for certain qualities, I took note of “signs”, I paraded him with questions and imagined everything from our wedding date, our names together, and how he would drop down on one knee. Before I even kissed a guy, I had him figured out in my head and placed these enormous expectations on what I thought the relationship would be. When I started seeing red flags arise, I would turn a blind eye, excuse the behavior and just “see what happens next” before I made any rash decisions. I forgave their pasts, no matter how ridiculous and I vowed to be the girl who changed everything in their life. Who fixed their troubles, who stood strong and reliable, and hoped to become this girl who entered their life and made it better.

Before I even really, truly, knew who the man was – as a person, not a romantic partner – I let myself fall completely in love with the idea of what could be with them. Now, I took this to extreme lengths with Mr. Idea, (hence his name) – but if I’m being honest about the “exact nature of my wrongs” in terms of love addiction, I think I’ve done this with every man I’ve ever known. Even ones I didn’t date longer than a week in college.

And then inevitably, at some point, it would all get to be too much. Those red flags would become less like fabric blowing in the wind and turn into screeching, violently scarlet lights surrounded by orange caution cones, begging me to just walk away. Yet, when I reached the point of turning on my toes and getting away from Mr. So-Not-Right-For-Me, and I hesitated, allowing him to be the one to end the courtship – I was hurt. My confidence became shattered, along with my viewpoints of relationships.

This pattern, as ugly and self-defeating as it is, has been pretty consistent with every Mr who has captured my interest. Instead of allowing myself time and room to really understand who I was dealing with or who I was truly kissing on the corner of Broadway or having drinks with downtown, I let my thirst for companionship, for love, for a consistent relationship take over my ability to form actual opinions and think realistically.

I allowed my fear of being alone, of being single, of not being good enough for a relationship, or my inability to keep a “good man” around to be at the forefront of my mind. No wonder I blamed myself for everything, no wonder I got myself to a plateau where I had to overcome what I coined “love addiction” through an intense journey that tests me every single day. No wonder I ended up crying in the corner of my tub, the day after my last birthday because I got myself in such a devastating state.

Because I didn’t stop. I just kept going. Even when I was bored, even when I knew it was wrong, even when I knew it wouldn’t work out one day, even when I was tired and nothing was changing – I kept running right back into the arms of someone who never deserved my embrace to begin with. Just like I switch to an elliptical to change up the pace, I would try to steer the man or the dating process in a better direction to ward off any negativity, or take on more work than the dude, so he wouldn’t feel overburdened.  I resumed responsibility for all of the things that were mine…and all of those that weren’t.

Even with Mr. Possibility (who continues to look less and less like his name) and new guys I meet, I have to remind myself to breathe, to pace myself, to not push myself to where I can’t even enjoy the next relationship because the last one banged me up so badly.

Finding self-love through this journey isn’t just about making myself a better person so I can find Mr. Right. It isn’t about going back through all of my old relationships and figuring out what I learned. It isn’t about preaching my viewpoints or spreading the message of independence.

It’s about finally being able to rest assured.

To have faith in myself so I don’t settle for less than I deserve, because I know that regardless if I get married or not, I have confidence in who I am and am proud of the decisions I’ve made. To listen to my gut when it tells me to hold back or to slow down or to think before I leap. To enjoy my life, with all of its uncertainties and complications, and stop waiting for it to begin, instead of just living it. To keep my eyes focused on today instead of worrying myself into a frenzy about several years from now.

But most importantly – it’s about getting back up in the race, clearing my head and my heart, and taking one huge breath, knowing that even if I feel stuck in a rut or like I’m not making progress, it’s my right, my responsibility to do what’s best for me.

And at times, the smartest thing a gal can do is accept the red flag…and run as fast as she can in the other direction. Even if that road is one she’ll have to take alone. After all, the company of confidence is much better than the company of a coward.

PS: If you’re a fan of Confessions of a Love Addict and want to be part of a new page on the blog, email Lindsay or send her a Tweet.

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Date Like a Man?

Every single day, I check my Gmail constantly looking for comments on my posts. I can’t even begin to describe how happy it makes me to hear from readers as they share their insights and their stories – somehow, in my little neck of the world, it makes me feel like we’re all in this “love addiction” journey together.

Also, as a journalist, I’m intrigued and often inspired by reading the words of others. And yesterday – a post from a frequent visitor to my blog, Facebook page, and Twitter – Mr. Moose, completely struck a chord with me (You can find his blog here). In response to “Dearly Beloved…I’m Afraid I Don’t” he said “you mentioned before you were attempting to adopt a guys attitude towards relationships (or something to that effect, I’m paraphrasing here.) but you just couldn’t do it. However you are nearly there if this post is the enshrinement of your actual thoughts on the subject.”

Now, I don’t quite remember if I did ever say that or not (I could have, but after over 100 posts, I forget!) – but I will say when I read it, I had to take a second look. And a third and fourth. Really, I kept coming back to it all day and even asked my mom what she thought about it, along with a few of my friends.

Is what I’m attempting to do with this blog, with this journey, with my dating life, is to be in a relationship like a man? To think like a guy? To be calm, cool, and collected like the many gentlemen (and jerks) who I’ve been involved with? Here I thought I was waiting for a guy with actual gumption, but in reality, I’m really just growing a pair myself?

The fact that men and women are very different creatures is not a new revelation – the great divide between the sexes is noted in every societal structure and institution. It is something that’s caused deaths, fights, wars, protests, and the introduction of new laws and viewpoints. I could go on an incredibly long rant about all of the influential, powerful female leaders in history and across the world who have helped me be as free and successful as I am, but for the purpose of this post, I’ll tell my sociology minor to calm down.

However – can we lay to rest some of these stereotypes separating what the ladies and the dudes want, think, feel, and act like in a relationship?

If dating like a man means picking my career over the opportunity for true love because my personal achievements are more important than a white picket fence. If dating like a man means I fear being exclusive with a Mr. I’m seeing because I’m so happy with how my life is, that I don’t want to change it. If dating like a man means that I value my independence and my alone time and sometimes would rather just sit at home, completely in the company of myself, and ignore phone calls or texts messages. If dating like a man means marriage scares me because I’m not ready to give up or modify my lifestyle or what I want or to commit to something so serious and life-altering. If dating like a man means I turn my head when a piece of physical beauty crosses my path. If dating like a man means I have sexual urges and desires and needs that are often not met, but I wish they would be. If dating like a man means an amazing day in the office, where I feel like I’m on top of the world, gives me way more pleasure than baking a casserole or taking care of a baby. If dating like a man means there are days when I forget to shave or not always dress to the nines. If dating like a man means I don’t always call after the first date (or even the second) and sometimes, I’m simply not interested, regardless of what they have to offer intellectually. If dating like a man means a great way to get to know someone is going to a baseball game, followed by some beers at a local pub…

…then folks, I may just be a guy. Let’s call me Mr. Tigar.

I despise the notion that women are excluded from possessing altruistic qualities and understandings once they accept the title of “girlfriend.” That because we’re female, because our bodies have higher doses of estrogen and we like to cuddle after we orgasm – we’re thought to be more dependent and that we value our independence less. That really, all of us, regardless if we have a PhD or are the head of a company or have started organizations and funds, really are just seeking a man that we can lean on and who can take care of us. That if we’re vocal with our opinions, if we decide not to get married by the age of 25, if we’re confident about who we are, what we have to offer and demand nothing less -we’re not perceived as self-reliant, but as braggers and bitches. That because we obsess about time between text messages or we want someone to think of us as irreplaceable or we want anniversaries to be remembered and see tardiness as unacceptable – we’re the more obnoxious in a relationship? Sorry dudes, but try dating yourself for just a week and I think you’ll understand. Actually, maybe even just a 24-hour period.

I will be the first to admit that these concepts are highly generalized and do not reflect every man or every woman. In fact, they probably do not represent most – but isn’t that the point? Should our sex really determine how we act when we’re in love? Do we have to take on these roles, these descriptions, these standards to be healthy when we’re part of a duo? Once we accept that Facebook request or cuddle into the nook of a man-who-could-be’s body, are we unknowingly allowing ourselves to sink into a submissive part, instead of a dominant one? Just because I’m a powerhouse and a vixen at work, that doesn’t mean I can’t be the same way when I one day flip the switch into loving-girlfriend mode. Leaving who I am at the office or tucked away for girl’s night out only gets me stuck up on some shelf or inside some box of “who I was” before I found love. A man is supposed to be my partner – not my authority. And I’ll do him the courtesy of him never having to wonder what I’m thinking or if he’ll need to take care of me – because, really, I get along pretty well on my own – even more so as this journey continues.

Men aren’t the only ones who are cowboys and desperadoes, Mr. Moose. Because if my freedom, my independence, my me-time is not allowed when I get married or stumble across a guy who is more than a possibility – then I think he’ll learn how quickly my boots are made for walkin’.

PS: If you’re a fan of Confessions of a Love Addict and want to be part of a new page on the blog, email Lindsay or send her a Tweet.

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Dearly Beloved….I’m Afraid I Don’t

My best friend growing up was a black-haired little girl whom I adored. We went to the same church, we lived less than a mile from one another, and when I think of my youth- it is impossible to not see her face. Together, along with her younger sister, we created rock bands, played detectives, and even were so obsessed with the show Sister, Sister, that we would pretend to be the twins (I was Tia, she was Tamera, if you’re curious).

We took dance classes, joined Girl Scouts, went through confirmation, and played outside on her tire swing until her dad made us go inside for the night. She was the first person I ever talked to about boy crushes and her name is scattered among the pages of my very first “articles” and diaries. Our names are even painted underneath the deck at my childhood home, stating that we’d be friends forever.

At one point, I distinctively remember one of our conversations and we decided that by the time we were 21, we’d be finished with college and we’d be married, and have a baby by 25. I would be living in New York, of course, and she wasn’t quite sure where she’d be. We were so certain on this path that we wrote it down and we dreamed up these ideas of what we thought our husbands would look like, what they would do, and what their names would be. If I remember correctly, my man would be an architect, he’d be tall with dark hair and blue eyes, and he’d be named Brian.

I’ve yet to date a Brian, so perhaps that may still come true.

But as I sit here, past the age of my projected marriage, but not quite to the baby deadline– I realize how unprepared, how unready, how absoultely terrified I am of actually being married. I’ve never thought of myself as someone with commitment issues and I really don’t think I sincerely have them- but when I think of saying “Yes, Mr. Standing-in-Front-of-Me, on this alter on display to everyone I’ve ever known and complete strangers, I will spend the rest of my life with you. No matter what. I promise. Scout’s honor” – I feel like I’m going to be sick. And really, all I want to say is “Dearly Beloved….I’m afraid I don’t.”

However, that friend did end up getting married to a guy she loves, and is living in our hometown, moving up the ranks at her job, enjoying her new home and new puppy. We don’t talk very often, but I was happy to be part of her wedding before I moved and we stay in touch from time-to-time. I’m thrilled that she found someone who she knows is Mr. Right for her and she’s satisfied with her life, and sometimes, I wonder why I’m not ready for that.

This year alone, I’m invited to six weddings  and I hope to attend most of them, if not at least send something from the registry. And my very best friend from college, L, got engaged over Christmas and for the first time, I’ll serve as the coveted Maid of Honor. While I’m incredibly happy for all of my friends and admittedly stalk all of their photos – I sometimes can’t understand why there is such a rush to the alter. I mean, at 22, 23, and 24 – do we really even know ourselves yet? How can we marry someone else when we aren’t even sure of what is that we want for our lives in the first place? Or maybe I’m the late bloomer who missed the flight to marital cloud 9.

When I think of my weeks spent writing these blogs, going to work for the 9 to 6 grind, attending events and fancy parties, and happy hours with friends, I realize how selfish of a life I really have. Every dime I make is geared towards me (or secure in my savings account), every decision I make is based on what I want and what’s best for me, and my plans change as often as the subway schedules. I’d rather buy a new pair of shoes than to buy a gift for a man – even when Mr. Possibility and I were at our finest – and if I don’t feel like cleaning or washing or saving money from the week’s paycheck or working out, I don’t have anyone to answer to but myself.

And really, I love it.

I’ve spent all this time obsessing, worrying, wondering, hoping, praying, and dreaming for a man to walk into my life and be my end-all-be-all. For him to take away all of the negative baggage, the disappointments, and the trust issues I have from guys from the past. For him to “rescue” me from a single life that for the longest time, I absolutely abhorred. But now, for whatever reason, it is more appealing to me than the life I imagined as a 10-year-old playing make believe under my favorite Oak tree.

As a single woman (or really just any woman, relationship-oriented labels be damned) – I think we get so caught up in this portrayal of a wedding, of happily ever after, of the romantic illusions of until-the-end-of-time that we forget that marriage is serious stuff. It is a lifelong commitment. It is promising not only your body to one single person and your heart, but vowing that every decision you make from this point forward will be dependent on what another person thinks, feels, wants, and needs. While I’m hopeful that the man I ultimately marry will find me beautiful at 60-years-old, the reality is that when you decide upon forever walking down that aisle, everything, including the love, will get old. The flame will weather in the wind, it will come and it will go, and there will be moments where even though you love the person you’re married to – you may not like them very much.

And the same can really be said about the relationship you have with yourself. There are days where even though I’m working towards loving me-and-only-me, I feel bad about decisions I’ve made and I don’t like the person I see staring back at me in the mirror. Each and every choice I make, where it be to take the C train or the B train in the morning or what to eat for lunch or if I should be texting back a guy I’m intrigued by – affects my life. Maybe not in huge ways, but in ways nonetheless.

For me, at my age, at this point in my life, with my career just starting to blaze forward – I can say with full confidence that I’m not ready to be married. I’m not ready to have that feeling in my heart-of-hearts that tells me this is the guy for me. I may long for a compainion and I may be able to imagine having a exclusive boyfriend, but I know saying “I do” isn’t in my near future. I missed my projected marrying age, so now it’s up to me to decide what my second-chance age will be.  And that ring finger that I used to look at, picturing a rock on, looks awfully good naked and bare. While I’m sure my mother and currently-smitten friends will tell me “you’d change your mind if you met the right guy tomorrow” – I can say that right now – I truly, really, honestly, don’t want to be engaged.

And guess what? That’s really just fine by me. If that isn’t progress, I’m not sure what is.

PS: If you’re a fan of Confessions of a Love Addict and want to be part of a new page on the blog, email Lindsay or send her a Tweet.