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When Venus and Mars Meet on Earth

I’ve tried not to make general assumptions about men or about women in this blog.

I feel like each of the sexes deserve as much credit as the other one and are about as different as North Carolina and New York City. Men deal with issues that women will never be able to wrap their head around and vice versa. I’m under the belief that unless you have sincerely walked a mile in someone’s shoes (where it be high heels or dress shoes or no shoes at all) – you can’t really say with certainty how it feels to be someone else. While there is a sincere contrast, and sometimes I’d like to pull my hair out and bang my head up against a wall to understand what a man is thinking – men are welcome in my clubhouse, and though some have cooties, most are at least tolerable to be around.

However, even though I recognize there are innate distinctions between the dudes and dudettes – I will admit that going into this journey, I was under the impression that it was only women who dealt with my self-proscribed love addiction.

I was convinced it was a woman’s issue to freak out not only about the duration between text messages, the unanswered and unreturned phone calls or dating a man who seems to be allergic to commitment- but also get upset and worried about the fact that, we are, in fact, freaking out. Because women aren’t really supposed to lose their cool – or at least in front of the guy they are dating or hoping to be exclusive with, right?

Furthermore, I was also under the assumption that it was just women who fed or played into the nagging voices in our head that constantly ask annoying and self-defeating questions like “Is he really out there?” “Am I wasting my time with Mr. Not Right?” “Should I go back to him, even though I don’t really think he is it?” or “Are all men really just jackasses?”

And while I’ve known and dated men who want families and marriages one day, I was even more confident in my belief that women are the ones who spend time analyzing until-death-do-we-part, and men spend time mourning until-random-sex-do-we-part.

I realize these notions are sexist and shed a very unpleasant light upon all of the men of the world, even when I know in my heart that there are great guys out there who often get overlooked. But recently, as he usually does, Mr. Unavailable opened my eyes to a side of the male population that I didn’t know existed.

We were walking about in the city, laughing and sharing stories, when we got on the topic of love. To be honest, it is something we talk about frequently since the whole foundation of our friendship is the result of diviluging some personal and recent heartbreaks with one another. Nevertheless, on this particular day he discussed a guy in his hometown who was once a successful banker in the city, then moved back to Queens, and does something-or-another for the chamber of something. He is also 40-plus, never been married, and childless.

After Mr. Unavailable described this man to me, he quickly shot back with “I just hope I’m not that guy one day.”

In the conversation itself, I of course eased his fears and promised him he would never end up without a Mrs. or a bulky resume and a house full of kids. While I was sincere when I said that to him, in the back of my mind, I was recovering from a state of shock. Here is this guy who is absolutely wonderful in so many ways with an incredibly bright future ahead of him, and he’s worried about finding a lady to love, and to love him in return?

Is he out of his mind? There is no reason under the sun that I would ever picture this man alone in the long-run. Sure he’s banged up and bruised and moving forward – but no one stays knocked down forever. And especially not someone who has not only drive and talent, but a kind soul and a positive aura. Not to mention, good looks and an independent, adventurous spirit.

As he’s talking about something else and I’m effectively getting lost in my own thoughts, I realize – wait, a second: didn’t I just describe myself? I have all of those alluring qualities and things going for me. I’m not a hopeless case, nor am I the only one, apparently, who has doubts and intense fears about happily ever after. (Though I’m still question what exactly is the before, the after refers to, but I digress)

Sure, I’ve heard all of my girlfriends at different stages in their lives and even now, share all of their apprehensions about love, but there was something different (and rather refreshing) about hearing it from a man. Because while Mr. Unavailable is a special person, I know there have to be other guys in this world and in this city who share some of his same anxieties and perplexities. And if that’s the case, maybe there is some hope, right?

Man or woman, gay or straight, married or single – we all just want love. And we want to never question if we’ll find it in this vast universe and endless sea of fish to bait, but just have the confidence that when the time and person is just-right, it will all fall into place.

So maybe, instead of placing labels on the emotional side of a relationship that dictate what’s a man’s responsibility and what’s a woman’s to lose sleep over, why don’t we come from the same understanding? Maybe women are from Venus and men are from Mars, but can’t we just meet on Earth and give each other love?

 

 

 

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All Because of Me

It determines if a response is “Yes” or “No”. It is why people place their personal investments into stocks and shares they have no idea if they will ever make their money back or not. It is responsible for both marriages and divorces, depending on when it comes and when it leaves. It is why lovers love, strangers shy from other strangers, and people of every religion rely on something they’ve never touched or seen. In not only it’s most fragile and purest form, but also in it’s strongest and utterly dependable articulation, it has enough power to bring the most independent of women and the most profoundly confident of men…to their knees.

It is trust. And simply put, it is what makes the world spin and crash on its axis.

So much of life is dependent on the notion of trust and whether or not it is broken or in tact. If we’re confident in whatever needs our faith, then all is well with our lives, but if a crack disrupts that rhythm of our trusting nature – nothing short of hell breaks loose. This isn’t just true for relationships, but in friendships, families, traveling, finances, religious affiliations, and so much more.

In my history, my trust in others has been questionable to say the least, and it has been shattered more times than I’d like to count. I have felt and believed in a love that I thought would never leave…and then watched it walk away without any consideration to stop. I have had faith that a job I thought was so perfect for me would certainaly call me back…and then heard the words “we went with someone else” on the other line. I have thought that the man I trusted more than any other in his species would always be there for me…and then I’ve watched him crumble under forces larger than I could put into words.

But of all the disappointments I’ve experienced, the most difficult and the most painful of shortcomings have resulted from losing trust in myself. Because when you turn your back on yourself, you have no one to blame, no one to lose faith in, no one to support you, and no one to get angry at, other than your own reflection in the mirror. That feeling of failure and that degree of back-stabbing is something that seems near-impossible to repair and requires a high degree of prayer to change feeling intensely numb to even barely breathing again.

If I think about it, though, all of our most important recoveries and decisions, frankly, are about living on a prayer.

And praying is something I’ve done quite a lot in my lifetime. Regardless if it’s about the man that I’m falling so hard for and I beg the universe to protect my heart, or if I’m stepping on the plane, alone, to a place I adore without a job, without a place to live, or any real plan. Or about beating my best mile time or about getting home safely when Manhattan’s streets became darker and dangerous. Or just for a peace of mind, a miracle to heal my pride, and my step to get a little more kick in it.

But more than anything, I pray for the ability to rely not on someone or something or the heaven’s divinity and endless guiding light -but to trust in myself. Because with trust comes love, and if I’m attempting to reach self-love and faith in my capabilities and life, I must depend on who I am and what I can do. Without trusting myself, above all other people and things, how can I expect to commit to someone in the long term? If I can’t say “I believe” to myself, I can’t say “I do” to my Mr. Right.

Maybe it isn’t necessarily this journey or this blog, but possibly just living in New York that’s made me so much more independent and reliant on myself as an individual. Sure, there are days when I’ve lost more than I’ve gained, given more than I’ve taken back, and loved more than I’ll ever be loved in return – but there is still nothing, to date, that compares to the sound of my heels clicking against the pavement when I walk home each night.

When I leave the office that pays me enough to stay, finish writing a blog that’ll brighten someone’s day across the world, open a door for a person I’ll never see again, and unlock the entrance to the home I’ve made for myself – I feel that faith grow a little stronger. And though I will stomp all over it at times and sometimes doubt my talent and gumption – all I have to do to get a little strength is open my eyes and look at what I have. Because the fact that I live in this city, can call myself an actual writer, can smile at the life I’ve created is all due to a single belief.

And that belief is just in myself. All of this, all that I have, all that I love, all that I’ve done is not due to a man, due to an address, due to a job title, but every single bit of it is all because of me.

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A Different Kind of a Diamond

As I’ve said before, I’ve been a little freaked out by this whole idea of marriage.

I won’t claim that I’m unattracted to or uninterested in the concept (because that would be a blanant lie), but I will say that at this exact point in my life and with what I’m doing – I find it incredibly difficult to believe I’m anywhere close to exchanging vows.

That being said and admitted with brutal honesty and a level-headed mindset…I have, in many instances in the past, grown insanely jealous of my friends who are engaged or newly married. Even though I’m not dating someone or in love with a man or really pursuing a diamond on my left hand – there is this inevitable sigh that’s the result of seeing a new person on Facebook or in my group of friends who is on the edge of promising forever.

As I’ve said before, I will spend hours beyond hours stalking engagement and marriage photos, blogs, and websites. Perhaps even a tad more creepy, I read the “Wedding & Celebrations” section of The NYTimes as much as I read the media, travel, and food & dining columns. Because I’m attempting to be as straightforward as possible, I will hang my head and also admit that I’ve browsed wedding dresses, rings, venues, and a wedding gift for my still-to-be-determined groom.

Possibly due to this unhealthy and slightly ridiculous obsession with weddings and lifelong true love – something inside of me grows to a scary level of envy when I see women, my age (or younger or older, really), walking down the aisle or smooching their fiancée. Logically, I know I don’t want to be with my husband right now, but emotionally, a tiny (or rather large) piece of me fears he doesn’t exist.

And that anxiety always won over my happiness for other people… Until recently when one of my dearest friends, N (and a frequent editor of this blog), almost got engaged. Okay – so she will be getting a very beautiful ring that she won from a contest soon and will be proposed to shortly- we just don’t know when. We only know this lovely ring belongs to her.

When I found out about her grand prize, I was at work, elbows-deep into editing articles to go to press next week, and to distract myself I clicked on Facebook and saw the announcement. As soon as I read her and her almost-husband’s names, my heart swelled.

But not in a psycho-jealous way. Rather, in a “Oh my God! I’m so excited!!!! Wow!! She’s getting engaged! Oh!!!” I immediately got up from my desk and called her, and when she didn’t pick up, I sent her a slew of text messages and Gchat messages appropriately freaking out. In fact, as I shared in her excitement and peered through the many congratulatory comments she received, tears welled up in my eyes.

It occured to me, as I shouted in my office “Remember that girl you voted for? She won!” and everyone came rushing over to see – that I was geuniely happy for N.

I wasn’t envious of her wonderful prize or the fact that she truly has found someone who is made for her. I wasn’t upset that she’ s floating on a cloud she’s needed to rest on. I wasn’t sad that the lovey-dovey attention wasn’t on me and I wasn’t secretly cursing her for being so damn lucky.

No, I was actually planning what I would say at a speech at her wedding or what I could get her and her beau that would be sentimental and pay tribute to the love they share. While the fact that this happened to be the first time I felt this way towards a newly-almost-engaged friend may make me seem selfish, it was so refreshing to finally release that begrudging.

And for once, just relish in someone else’s magical alignment with the stars in terms of love. In someone else’s absolute joy in showing the whole world the wonders of a person they’ve decided to walk this life with. To celebrate the sweet divinity of two people deciding to take one of the biggest leaps of faith they could ever embark on.

I’m not under the illusion that marriage solves everything or that my so-called Mr. Perfect will erase every insecurity and issue I’ve ever dealt with – but I do want to meet him one day. And if I have already shaken hands or shared a kiss with him, I’d sure like to revisit those instances.

But for now – I’m A-okay helping N plan this beautiful wedding she will have and focus only on her and the day that she will shine more than she normally does. Because even if I’m curing my own love addiction and learning to love myself, there is no harm in loving a cherished friend and commending the love…and the luck, that found her.

After all, being jealous of N is not only unfair to her and untrue to our friendship, but also – what’s the point in being intimidated about a diamond that’s not meant for me? Isn’t my friend with all her perfect imperfections, brilliance, and amazing ability to crack even the hardest of cynics with her charm – a rare gem in herself? Maybe she (and all of my lovely ladies) are the different kind of diamonds that I’m meant to take with me today, and even after a rock lands on my finger.

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A Single Snowflake and a Single Girl

Yesterday morning, as I frantically hurried out of my apartment to catch the train that probably had already left, I stopped dead in my tracks as soon as my face hit the outside air.

It smelled cold.

Now, for some this distinctive scent doesn’t mean much, but for this Southern girl it brings back a whirlwind of loving, romantic memories and hopes. I’ve fallen in love in all different seasons, but there seems to be something unique about the days that transcend November through March.

While everything that nature bore is withering, something more inviting is always growing inside the buildings that protect us from all the conditions beyond the front door. People are gathered together around something – a fireplace, a Christmas tree, o’dourves and champagne, or a table. And regardless if it is literal warmth – there is something about winter that illuminates electricity. Somehow, when it’s cold outside, there is no better place to be than as close as possible to those you love.

In year’s past, I remember being in my one-bedroom, peering out to the falling snow, wondering when I would have the chance to be hand-in-hand with a man who adored me. I could imagine him, whoever he may be, with this passionate look in his eyes, smiling back at me as I picked up a handful of snow, ready to play with him, and instead, he knocks it out of my hand, wraps his arms around me and steals a kiss. And this Mr., in my dreams, will view me as the single most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and he will not be able to control his fervor to touch me, to be part of an essence that only belongs to me. And he would be thankful that we’re sharing the simplicity of snow, rosy-cheeks, and hot chocolate together.  Cheesy and completely idealistic? Absolutely. Desirable? Utterly.

Will it happen this season for me? Probably not. But for a reason unknown to me and possibly credited to this blog and journey – I’m okay with it. And not just okay, really, but happy and satisfied.

Like the seasons change, so much of life is an ever-cyclic transition. I’m going through so many firsts the longer I live here: from the first time I about died from the summer heat, to seeing Fall arrive in every brilliantly-colored leaf and wrap-sweater, to seeing trees light up and candy canes line the street corners.

Soon, I’ll feel the first flake fall from the New York City skyline–and for the longest time, I always dreamt of experiencing that moment, that silence that only comes with snow…with a man. But somehow, my feelings have changed. I’ve decided that if I’m not alone when the atmosphere breathes what I used to call “cotton from the clouds” – then the moment will be ruined.

Because as I’ve discovered being a single woman and learning to embrace the solitude that comes with that title – there are some instances where being alone can bring just as much magic (if not more) than being with someone else. And especially if that other person isn’t the person that you really do want to share such a cherished memory with. Sometimes, you’d rather just be a single girl with your single snowflake.

I have so much to do, so much to see, so many places to go, mistakes to make, books to read, articles to write, jobs to accept, plans to break, rules to dispose, and I can’t have every single little thing I’ve wanted in Manhattan within the first year I get here. If that was so, the city that never sleeps would lose its luster. If I can make it here so easily, where would the challenge and mystery be?

I look forward to a winter season that I don’t make lonely or depressing due to my singledom and I’m crossing fingers and toes that when I do see snow for the first time, I will get to be just in the company of myself. Does this mean that I’ll forget those wishes and dreams of romance on the ice or under the gray ambiance? Of course not.

When I see couples kissing in front of NYC landmarks that I’ve always idolized as inexcusably romantic in the winter like Rockefeller Center, Bryant Park, Fifth Avenue, Central Park, and so on – a small part of me still aches.

But instead of entertaining the longing, I’ve recently learned to dwell in the possibility.

In the opportunities that I’ve been able to take, the blessings that I’ve been lucky enough to experience, and the love that I’ve shared with some pretty incredible men. And without a doubt, the relationship I’m developing with me, myself, and I, and with this dream city that is finally my reality.

And one day, there will be a man who stands by my side in the sweltering days of summer, in the crispness of fall, and the blistering yet beautiful days of winter. Just because he isn’t here, I know my life isn’t to be put on hold. It isn’t to be spent lingering. I’m not to be a lady in waiting.

But a lady in the embracing, a lady who opens her eyes as wide as she opens her heart – to not only the snow and cold that’ll flush her face, but to the self-love that’s flourishing…and to the love who is surely on his way.

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Tempted By the Fruit of Moving Forward

One of my best friends, R is having a hard time getting over her ex-boyfriend. For the sake of this blog, we’ll call him Mr. Bail.

I was a big fan of Mr. Bail when R and him started dating. He was so incredibly in love with her, always supportive, and he broke her out of this protective shell she kept herself in. Generally speaking, even though he’s younger than me, he’s an attractive guy and most importantly, R was very happy and as long as she’s smiling that lovely grin of hers, I’m satisfied.

However, when R and Mr. Bail started running into complications and some terribly dramatic situations – he did what his name suggests: he bailed. It seemed like when the fantastic turned to the detrimental or difficult, instead of stepping up to the plate to face his (or their) problems, he tucked his tail and ran away. While it is never a stand-up choice to make, at the specific time he chose to be a coward, R was going through a time in her life that no woman should ever have to experience, especially at 19-years-old.

Though R has handled all of the many surprises and transitions with beautiful grace, because of the rollercoaster that’s defined her life for the past year-or-so, she’s had a tough time cutting the final chord from her relationship with Mr. Bail. She doesn’t want to be with the kid (and I use the word “kid” because of his lack of maturity) anymore and her romantic inclinations have declined, but she wants this settling peace of closure. And possibly, a friendship. Because we often rely on each other to handle our freak-outs (they get a little messy), she sent me a text yesterday that asked: “Will it take dating someone else to fully get over everything I went through with Mr. Bail?”

And without even thinking, I replied with: “Yes,” and gave her an example. Of course, because she’s just as inquisitive as I am (and I love her for it) – she said, “Why does it always take someone else? I want to be able to do it on my own.”

To release the most recent boyfriend who lingers in our minds and our hearts, no matter how hard we try, do we have to meet a new man to erase the after-taste of an ex?

My dad hasn’t really given me a lot of relationship advice other than “You’re so beautiful, so wonderful, so amazing, so incredible and there will be a perfect man who will be everything you ever needed. And he’ll have to ask my permission to marry you!” If you can’t tell, I’m the apple-of-his-eye, and he would say anything to bring a smile to my face. Since I started this blog (which he reads every single day) – I’ve had to correct and him and say, “Now, Dad, it isn’t about finding love from a man, but finding love for myself as a single woman!” He usually mumbles something that has the word “grandchildren” and “true love” and we move on to another topic.

However, one thing he has always said other than threatening to call the “mafia” on my ex-boyfriends, is: “To stop crying about one, you should find another.” To heal your heart, according to my pops, you just move onto another guy. When R texted me, I got to thinking about how I’ve honestly moved on from guy-to-guy in my dating history, and it occurred to me that I’ve been following my father’s advice…without even knowing.

When Mr. Curls and I broke up, it took until meeting Mr. Faithful to let go of him completely. When Mr. Faithful and I broke up it took Mr. Rebound for me to fully release his 3-year-old hold on me. And then when Mr. Rebound became well, just a rebound – it wasn’t until Mr. Fire that I stopped beating myself up for allowing Mr. Rebound to trick me. And then when the embers burnt out with Mr. Fire, Mr. Buddy went back to my friend, and Mr. Fling stopped flinging me up against walls – I met Mr. Idea. And I fell in love with him. If I’m honest, I still have feelings for him, and in some strange sort of way Mr. Unavailable is helping me to let of Mr. Idea, even though Mr. Unavailable is romantically unattainable.

Whew.

While it seems like they were right after another, my dating history is nearly 10 years long and even though I had so many wonderful travels, uncountable adventures, massive accomplishments, a few moves, and excelling health – at every point in my life, I have always been getting over or starting to fall for a guy. Of course, I’ve consumed ungodly amounts of Chardonay, danced with strangers at bars, downed Ben & Jerry’s, and obsessively cried and talked to my best friends to release the strings of love-gone-astray – but I never fully let go until I had a man to let me lean on him. Does moving to another dude help because all of those loving, initmiate moments that you once shared with another, are now replaced with someone new? Or because then you feel validated by capturing the interest and intrigue of a new man?

R proposed a very reasonable question that I never considered: How do we do it on our own? How do we get over someone without depending on another hand to hold, lips to touch, or body to graze? Without a rebound or the next-relationship?

Well, I don’t know. I admittedly haven’t done it.

I think though, it starts with taking a step back from emotions, from the heartache, from the projections of what I thought the love would be, and start looking at the relationship (and its demise) at face-value. Instead of turning moving on into a competition like I usually do (who meets someone new first? Who is smiley and unaffected first?) or spending time dwelling in the coulda-woulda, and looking for a new flame – why not focus on ourselves? Spend time alone. Do things solo. Take a trip without anyone else in tow. Stop looking for a man to feel the gap that another one left, and fill it up with admiration for yourself and your many beauties and gifts.

And practically speaking, think before leaping. Sure, as I’ve experienced, being tempted by the fruit of another can be a great tool to escape from pain – but it never really heals those wounds fully. The minute we are actually single in between the last guy and the guy who will be next – we’re left thinking of every boyfriend, lover, or jerk there ever was.

If we took that time to really figure ourselves out, and dare I say – love ourselves without thinking of the past or future companions, maybe we’d actually own that leading leading lady role in our own lives. Without all the drama and love triangles that come up. And we surely wouldn’t be that annoying supporting actress who jumps from heart to heart, bed to bed, never recovering from the one who was there before.

No, we’d just look at ourselves for all the scars and bruises we have, and realize that it is really just self-love and a precious thing called time, that helps us to mend…instead of the guy we’re going out with on Friday.