I Want To Meet Someone

I want to meet someone.

Those five words lingered in my head, even as I tried to ignore that they were there. I distracted myself with thoughts of other things and by making to-do lists in my head. I pretended this desire wasn’t bubbling beneath me — but as I sat, overlooking the Hudson with Lucy fast-asleep in puppy dreamland in Riverside Park on Sunday — I couldn’t stop the message my heart sent to my mind.

I want to meet someone.

Though powerful and constant — it’s not a helpless feeling or a dissatisfied longing. It’s different than it was years ago. I don’t feel like something is missing or part of me is still void — I’m not lusting after every man I see or pulling strings and squinting my eyes to make it work with every dude who buys me dinner. I feel no rush and no pressure, no need to speed along a road that I’m not sure how to navigate yet. I don’t believe it’s impossible to find happiness and I do believe I’m meant for a long-term love– and still. Still – after (many) failed relationships, hundreds of blogs debating where I stand on love and loveless and loving, endless conversations with my ever-so patient friends– I still want it.

I still want to fall in love.

But the craving has changed. It’s not wistful and romantic (well, only a little). I’m not looking to be completed or rescued. I’m not hoping to make a married man out of a guy who doesn’t even like to date or is totally emotionally unavailable. I’m not making myself something I’m not so I can be granted the so-called coveted title of girlfriend.

Instead– I want to meet someone… like me?

Someone with a heart that often feels too big for his chest. Someone who can see the good — the possible — in every part of his life, and especially with me. With us. Someone who captivates me, pulls me close and lets me fly. I want to meet someone who accepts himself and does what he can to understand the world. Someone who likes to read and run, travel and learn — explore and make mistakes, dream and slow down. Someone who makes me want to be a better me and be part of a better we than he has before. I want to meet someone who knows how to love– who wants love— who may be afraid of it, but tries it anyway. Who knows how important it is. Someone who has goals for himself and plans he will break for the right thing, the right person, the right place – the right time. Someone who is happy with the someone and the something and the somewhere he is.

I want to meet someone who likes the way the city rests on Sundays and how it’s the perfect day to wake up late, make love and eat pancakes. Someone who wants a family just as much as they want an amazing, fulfilling career, and knows you’ll never be able to be perfect at either. I want to meet who thinks about his future further than Saturday night and deeper than one night stands and tequila shots in Murray Hill. Someone who wants to try new things but also likes to be a regular at places he can’t and won’t stop going to. Someone who knows how to kiss without being rough and knows that love isn’t always enough– but it’s always worth whatever it brings or makes you learn.

I want to meet someone who challenges me and yet, makes me feel comfortable in my running clothes, without any makeup, without any hesitations. Someone who wants to know what I know, who wants to see the town I grew up in. Who can’t wait to share a beer with my dad or go on a walk with my mom. Someone who comes from a place I admire and has a laugh I long to hear. Touch I want to feel. I want to meet someone who is strong enough to stand next to me and sweet enough to let me fall into him when I need it. Or even when I don’t, but want it. Someone who remembers the things I say and can hear the things I don’t, someone who will be there today, tomorrow – always. I want to meet someone who wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here, with me. (And Lucy.)

I want to meet someone.

Someone out there in this big city, living on some street I’ve crossed a million times, taking some train at the same time, thinking about when he would meet… someone like me.

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A Glass of Perspective

There are a few stages in the mourning period following the end of a relationship that are so emotionally difficult, we all swear we’ll never fall in love again. Of course, we all eventually do — but at the time, it seems inhumane to experience such traumatic ups and downs when we still have the aftertaste of a happiness that was, once upon a not-so-long time ago.

I’m attempting not to blame my current grief on myself or the fact that it’s incredibly normal to experience the longing, but rather on outside factors that can alter someone’s rational mindset. In fact, I think I’ll call them “Things That Make You Want to Call Your Ex to Come Over and Keep You Warm or Do Other Things That I Shouldn’t Mention in My Blog.” (Short title to come later).

1- The transition from hot weather to chilly weather= it’s colder, snuggling is desired.

2- The onset of a nasty flu due to a last-minute decision to get my first ever flu shot= I’m curled up in blankets drowning myself in chicken soup that’s not even half as good as my dad’s.

3- The tactful persuasion of my friends to go out and drink away my woes= alcohol’s even more persuasive ways of making me want to reply to text messages, emails or phone calls that I know I should definitely ignore.

4- The indescribable feeling of being so satisfied with your job that the days go by so quickly, you can barely believe it = such joy is often expressed to the person you love, and then suddenly, because of your decision, they aren’t there anymore. Or if they are, you know you can’t take advantage of that lack luster connection.

Sure, I’ve felt all of these things before in some shape, form or fashion. I know that before I can feel completely like myself again and let go of the idea of what I thought I’d found with Mr. P, I have to feel all of the heartbreak. I have to let those dreams die in the slow, painful and wrenching way that they always seem to do. I have to remove those lovely rose-colored glasses I’ve sported foolishly for the last several months, and not only face who Mr. P really is, but who I am without those specs. I have to be willing to cut communication and my losses, so I can try to see all the lessons I gained from the relationship. And before there can be wisdom, there’s always a bit of whining and a few nights of sending emails I instantly regret the next morning.

I woke up today with a cloudy head and tired eyes, and out of habit, I turned to greet Mr. P’s warm body. When I rolled over, I nearly fell off the bed (getting used to the whole middle region still), and realized I was alone. His photo isn’t by my bed, his backpack isn’t in the corner of my room, and he doesn’t have a towel here anymore. There are no sneakers by my bed, no toothbrush by my sink, and his number isn’t the last one I’ve called. There isn’t anything new for me to analyze or something for me to worry about in terms of us because whatever was us, is now over. There isn’t anything to feel guilty about and there wasn’t a bridge that was burned, just my pride and my spirit were bruised in the process. Along with a sometimes overshadowing sadness that floods over me on mornings like this one.

My mood continued to be melancholy, despite my attempts to cheer myself up with pumpkin pancakes and two cups of coffee. For the first time in while, I allowed myself to have those “Remember when?” thoughts. My mind chronicled the good times while carefully omitting the bad chapters that most of the time, outweighed the splendor. My memory served me wrong and highlighted those moments where I really felt like I was falling in love and those weekends where we spent endless hours talking and caressing, forgetting that we had any responsibilities at all. My senses started detecting things that remind me of him — from New York landmarks to Groupon deals that he would have enjoyed and funny emails I’d like to forward him. My heart continued to ache, even after treating myself to soup I couldn’t taste and walking around the office for a bit to give myself some breathing room…well, from my own thoughts. I worked incredibly hard to try to erase the negativity I was engaging in, but my headache just continued to get worse.

That’s when numbers 1, 2 and 4 come into full effect, as I cursed myself for not bringing my daytime medicine. I was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe through my nose, so I started inhaling slowly through my mouth, making me sound incredibly odd when I answered the phone. I could have taken a quick elevator ride to buy some meds, but I was comfortable and more content, apparently, to just suffer through the sniffles. While stifling my coughs, someone from the mailroom stopped by my desk with a package, which I signed and thanked her for, and went right back to work.

An hour later when I decided I absolutely had to get some water or I would pass out, I kicked the package with my foot. After shooting the bag a dirty look, I opened it up and found a blessing I didn’t even ask for: orange juice.

Naturally, my first thought went to Mr. P — wondering if he had remembered my addiction to the juice and sent it to me as some sort of grand gesture. I quickly realized it was simply a PR company promoting a new blend, and while I was a tad disappointed, I was more highly surprised and entertained. Here I was, sitting around missing a man who couldn’t give me the love I deserved and needed, and the universe delivers something to brighten my day, without even the slightest request from me.

I smiled and poured myself a glass, happy to have something that always seems to make me feel better. It won’t keep me warm at night, it isn’t alcoholic and it probably won’t help my career, but it gave me something I needed more than vitamin C: perspective.

Sometimes it’s those things you don’t ask for or those things that you don’t even know you need that you actually do. Oddly enough, orange juice was just what I needed, even if I thought I needed something (or someone) else instead. After all, pouring myself a glass of tangy perspective is much better than pouring myself back into the past.

A Single Soulmate?

I’ve never really liked the word soulmate.

Some may claim it’s because I haven’t met mine but I would argue that there is no such thing. A soulmate, by definition, is someone who is perfectly, identically, and spiritually aligned with your soul. Your everything because something you share, sparks fly the second you lay eyes on one another, and your interests, you values, your ideas are all in sync. If they are not matching, they at least compliment one another, and they fit the space that was never filled before.

Oh and of course, you can only have one. Soulmates don’t come in packs of 4 for a better-bang-for-your-buck deal and you can’t get a month-by-month subscription that you can cancel for a small fee. Nope, you only get one shot, one make-it-or-break-it decision, and you only have one individual who gets this special title.

And, frankly, that’s pretty limiting.

Over the weekend, I had a few friends in town – one I’ve known for over five years through the good, the bad, and all of it, and one who is the founder of a magazine that I’ve worked for since my sophomore year of college, but I had never actually met her in person until this weekend.

Both of these ladies I consider my soulmates. Along with a handful of other people, including old boyfriends and guys I dated (or made out with) for barely six weeks. And my mom. The list goes on-and-on –and I’ve always believed a person gets more than one soulmate in a lifetime.

Somehow seeing my old friend and meeting this new friend, who are both so full of beauty, integrity, wisdom, and vivid sincerity, solidified my thoughts towards soulmates (which, by the way, is taken from American writer, Richard Bach): a soulmate is the one who makes life come to life.

And the people who light up your life –they include more than a romantic interest. They include more than someone we go to bed with and more than someone we wonder how their last name will fit with our first.

You may not feel butterflies with a best friend, but you’ll feel that feeling –the incredible, incomparable notion that something is just right. That this person was meant to come into your life, meant to teach you something, and meant to be part of your happiness.

C and I were sitting across the table at this lovely restaurant, sipping champagne and wine, and catching up on years’ worth of stories and memories –and something just clicked. Deep inside of me, I felt like the stars had aligned, and this woman was sent to me to guide me, mentor me, and advise me. And of course, for me to listen to as well. Even though we had never had cocktails, as we were then, we had shared so many delicate and private details about our lives and struggles –and more often than not, we both knew exactly what to say to one another to ease the pain.

And then, there was my friend, R, who is a few years younger than me, but ten times stronger. We walked, arm-in-arm, with a few beers lagging behind us, as the chilly city fall air blowing against us, and something else clicked. I had been talking, analyzing, dreaming, doodling, and writing about living in Manhattan ever since I’ve known this girl. She gave me a sweatshirt and mints that said “New York” on them when I graduated from high school, created countless mixed CDs about city-living, made me posters, and given me encouragement when nothing else seemed to be a fix. And here she was, walking with me on our way to Columbus Circle to catch the train that would take her to my NYC apartment. It’s like again, the universe decided to lend a hand and put some pieces together.

I couldn’t imagine my life without either of these women. And they do make my life come alive. Just like my mother does. Just like my puppy Suzie, for that matter.

So what’s this talk about a soulmate by happily-ever-after definition? Why are we so hung up on finding that one person, when we can have several? Surrender those thoughts of a singular soulmate – and let those lovely ladies you adore so much to light up your life.

(To be overly cliché, isn’t it Carrie from Sex & the City (yes, I love this show, total confession that I will never try to hide) –who says “our girlfriends are our soulmates and guys are just who we have fun with.”)