Tag Archives: fate

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When Time Turns the Tables

After the serendipitous meeting with Mr. Fire a few weeks before I graduated, where he confirmed my existence actually did mean something to him, he told me he’d let me know when he was in New York. He knew I’d be there and if he could help it, so would he.

Several years later, it looks like he finally made the move. Or at least for a job interview, that is.

Though it has been quite some time since I’ve laid eyes on the dude and I’m not interested in sprouting any new chapters with him – as I headed toward sushi for two on Wednesday, my mind couldn’t help but race.

After all, this was an evening, a moment, an opportunity I had dreamt of since the day he ended things far quicker than I thought he would. Following the late-Spring breakup in our college’s commons, I collapsed into my bed, equal parts shocked and desperately sad. A few hours later, with my puffy face and tired eyes and spirit, my roommate tried to console me, and though I’m pretty sure we both knew there was no magic phrase or surprising sentence that could alleviate my tears, something she said inspired me to move forward with a little hope: “It doesn’t seem like you guys finished anything. There are all these questions – he’s gotta have them too. I promise you, years from now, you’ll get the answers and you’ll see him again. By then, you’ll probably be happy and won’t care.”

I disagreed in that moment – how could I ever care less than I did then? How would this feeling ever leave or lessen? But maybe, if we were meant to cross paths again – say on Park Avenue South – it’d all make sense. Perhaps he felt just as broken as I did.

Come to find out, we both coined each other as the “one who got away” or the guy/gal who we’ll always wonder what could have been or what we should have experienced, but were too young to take a shot at. Since the split, we’ve never managed to be single at the same time. There’s always been someone else in the mix, another component to complicate any prospect of attempting to finish what we started or give another round to cards we laid many years ago. And up until that night, a part of me, even if it was just the tiniest sliver of silver-lining I had– I thought maybe, we’d end up together. That while I can’t be convinced I believe in fate in its indefinite definition, I do have faith in time.

And my love, my darling, time can do a gal many wonderful splendors in terms of love.

Walking to meet Mr. Fire, heels and lace-mini prepared to stun – I thought how my roommate was right. Here I was, living in the place I knew I’d end up, strutting toward my past, and other than a few butterflies, I was calm. And while I think there will always be questions left unanswered, love left unfinished, and ends left untied – it didn’t matter too much.

Because time, in its unpredictable ways, took me from lusting after this idealistic notion that Mr. Fire and I were destined, to realizing I didn’t want him anymore. In the seasons that had cycled, the tides that turned, and the feet that landed me in this city – I had changed.

And he hadn’t.

Sitting across from him, listening to him ramble and flush a sweet color of pink – I remembered the facial expressions I had adored, the gestures, and the stories I had fallen for. I still found him incredibly attractive – but had he always had that deep Southern accent that I was lucky enough to escape (Thanks Dad, from New Jersey)? I still found myself laughing at his comics, but that intelligent, witty conversation that I value in a man – does he have that? And yes, he was tall, but that stagger, that thirst to drink more than necessary – will he ever outgrow those silly habits?

Perhaps time can divide lovers for years and then bring them back together in some sort of romantic-comedy approved manner – but it also can make you see how wrong someone is for you. How while you loved them – or at least the idea of what they could be – when people grow, either together or separated, they end up in different versions of destiny than what they originally hoped. And perhaps, that ending is better than the happy one we once planned for ourselves.

Even if he was – or maybe always will be – the one who slipped through my fingers and pushed away the love I was willing to give him. Maybe the ones who do leave before we expect them too, were always meant to walk before closure could be granted, before reasoning and discussions could be completed. In some sort of twisted hand of Father Time, they are the ones who make us realize down the road, that what we think will happen, what we hope will come to be, who the people we can’t imagine living without – aren’t always what’s best for us. Or at least the us we become in this continuous progression we call life.

Sometimes, time makes you see that you love the you you’ve become more than the man who was. Or the we that was supposed to be. That while minutes or hours or days or even years may pass by so slowly -all that was, all that is, and all that will be, will work itself out, somehow, someday, along the way.

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The Prize of Simplicity

After an awful day, when my whipped crème melted too quickly off the fully-fat, fully-half-and-half, hot chocolate I treated myself to. After Nemo and his mom were separated in the deep blue sea. After I had sex for the first time. After I received the phone call offering me my very first job. After I was romanced in some simple, non-monumental way by the city. After I couldn’t, for the life of me, find the single piece of paper I needed with an insignificant note and couldn’t live without.

I cried.

I’ve always been a crier and I’ve never had an issue making my heart visible for the entire world (and web) to see. I cry when I’m thankful, when I’m happy, when I’m nervous, when I’m upset, when I’m depressed, when I’m furious, when I’m peaceful, and probably sometimes when I’m just bored.

And when I’ve cried for the first time with a man I’m seeing or interested in, it is always one of those incredibly sweet and meaningful moments where I allow myself to be vulnerable. I’m not sure why this indicates a new level of seriousness in relationships, considering just by the nature of who I am, he’d eventually see me cry at some point. Maybe just by walking through the park when the breeze hits me the right way, to be completely honest.

Nevertheless, I’ve often measured the validity of a relationship based on how emotional I am toward or around the dude in question. If I couldn’t stand the thought of losing him, if imagining him never calling me again gave me anxiety, if I cried while we made love or if things he wrote to me brought tears to my eyes – then I knew he was special. I knew he was different. I knew we, whatever we were or never came to be, was destined in some way.

However -if I didn’t cry, if we didn’t have dramatics and break-ups and make-ups, if the sex wasn’t so passionate I wanted to get lost in it – then I didn’t see the value in the relationship. I mean, if it wasn’t difficult, didn’t that mean it was lacking?

A relationship isn’t supposed to be easy, right? It’s supposed to be one of those things you work hard at, you earn, you fight for, and then when you win this person, you realize the ups and the downs were worth it.

The older I get, things like lust and connection are not becoming less important – I have concluded I will always need to have a man who has fire – but they are not my utmost priority in a partner. It isn’t that I don’t want to be a beautiful mess around someone, but after so many messy relationships and endings, I’d rather be with someone who isn’t all that complicated. Sure, I’ll always have my own intricacies and obviously, be a crier, but when I long for love, I realize I’m yearning for simplicity.

Perhaps hot and cold, yes’s and no’s, in a relationship and out of it, running away to be chased after, and pushing each other to the limits makes for an interesting course of events – but just because something is dramatic, it doesn’t mean it’s passionate.

It’s not a lie that a relationship, no matter how easily you get along, will require work and dedication to make it last the long haul, but if it is more confusing than it is comfortable, then what’s the point? I’d rather be single than spend hours trying to decipher the meaning between text message lines and always wonder if the man I love will leave, as he has dozens of times before.

When I eventually decide to hand in my single gal title for a girlfriend one, I will be at a point where I’m confident in myself and not looking to validate myself through a relationship or by the amount of tears I’ve poured over someone.  It will be when I stop equating happiness by how much pain I can endure.

It will be when I stop seeing a relationship and love as a project, but rather as a prize.

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Unplanning The Plan

Without my Outlook and Google calendars and my nifty black notebook, I’d be a walking disaster, wandering aimlessly through the streets of Manhattan. Though I thrive on spontaneity, my life is often ruled by plans and endless to-do lists.

Now, don’t get me wrong – I’ve been able to be successful because I’m a type-A, structured, organized, and tenacious worker who doesn’t give up. But the reason I’m happy in what I do is because not only do I love to write and edit,  but it is my passion and I go after it with an unstoppable determination to do more. Sometimes, to be a force to be reckoned with, you have to make sure your bases are covered with reminders and planned events that sometimes take away a little fun.

But maybe having everything to-a-t isn’t always the best idea.

I can’t tell you what I’ll be doing this time next year (or really even what I want to be doing), but I have hopes and ideas for the way I’d like to go. I’m powerless to determining when I’ll reach the point in my career I ultimately want to be (though I’m not sure if I’ll ever be fully satisfied), or to when I’ll have that lovely brownstone in the Village, and the man and puppy to go along with it. In the back of my mind, though I’m not on deadline and in a rush, I have a tentative schedule for how I see things panning out.

But somewhere, in the middle of all of these plans, all of this structure, all of these progressions in my career, and all of these ideas of what will define my life – something happened.

My plans changed. And actually, quite recently.

A few days ago, while catching the train back to my apartment after a lovely, brisk day in the city drinking coffee and giggling with a gal friend, I looked up and saw a star shining brighter than the rest right above the city tops.

And as if the answer I’ve been praying for all of these years, all of these sleepless nights spent worrying and praying for a future I couldn’t see, came upon me. It was one of those moments where you feel like time stops, where you’re moving in slow motion, and everything seems noiseless to the point you can literally hear your own heartbeat. And even with people surrounding me, passing me, and bumping into me on the corner of Fifth and 42nd – I could hear the voice of peace coming from a far distance, saying:

All is as it should be; all will be as it should.

Maybe I was exhausted from a busy weekend or the cold was infiltrating parts of my brain – but I’d place my hand upon my heart and swear I heard these words clearly and quite beautifully. And in that instance, I felt this incredible urge to just release. To let go of everything I’d held onto, the plans, the frustrations from when my build wasn’t true to the blueprint I’d outlined. I heaved a sigh of relief, out of nowhere, and for once, in a very long time, had the feeling that I was right where I was supposed to be.

I’m not sure if men come in and ruin our plans or we allow relationships to define our plans, but I do know that sometimes not having a plan, is the best plan of all. Though my relationship (or non-relationship) with Mr. Possibility is far from perfect and quite easily could deteriorate very quickly, there have been some unexpected benefits of going into the dating scene without planning ahead. I used to figure out all there was to know about someone by way of Mr. Google’s endless source of knowledge, before even really giving them a chance to prove who they were in person. And if I didn’t automatically, within the first ten minutes of the date, feel that click that I knew was part of the plan of finding Mr. Right – I’d become uninterested. And of course, disappointed that I had wasted another date, when I should be working on my master plan.

It took until the start of this journey to realize…I was.

The way I approached Mr. Possibility was with an incredibly open perspective – and not only just in the bedroom. Instead of judging, disqualifying, or looking for a checklist – I just let go. I stopped insisting on a plan and I let whatever it was (and whatever it will be) just happen. And because I had no plan, somehow, my emotions haven’t been as closely tied as they have in previous relationships. Not having a plan means releasing a pressure that isn’t necessary from day one. Not placing rules or expectations when you don’t know someone, just to make them fit into a corner you want them in, not only suffocates the lust, but also doesn’t allow you to keep your options open too.

Because without set timelines and to-do lists, and the urgency that seems to come with both of those, there comes the opportunity to allow other things, other people, other adventures, to cross our path. I can’t say how long this peaceful, easy feeling will last – I’ve always been a true organizer of anything and everything – but for the time being, I’m rejoicing in liberation.

I mean, after all, I can’t plan to keep this calm, cool, trusting, lovely, and collected feeling around forever. Or can I?

P.S. Confessions of a Love Addict is making Valentine’s Day more about the single ladies and less about flowers that’ll die in a day. Submit your Valentine here.

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When You Just Know

When Romeo saw Juliet. When Harry met Sally. When Carrie bumped into Mr. Big. When Lancelot sought Guinevere. When John Lennon admired Yoko’s art. When Minnie was created to be next to Mickey. When my dad laid eyes on my mom across a smoky bar in the 1980s.

Of the great love stories I know and admire, they all began because one element of the pair just knew. Regardless if they had actually met them or not, brushed up against their lips, touched their hand, or heard the sweet rhyme of their voice – they still had an inkling that inclined them to believe that this person, this stranger – was the person meant for them.

There were no doubts – and if any thoughts begged questions, they were quickly shot down by reassuring love. Something in them, something that no one can ever put into words or describe eloquently – made them realize that this was their person, their love, their partner, that missing element and need that had to be fulfilled to find romantic happiness.

Maybe this is the question coming from every solo-lady who ever walked the face of the Earth, while she was searching for self-love and that love – but, how do you know? (Refrain from singing the song from Enchanted, please).

And of course, me being me, it is the question that inadvertently came up in conversation last night.

My mother’s childhood best friend and her husband were over to visit and we all sat around the kitchen table, playing cards, drinking wine, and catching up about our respective lives. They asked about my adventures in the city, my magazine career that’s starting to boom, this blog that’s gaining recognition, and how I was faring becoming a Northerner. They were both incredibly supportive and complimentary, and even though they aren’t part of the North Carolina crew who do not understand why I’m still unwed – they of course wanted to know about my love life.

I briefly touched upon Mr. Possibility and followed up by saying: “But it just isn’t a priority right now – I’m incredibly more focused on other things. If it comes, then I will welcome it, but if it doesn’t, I’m really learning to be fine on my own.” They admired my independence and self-assurance, but then, the man of the couple said “But when it does come along – you know it will knock you off of your socks.”

I replied with, “Oh, I’m sure it will but…” as the Mrs. interrupted me to reaffirm, “It will.  It will knock you off your socks. And you’ll be scared, but it will feel right. You will just know.” I paused, tucked my hair behind my ear, looked down to gain some strength, took a breath and a sip of wine – and said, “But how is it that you just know? What is it that you just know?”

They both grinned, he placed his hand on her knee, she patted his grasp, and he said: “Something just feels so right. Unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You know you can’t lose it – but unlike with everyone else you’ve dated in the past – you know you won’t. You have the trust that they will just stay.”

I was dumbfounded.

So when we meet Mr or Mrs Right – the fear of vulnerability becomes obsolete? We will have the ability, the freedom, the opportunity to finally lay our guard to rest, dismantle the barricade protecting our most valuable asset – our heart – and allow this incomparable person into our most intimate parts? And we become convinced we’ve never had our heart swell in such a way, our insides be as gooey, or our mind so full of images of not what we hope tomorrow will be, but what we know will be our destiny?

That sounds too much like a fairytale and so little like reality. I mean, is this really how it works in the real world of love? Have I just been out of practice or have I cleverly avoided actually walking into this no-single-woman’s land of finding true, unconditional, completely intertwining loving, bliss?

Or as every engaged or happily married couple (and Michael Bublé, for the matter) will tell me – you just haven’t met him yet. Or if I have, I don’t realize it (though for the record, that contradicts the “you just know” sentiment). And when I do – all of my questioning will cease and all will be well in my soul.

I guess, maybe, they could be right – but before we just know about love, don’t we just know about other things?

In this journey to self-love and truly by supporting who I am without relying on the word or the encouragement of another person – I have found that there are many things that I do just know. I know what I want – both in my career and in love. I know I was meant to write this blog – both for my own sanity and for the sanity of others. I know I had to meet and fall for each and every Mr that’s been in and out of my life. I know that moving to New York City was a transition that was designed by the universe in divine alignment. I just know that my beautiful girlfriends who are there for me through the thick and the thin – give me a peace of mind and security that will always be needed in my life.

I also just know that in due time, I will meet that Mr. Right and he won’t just be a possibility, he won’t be unavailable, he won’t just based on fire or ideas, he won’t be a fling or just my buddy – he will be that someone who is just different.

But even more than knowing I will find my match – I know that in the meantime, I just know myself, and that’s the most important information anyone can ever discover.

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The Battle of Belief

The beauty of a new life. New York’s ability to give me a glimpse of hope in the most unusual places.  The comfort of my father’s chicken noodle soup. The smell of my mom’s hair when she gives me a heart-to-heart hug. The lines on my best friend’s face when she smiles. My puppy’s ever-lasting and faithful playful spirit. The peacefulness of the first leaf falling in Autumn, first bloom in Spring, first tiny fluttering flake in winter, and the first warm ray from the summer sky. The feeling of reaching something you thought was unattainable.

There are many, many things I believe in.

And in myself, I also believe in many truths. I believe I was born to be a writer. I believe I am brave, diligent, and strong. I believe in the power of my dreams and my power to turn my dreams into realities. I believe I am capable of doing anything I put my mind to –physically or emotionally. I believe I am blessed in so many different ways. I believe I can turn even tiny spaces into homes and I believe I was given the heart of a humanitarian.

Step 2 is about belief. I have to believe all negativity and fears of being single forever or being hard on myself can be lifted away. I have to believe that something higher than me can lighten my load and ease my worries.

I have to believe.  And I don’t.

This isn’t to say I will always feel this way –but Step 2 is going slower and is full of more difficulty than Step 1. I get to a point where I start to feel like everything will change, that I will grow and mature, and not let self-defeating thoughts and fears get to me. I’ll have a day where I feel completely secure with just being me-and-only-me, and then the next day, I see something that makes me lonely…and the sense of longing is right back where it was –the pit of my heart rocking my everything.

How do I make myself have that sincere feeling of complete trust all the time? Why can’t I just believe that a higher being can just take all of this away? Is a feeling of contentment something that’s not constant? Is it always just going to come and go, make me hopeful and then scared, together and then messy?

Belief in something out of our hands. Why is that so much more difficult than things we see, things we touch, things we’ve experienced to be true and real? Why is belief in something that is not proven, not guaranteed, not a matter of fate –so difficult to retain?

Why is the constant battle between faith and fear a fight we have to go through? Why can’t we just believe that all that is meant to be, all that’s meant to happen, all that we’re meant to be part of, feel, and endure –will just happen.

Why can’t we just let the control go? Why can’t I believe?