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Flirting With Fire

Growing up as a fireman’s daughter, I was taught to steer clear of many things. Open flames, matches, fireplaces, ovens, and campfires, along with anything flammable. My father warned that fire, when it runs wild and uncontrollably, can destroy all in its tailwind.

And in those worse case scenarios, where flames engulf people – it could leave their skin, their touch, their feelings…numb.

As a child, the reality that if I played with fire and couldn’t stop it from growing, then I’d run the risk of not being able to feel my fingers was terrifying. Or maybe my toes, if they got too close to our woodstove. Or my elbow, if I accidentally dipped it in boiling water. Though I was (and still am, really) fascinated with the beauty of orange embers circling the air, I was very cautious and careful with how closely I teased their enticing flames.

But then, as all children do, I grew up.

And instead of literal blazes, the fire that I not only flirted with, but ignited and kept alive, was more in the form of men. These men, who at times lit up my life, and then also extinguished my hopes – were a lot more difficult to resist than the fires I was attracted to a decade before.

Maybe I should have known better and listened to my father, but I ended up proving him right. Sometimes, when you get too close to dangerous warmth and it burns you, a part of your heart and a fragment of your soul, feels like it dies. There have been moments, weeks, months, and even years, if I’m honest – where I was convinced the connection I had with one man, would never be sparked again in another. That because I was burned, I had these scars, these wounds I was still licking – and my heart wasn’t capable of allowing someone else in. Or my body wasn’t ready to make magic with another guy, until the ashes from the previous one were lost in the breeze.

But to have that passion and the velocity that can only come from intensity, is it worth flirting with fire? Is it worth risking the numbness we have all felt and we all fear? Is there a reason they don’t offer “grown-up” fire safety classes?

My newest co-worker, H, is what most people would identify as firery. She is brazen, bold, and when she walks into the office, she makes it known. She sits behind me and throughout the day, I hear her sales calls where she makes jokes with clients, and I’m constantly giggling at her energy. She has a way of lighting up the room – even on a Monday, and that’s saying a lot.

Last week, this firecracker pranced in and declared that she was jealous. One of her male friends had introduced her to his new girlfriend at a benefit they were attending, and at the point where she was to reach for his gal’s hand, she found herself dumbstruck and for a reason she’s yet to determine, she felt the green envy monster creeping its way out. Now, maybe this means she has feelings for her friend that she didn’t notice previously or she wasn’t prepared to know he was taken, regardless; experiencing jealousy wasn’t a bad thing for her – but a good thing.

With excited expressions and gestures, she said “I haven’t felt jealous in such a long time! I had forgotten what it felt like to feel like this…and it feels so good to feel something.”

At first, I was a little confused by the statement – as every dating book and article in any magazine I’ve read advises us to steer clear from envy, but then I thought about it. And I realized that after being numb or closed off from relationships or hiding from the opportunity for something more, there comes a point where we realize, we can feel again. Often times, when we’re not even trying or looking for it.

While physical flames that run rampant and uncontainable through forests and tend to piss Smoky the Bear off are irreversible, the fires we build with men we love can be destructive, but not permanent.

Sometimes, all it takes is a second, a glance, an encounter, or a simple brush against your hand – for you to recognize those third-degree burns, maybe weren’t so third-degree after all. That maybe, the band-aid can be taken off and you don’t need to run yourself under cold water, trying to put out the burning around your heart. Because perhaps, without realizing, you’ve healed yourself.

A large part of this journey and why I decided to embark on it in the first place was that I knew I needed to let go. Since I started dating at 15, there were (and admittedly still are), lesions from lost-love that I couldn’t let mend. Places in my heart and in my attitude that were scorched from the many men who I thought would love me endlessly, and merely turned out to be just another chapter in the book I don’t know the ending of.  And the saddest part about it was that I wasn’t even interested in repairing the burns. Somehow, my battle wounds gave me comfort as much as they gave me pain. In some respect, using the excuse that “I’m just numb” to any relationship, to any possible love, protected me from taking a chance. And if I did happen to go out on that limb and it broke, I could simply claim, “Well, this is just what happens to me. I find the fire, but it always gets put out.”

Well – not anymore.

Because now, I know I can feel. And I know I can be burned. But more importantly – I know I can survive. Just because passion can grow and then wither away in an instant, it doesn’t mean it isn’t worth feeling it in the first place. Nor, can anyone, regardless of the burn degree or how widely the fire spreads – be forever numb from the flames.

No matter how hard we try or fast we run or how careful we are above our stoves or while making s’mores – the fire will always catch up to us. And if we’re lucky, we know that maybe fire isn’t such a bad thing but more so, a friend. Perhaps if we allow it to glow, first inside of us, giving us the courage to blaze new trails alone – one day, the love we’ll find – in ourselves or with a man, could be powerful enough that we stop being afraid of the flames. And maybe flirt with them, just one more time.

P.S. If you’ve linked to Confessions of a Love Addict, let Lindsay know for the “Support” page. Email her.

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I Am Ms. Right

Somewhere in this world, and perhaps in this city, lives a man.

He is a living, breathing, actual person with a history that I don’t know. He was born somewhere and he may or may not have moved away from his hometown. He has a freckle in an odd place that’s hidden away under his clothes. He has an ex-girlfriend who broke his heart, a certain way he loves to be kissed, and he may care less if the Jets won or loss. He has a food that he can’t get enough of, a vegetable he isn’t the biggest fan of, and a scar that has a story. He has buddies he’s known since elementary school and a teacher who made an impact that lasted past the classroom. He knows every single word to a few songs, has read a book or two that he couldn’t put down, and he has a place he dreams of going, but never has. He may have an affinity for Southern-raised women who are writers with blue eyes and big city dreams, who also have the independence and ambition to make them a reality.

I haven’t met this man. Or if I have, I don’t know it yet. But this person, with all of his incredible and messy qualities, is the man I have faith I will meet, and possibly marry one day. I don’t believe in the idea of a soulmate who makes your “half” a whole, but I do trust there is a single person for everyone, who is suitable (and preferable) for life-long commitment.

Before this journey, the fact that my person, my hubby-to-be, existed, and I had no control over when I’d meet him – really bothered me. I would watch all of my friends, either on Facebook or in real life – getting engaged, talking about how they met their match, and waltzing down the aisle, and all I could think was: “Why not me?! Why don’t I deserve to meet my guy? Where the hell is he?”

And so, to combat these desperate thoughts that made me feel unworthy and unattractive, I immersed myself in romantic illusions about him – and at any given moment, I prepared for our paths to cross.

Somehow, fantasies of an elusive Mr. Right: what he’ll look like, how he’ll kiss me, how we’ll meet, how we’ll both ‘just know’, and how it will all play into a divinity I’ve yet to experience – are easier to dream about then to focus on what really deserves attention: myself.

And that’s a self-defeating approach I’ve seemed to master. I’ve had a reoccurring dream about being married to someone named Brian Ward, who I’ve yet to meet – but if you’re out with me, and a dude says his name is Brian, my head whips around quicker than it does when I see a sample sale near my office. I’ve filled nearly two notebooks full of “Letters to My Husband” that have chronicled my life since junior year in college, and I only stopped writing in it when I started this blog. As ridiculous as it may sound, I went to a psychic (who has been scarily accurate thus far) and she told me to put a rose quartz in the most right-hand corner of my room along with a list of all the qualities I looked for in my future husband, to bring him near me, faster.

Yeah, you guessed it, I followed instructions. The little package even made the move to New York, only to be packed away when I decided I had enough of this love-addiction mess. Until I realized that my expectations of this man, who while I’m sure will be charming, will most likely not be a prince, and will really have no need to rescue me from anything. So what was I doing putting all of this energy into him? Especially when I haven’t even, technically, met him?

While I was picturing him, getting lost in the endless wondering of when (or if) I would meet him or pondering if I could catch a glimpse of him on the next train or bump into him at the next cocktail hour – I had forgotten that a relationship with myself is really the one I needed to be working on.

Really, I knew had a choice: I could get lost in this fantasy character I’ve established in my mind, with dark wavy hair, blue eyes, and perfect, succulent lips who makes more money than I can dream of (but is insanely humble and talented) – or I could first accept myself, and then accept him, for whoever he is. This doesn’t mean I settled for less than I deserved or lowered my standards, but I realized that instead of writing him letters and wishing on a “magical” pink-colored stone, I could just go about my life and let whatever is meant to happen, happen.

I still have a ways to go on this journey, but I hadn’t realized how much progress I made until a handsome stranger locked eyes with me on the subway yesterday and I smiled back, before getting off at my stop – and it occured to me: I haven’t thought about running into Mr. Right in such a long time.

And that was it. I did it. I finally let go of anticipating our encounter or wishing on stars to meet him.

And today, I’m a living, breathing person. I have dozens of stories that he doesn’t know. I’ve been lucky to love some wonderful men, and I’ve learned from the ones who have done me wrong. There are foods that I would never give up, for any diet, and I admittedly have memorized most Backstreet Boy songs. I have a scar on my left wrist that’ll forever remind me of the car accident that changed my view on charity. I’m full of endless hope and can be inspired by even the slightest of sightings, conversations, or words. I’m short, but my personality isn’t.

Regardless of when he stumbles into my life or what he is really like or what color his eyes are, I am just as important of a character, of a person, as he is. And finally, he isn’t my top concern, my highest priority, or the thing I worry the most about. I don’t dress to impress him, imagine all of the ways I could meet him during the activities before me each morning, or curse the universe for delaying our impending marriage.

Instead, my look, my style, is my own. I look forward to the moments of my day where I’ll do something that’s fulfilling and helps others. And I thank the heavens above for giving me the chance and the drive to devote my passion, my enthusiasm to the most important, most beautiful, and most life-altering relationship I’ll ever experience: the love I have for me, or what I’d like to call myself…Ms. Right.

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The Guy We Pity: Mr. Temporary

Upon returning from my summer internship in New York after my sophomore year in college, I found myself incredibly bored.

Though I had a fantastic group of friends, a demanding associate editor position at the school newspaper, and a college town that welcomed me back with gold-and-black open arms – I  missed my city, and nothing seemed to measure up to it. It took me a while to adjust and return back to a comfortable state so I could settle in for another one-and-a-half years of college. And to help me pass the time was Mr. Temporary.

That year for my sorority’s (yes, I’m Greek, no judging) semi-formal not only was I dress-less, but also date-less. Though I tried to project the impression that it didn’t bother me, I did hope that suddenly, out of the framework, someone would appear for me to dance the night away with. To my surprise, my sister, B, hooked me up with a friend of a friend whom she thought I would at least enjoy the company of for an evening.

She was right.

At first glance, Mr. Temporary had the stats of a promising boyfriend: tall, olive skin, green eyes, killer smile, and well-dressed. If you like the cowboy-type-of-thing (I’m not a huge fan), he had that special little twang that’s only derived South of the Mason-Dixon. He was also talented, had goals for himself, and he told me I looked beautiful when he first laid eyes on me. That’s a brownie point in my book.

However, as we continued to see each other after the semi-formal and I learned more about him – I realized how far from my type he actually was. Though he was very intelligent, he was closed-minded about the issues that mattered the most to me. He did want a career with children, which is admirable, but just the thought of New York made him want to gag. He had a very attractive physique, but his kissing skills were way below par for his age. Or really, for any age.

So why, sitting across him over Spicy Tuna and Shrimp Tempura rolls, I agreed to turn my Claddagh ring around, is beyond me.

Maybe it was being lonely and enjoying just having the company of someone, or the way he seemed to be smitten with me, or the safety net of not having to be labeled as single – but something, against my better judgement decided to be an item with a man who I knew would never be the one for the long run. While I really don’t feel like I have any regrets thus far in my life, I will say I made a very poor decision by being “exclusive” with Mr. Temporary.

In the two or three months we dated -I lost interest day-by-day. When we introduced sex into the relationship, I was horrified at how awful it was and how much it lacked passion. When I met his mother, who didn’t know how to stop talking for the entire time we were at dinner, I couldn’t imagine how anyone could stand to be her daughter-in-law. When I met his roommate for the first time, it took every ounce of restraint in me to not flirt with him – for he was miles more attractive than Mr. Temporary. And when it was time to celebrate Valentine’s Day and I knew the girlfriend-thing to do was to buy him something, I couldn’t find any card (even in the “I like you” section) that was appropriate for what I felt.

Mainly because I didn’t really feel anything. That is, anything but fear of being alone.

Sadly, the thing to release me from clinging onto something because I was so terrified of having seemingly-nothing, was the death of my best friend L’s mother. On Friday the 13th, the day before St. Valentine’s infamous day, she lost her 10-year battle with breast cancer, and after I received the bad-news phone call, I rushed out of class and back to embrace L. I sent a quick text message to Mr. Temporary letting him know I would be missing Valentine’s Day and the entire weekend – and then ceased talking to him for four days.

I didn’t even respond to worried texts or calls or Facebook posts because not only was I mourning the loss of a beautiful, wise, and strong woman, consoling L to the best of my ability (there really aren’t words you can say, even as a writer) – I was also using this time to liberate myself from Mr. Temporary. And perhaps, I took that liberation a tad bit far.

I happened to run into Mr. Fling right after the funeral, tears still slightly plummenting down my cheeks, and needing to get back to school for a newspaper meeting that I sincerely didn’t want to attend. He comforted me, held me close, and kissed my eyelids so very tenderly. And in that moment of weakness, in that second of sincerity and care that he offered me, I allowed myself to fall into him. A kiss led to snuggling, which led to a black dress on the floor, which brought us to…

Needless to say, with a million different feelings running haywire in my heart and soul, I knew when I returned back to school – the very last thing I needed was one more headache, especially when I knew I would be causing a heartache. And so, with integrity and honesty, I confessed what I had done and things ended with Mr. Temporary as easily as they began. I made no excuses for cheating and don’t accept them if it’s the other way around, but I was truthful by telling him the reason I strayed wasn’t due to him, but was completely me. I didn’t cry, I didn’t get upset, and I didn’t really mind him being gone. Because that weekend, I learned a very important lesson about life and about love.

It is true that life is short and if you ever enter a relationship with the mindset that it will only be an in-between type of love or someone to fill the cold spot in your bed – you are wasting your time (and their time). Even if you are not seeking a forever partner, marriage, or happily ever after – if you’re allowing the romantic part of your soul to be captivated by someone who doesn’t satisfy, excite, or really match you, the ending will only be hurtful the longer it continues. While some relationships are not meant to last, our hearts are built to endure pain, and the intensity felt at midnight isn’t always as strong when the sun peeks above the skyline – in terms of love, if you know before you even get started that it is fleeting feeling, save yourself the trouble.

Break free of the bounds of fear, of those nagging voices in our heads that tell us that Mr. Right Now is acceptable if we aren’t having any luck meeting Mr. Right, and of our bodies who lust for attention and petting, even if it isn’t the most enjoyable of experiences.  Allow the love you have for yourself to gain momentum, take pride in the ability you have to depend on your own person, and for his sake, don’t lead Mr. Temporary on. Especially if there is a Mr. Fling readily available.

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The Single Girl’s Holiday Calendar

In New York, I decided to not get a television in an effort to use my money wisely. Somehow, to me, mini-trips, shopping, and trying out new restaurants around the town is a much better use of my hard-earned cash than sitting at home flipping channels. For those shows that I’m admittedly addicted to (Desperate Housewives, Glee, etc.) – there is always my very reliable and free friend, Hulu.

However, when you’re stuck inside an Igloo and the only way out is in – keeping your eyes glued to the tube seems to be the way to pass time. So, in between gazing outside, running on my family’s 15-year-old treadmill (very scary, by the way), cleaning, and cursing the clouds for their snow invasion – I’ve been hanging out on the couch, remote in one hand, puppy on the knee.

As I’ve watched reruns of Full House and spent hours salivating at the Food Network, and crying over the fancy trips on the Travel channel that I can’t afford to take – I’ve noticed a very strange theme in commercials. Before Christmas, regardless if they were advertising home appliances, jewelry, or electronics – almost every 30-second clip featured a happy, smiling couple. All the taglines promised to “bring a smile to her face” or “to give him the gift that keeps giving” or “be the envied couple of the year.”

Ironically enough though, most commercials now are geared to the single crowd with the focus on New Year’s Eve. Beauty companies, fitness centers, major retailers, and all that’s in between – are now promoting themselves as the must-have for independence, for a “brand new beautiful you” or “the back-end that’ll make them take a second look” or “bring in the New Year with new gifts just for you.”

So, apparently flying solo while Santa’s in town is not recommended, but ringing in the next January 1 is? Does that much change in just a week?

I know about targeted marketing efforts and audience sampling to help determine what registers with viewers and maximizes a company’s return-on-investment for their clip during prime time. I know the process to create a commercial that the majority of people mute is a strenuous and standardized process – but maybe playing into our emotions and directing us to the special-times-of-the-year where being single is acceptable, isn’t the best route to take.

Holidays have always been, until late, a very difficult time to be sans-boyfriend for me. There is something about celebratory dinners with families, seeing long-lost friends, or anticipated dates that make me wish I had a physical, in-flesh date by my side. However – I will say that amidst the pressure from grandma and the Green Monster of Envy of your friend’s engagement ring, there is something to be said about the hype surrounding holidays that could make a minus-one lady lonesome. I won’t blame Hallmark or the Saints, but I may shy away from kneeling and purchasing for a bit.

And while most of it may very well be in our minds, watching couples frolicking in between Man vs. Food isn’t exactly appetizing for those of us who would like to take a bite out of a man ourselves. So instead of signing up for OkCupid or hitting the bar hard between now and the-holiday-that-shouldn’t-be-mentioned in February (deep breaths) – why don’t we create our own Single Girl Holiday Calendar?

I propose the following:

January 6- National No Regret Spending Day

While everyone else’s credit card bills will be coming back maxed-out to the limit due to purchasing expensive watches for their boyfriends and fancy chocolates for the boyfriend’s mother – ours will be happily balanced and in tact. And if not, at least we can glance down at our feet and see those Louboutins smiling back at us.

February 15- “I’m Prettier Than Your Box of Chocolates” Day

Those attached may be recovering from a romantic evening of imported wine and smelling the roses, but all the single ladies who spent the last week pampering ourselves with facials, manicures, blow-outs, and treatments, will be the ones who turn heads for days to come. Love does look good on people, but so does radiating skin courtesy of a fancy salon in midtown.

March 17- Kiss Many Irish Men (or Those Who Claim It) Day

Instead of having to wonder if our men will be getting a little too drunk to handle himself maturely at the bar, you’re free to indulge in green specialities, and if the Irish happen to get lucky by your standards, you may even steal a kiss. Or two.

April 24- Born-Again Single Woman Day

If instead of celebrating your singleness on New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, and St. Patty’s, you decided to eat a full half-gallon of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and drink yourself into a hot-mess oblivion, today is the day to rise up and rejoice! If you accept yourself as single, flaws and all, your power and strength will be returned to you. This also pertains to those who have newly been forced into or chosen the single status.

May 6- Single Ladies Get Out of Work (with Pay) Day

Due to an excessive obsession with guacamole and margaritas, any woman who is not attached to a man by formal titles bestowed by the state, church, or Facebook, is permitted to not go into work to recover from her hangover. She will get paid as she usual does and her attached friends are required to send her orange juice, diet coke, and appropriate feel-better food.

June 24 – National One Night Stand Day

Since this is a time where single ladies should be gallivanting to exotic places by themselves or with other free ladies, this is the day to celebrate being non-committed by enjoying a one night stand of your choice. By having the out-of-this-world sexy seduction during this 24-hour period (every minute, if you’d like) – your overall “number” does not go up, your emotions do not go haywire, and you are free to enjoy with no-strings-attached. Protection a must. Foreigners encouraged.

July 4- National Independence Day (USA)

Enough said.

September 5- Anti-Labor Day

In celebration of the fact that we’ve never had to go through labor pains and we don’t have to labor over pleasing a man, let us all raise a glass and a diamond-less hand to our slender bodies and well-rested heads. (Single mothers are the exception because we can’t even imagine how they can do it all on their own, even if they have actually been in labor)

October 29- Free to Be Scary Looking Day

With masks and costumes preparing to roam the streets, single women of the world honor the fact that they can just be themselves, in the privacy of their own apartments, without having to worry about their looks for a man. No makeup with a green cleansing facial masques, no clothes or pushup bras, no shaving in any area if we don’t fancy, and no zit-left-unpopped for this day. Be free, be a tad-bit scary looking…and still feel beautiful.

November 30- Thank Goodness I’m Single Day

While attached ladies are busy worrying about how their in-laws will get along, who will bring what dish to dinner, and if they’re boyfriend/husband will say they are thankful for “them”  when the crowd counts their blessings around the table – we’re encouraged to do whatever we like. Don’t want to go anywhere but our friend’s place and drink wine while “cooking” a turkey? Go for it. Try and make a list of reasons why you’re thankful to be single, too.

December 10- National Sparkle’ for Singles Day

Put down the third gift for mom, and the rice maker for Aunt Jo. Tis time to buy yourself something…just for you. There is no better way to say “I love me” than to feel like a star at the end of the year, throughout the year…and always.

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A Post a Day to Keep the Love Addiction Away

With New Year’s on the foreseeable horizon, I’ve been thinking a lot about what my resolution will be for 2011. In many ways, I feel like this blog is one giant promise to myself to…well, love myself endlessly. If that isn’t a resolution, I’m not quite sure what is.

However, in years past, I’ve resolved to not go on a date for three months (so I stop freaking out about being single), take a cooking class, spend more time in prayer, or of course, the old classic of to lose weight. I wouldn’t say I’ve ever had a weight-problem, but my figure has definitely changed over the years and for the first time, I can honestly say I’m very happy with how I look.

Part of the reason why picking “dropping 10 pounds by March!” is not only a popular resolution, but also a prescription for failure is due to the fact that dieting isn’t really what makes a person healthy. As the all adage says, you really must change your lifestyle and your eating/exercising habits permanently to see consistent and worthwhile results. You can’t just cut out sweets and carbs until you see a little fat slide away – or you’ll just watch it all sneak back up on you faster than it left.

I think the same goes with my love addiction and journey to self-love. Furthermore – I think it is the hardest part to accept.

I’ve had a few close friends and some readers ask me a few simple questions: “Well, what happens to the 12-steps and to the posts if you do get a boyfriend? What if you meet Mr. Perfect-for-You before you complete everything?”

Well, that’s quite the question, isn’t it?

I can’t technically write a blog about the experience of learning to love being single and love myself sans a man, if I am in fact, falling in love, right? If I become part of a “we” instead of just a “me”. If I am not struggling with wondering if any dude on this planet will ever find me irresistible and irreplaceable because I have someone whispering those anything-but-nothings in my ear every night. If Mr. Unavailable suddenly becomes Mr. Available, or I happen to stumble across or be swept away by Mr. Princey-Poo.

But something I was very specific about when I started this blog and still hold true to three months after writing a daily post is that I’m making no rules for myself. I am not limiting dating, nor am I putting a complete stop to negative thinking. I am not giving myself a deadline for when this blog ends or when I complete all of the steps. I’m not against meeting the right guy or being in a relationship – but my attitude, or should I say, my dating lifestyle – has to shift. Part of the reason I didn’t place restrictions is the result of realizing single isn’t a stage, it isn’t just something we “get through” – but a part of our lives that’s necessary for growth and for strength. Being single doesn’t stop your life, it progresses it. So why put anything else, even love, on pause, or shift your life completely, just because you’re a solo lady? Instead – why not just change yourself?

If I’m going to ween myself off obsessive thinking, worrying about being single for the rest of my Earthly existence, and putting myself down – I have to literally change who I am a bit. These habits have grown into dirty little pests and to rid them of my daily life requires me to resolve to be a new person and be a better woman. The reason I decided to solve these issues is not due to a man telling me I needed to or to beef up my resume or make myself more alluring to the opposite sex.

I simply did it because I had to for my own sanity and to progress myself as an individual. And in many ways, this journey is like losing weight – I have to shed the reoccurring beliefs and languague I was using that caused me pain. And to do this, I can’t just go on a ” dating diet” for a year or six months or four years until I find my husband-to-be. Instead, I have to make trusting positive reinforcements and engaging in an empowering attitude towards embracing myself for everything I am and everything I’m not – a normal routine.

Even when the day comes when I exchange vows with someone, I still want to be in a place of self-security. I still want to have strength and confidence in myself without someone else validating or reassuring me. I still want to speak to myself with words that are loving and promising, instead of self-defeating. I still want to be my greatest fan and my best friend. While the 12-steps will ultimately come to an end, the journey to self-love is a lifelong adventure that I will continue to trek through – even after marriage, babies, menopause, and retirement.

So, what if I do get a boyfriend? Would a boyfriend break my progressing healthy self-image? Would it ruin my self-proscribed: a post-a-day that keeps my love addiction away, medicine? I don’t have a prospect in mind currently, but if he happens to cross my path or lock eyes with me on the train, I won’t look away. I also won’t pursue. Because the focus isn’t on him or getting to a place in loving myself so I can finally meet whoever this dream-man is. He isn’t the prize at the end of the game or the victory to be won through all of this hard work. He isn’t the pot of gold at the edge of the rainbow or the breeze that follows a good thunderstorm.

No, the beauty of the journey isn’t in it one day stopping or meeting my “goal love weight”.  It is rather in the fact that it really…never ends. Because love for myself doesn’t cease when I start loving someone else. It actually, just grows more.