Tag Archives: Hope

by - 1 Comment

You Shall Not Pass

I’m not someone who avoids change. I wouldn’t say I embrace it fully, but the thought of my life changing isn’t one that’s terrifying. Instead, it’s exciting. I accept and anticipate the fact that a year from now, my life may look entirely different. I may want different things, I may be still with Mr. P, with someone else, or single. I may be at a completely new company, freelancing full-time, living overseas, or in an opposite industry. I could be ten pounds lighter or heavier, I could be fluent in another language, I could be in love, I could be nursing a heartbreak, I could be…anything.

Our youth is good for encouraging spontaneity and the pursuit of change. Before I’m sanctioned into a marriage, busy with children, or at a point where money is more for saving and planning than for passing this month’s rent check and blowing dollars on brunch. Before my life as a Mrs or mommy begins, I get the chance to really take chances. To take the detour instead of the hard way, to date someone just for the hell of it, not with the intention of forever-and-ever-and-always. To leave New York if I wish or to stay. It’s a beautiful thing really – knowing that in any moment, with one phone call, with one glance, with one chance, with one experience,  with one connection, with one single something, life as I know it – could be transformed. I could look back at this moment, wearing Mr. P’s tshirt, eating leftover spaghetti while listening to a mix between his attempt at learning German via Rosetta Stone and some John Legend, and it all may seem like a distant memory, a universe that I’m not longer apart of, but a vision I’ll never forget.

My mother (and my friend K) always spew off the cliche promise, “This too shall pass” when I’m worrying that the now that’s not working seems unbearable. When I’m frustrated or feeling like there will never be anything better than this awful experience I’m part of, this seemingly hopeless existence I’m existing in – I remember that time passes, people change, and life will look different before I know it. The world will turn and so will my attitude, in a passing, fleeting moment that I won’t remember in a few years.

But while things will change and so will I – the me that I am at my core, won’t pass. Just as some graffiti artist said in surprisingly legible handwriting…

Life changes and we’re allowed to make mistakes that make us into better people. We’re allowed to stay put longer than we should, move this way or that, love this person and then stop, be who we want to be and then be someone new. But that heart that feels so fragile, that soul that continues to thirst for more, and that mind that won’t stop spinning both in the good times and the bad – those all stay the same. Sure, they’ll get tougher and stronger, learn how to endure and decide when enough is enough (or when a little more is better) – but they don’t pass us by.

Maybe that’s the trick of it all. If time tells us that it’s coming with or without permission or notice and we’re just all an object of the universe, meant to be manipulated and stand trial in front of the heavens – then our only responsibility is to keep ourselves in tact. To let life change, let people come and go, let everything around us crumble and fall, be built again, love and lose – but to not pass ourselves by.

 

by - 2 Comments

Where the Good Goes

When breakups would happen in the past – I asked what every girl does (and now sings, thanks to Tegan and Sara): where does the good go?

When you’re curled up in the fetal position, grasping to return yourself to reality and for a creme that will actually get rid of that awful puffiness around your eyes – it’s hard to see anything but bad from the relationship that just ended. You wonder why you wasted your time giving away pieces of your heart, why you spent so many days of your life with someone who you will most likely not spend another day with. You fight the urge to call, you block all of the connections you have with him, and you hide away those pictures as if not seeing him will make those memories just go away. You think of all the laughter, the silly plans you made without RSVPing, and the way you felt when things were right. When things were perfect. When you thought that no matter how old you were or how long you had been with the guy, that there was a chance you would spend the rest of your life together.

As much as we all fight the happy ending, somewhere inside each of us lives the desire to share this journey with someone else. To have a partner that actually stays instead of leaves consistently, with or without a notice, depending on how much of a jerk he is. And each time we put ourselves out there, each time we take that risk that we’re all told we’ve gotta’ take to find an illusive Mr. Right, each time we feel like we’ve found it and we discover it’s wrong, it becomes more difficult to be vulnerable. It gets harder to enjoy those fantastic moments where we’re basking in the sun of a new love because we’re trying so hard to prepare ourselves for his disappearance. We’ve nearly came up with the monologue we’ll preach to our friends over hard tequila shots about this a**hole who left us high and dry, just like the rest of ’em, before we even let ourselves really like the guy.

But that’s the problem with good. Good makes us happy and free, optimistic and hopeful, but we’re programmed to believe that good goes away, so why hold onto it? Why give it any credit when it could turn to bad before the third date? Why pay attention to butterflies and great sex if those butterflies fly away faster than the dude who leaves in the middle of the night? After a while, does the good just completely go away?

No, that good goes to the next guy.

Maybe because I’ve analyzed my past relationships until my fingertips were blue in the blog or maybe because I’m growing up, but I’ve decided that all the good of yesterday is helping me today. The good with Mr. Possibility is different than the good with any other guy – we have our range of inside jokes memories that just the two of us share, pictures together, toothbrushes at each other’s places, and the perks of a full-fledged relationship. Should we break up, there would be things I’d miss, there would be good that would be gone, there would be tears to cry and martinis to drink. But all that good from Mr. Idea, Mr. Fire, Mr. Disappear, Mr. Fling, all of them – has helped me make more good with Mr. P.

Because if you remember, if you look closely enough, if you’re brave enough to look back on love instead of running from it because it hurts to think about it, you’ll see that lessons can be learned from the good, just like they can be learned from the bad. Over time, you figure out what makes you happy and what guys, in general, like about you. You determine what settles in your heart and what’s unsettling to your body. You begin to understand yourself and you master the art of asking for what you need when you need it.

You begin to cherish the good because while you know it could not be there tomorrow, it’s there today. And what’s a better way to spend a day than to make it a good one?

Daily Gratitude: I’m thankful for air conditioning. NYC feels like 107 degrees today, no exaggeration.

by - 2 Comments

Balls in the Air

This morning when the clock struck 6 a.m., I didn’t feel inclined to go run some miles with Mr. Possibility, so I grumbled, rolled over and let him rise to the call of exercise. An hour later when he returned, I hadn’t made breakfast as I promised because my body simply refused to get up, so when he swung open the door to find me in the same position he left me, he gently tossed something at me.

It struck my stomach, instantly waking me up and I groggily asked, “What’s this?” while wondering why he would throw anything at me when I was sleeping so sweetly. He flipped on the switch and I threw the covers over my head, desperately wanting time to go backwards, back to when it was 2 a.m. and I still had five hours of rest left before the day demanded to begin. Coming to terms that Monday was here, regardless if I liked it or not, I opened my eyes to the bright light to find Mr. Possibility shaking his head at me.

“You don’t know what that is?” He asked, dumbfounded. “No,” I replied while thinking “And do I really need to know the importance of some blue ball you threw at me while I was still asleep, you jerk?” “Geez, Tigar! It’s a handball. Haven’t you played?” He asked, grinning in disbelief as he changed out of sweaty gym clothes. “Handball?” I asked, not amused with this conversation or the fact it was light outside. “Handball, it’s a city sport. I used to be pretty good at it. You’ve never played?”

I refrained from reminding him I’m from North Carolina where to my knowledge, handball doesn’t exist and honestly, as sad as it is, cow tipping is more common. Instead, I told him I hadn’t played before, but I would love to try it with him sometime and then collapsed back into the bed while he showered and couldn’t look at me disapprovingly for sleeping longer than I should.

A few hours later, after bagels with peanut butter, orange juice, and Monday-morning mass email cleanup, I caught the train from Brooklyn to my Upper West Side apartment to begin a busy day of freelancing and deadlines. Because he gave it to me and I was slightly amused by how high it bounced, I took the ball with me, hidden beneath receipts I needed to throw away and makeup in my Longchamp. While conjuring up some ideas for a new bridal blog I’ll be writing, I distracted myself with playing toss-and-catch with my new friend, the ball.

Yes, folks, I was that bored.

Watching it rise and fall in and out of my hand, I thought about how many balls I have in the air right now. Not just this literal handball that I probably will never use for it’s real purpose, but opportunities and possibilities, decisions to make and chances to take. I’ve recently opened myself up to looking at my life and my future in a different way. I’ve let myself out of a tightly-sealed box to reveal those ideas I’ve had that I’ve been afraid of exploring. Those adventures I didn’t want to take because I was fearful I’d lose my way on the straight-and-narrow if I took a detour.

But detours, while they’re uncertain and a little bumpy, are often what gets you to a place you’d rather be, even if you don’t know it. And you can’t get what you want if you don’t let yourself really, truly figure out what that is, or allow it to change as time, and you, change.

I’ve been nervous about taking a leap of faith into discovering what really does make me happy and what really matters most to me at this point – but when you’re forced to make a decision or try something new, somehow, that fear goes away. That hesitation subsides and you’re opened up to something more exciting – the idea of not having a plan. The feeling of having so many opportunities brewing, so many options to pick from- a sky full of possibility and hope, that you forget why you wanted to stay safe and protected in something secure in the first place.

Because you can’t shoot if you don’t dribble, you can’t aim if you don’t throw. And if you have no balls in the air, you can never catch one as you watch others fall to the ground because they weren’t meant to land.

by - 6 Comments

Little Blindly Ambitious Me

I’m not the prettiest girl on my block. Or the smallest. My skin isn’t flawless, I didn’t graduate with the highest GPA in my high school. I don’t know how to sew or to cook anything ridiculously complicated. I’m not extremely clean and I don’t always say the right thing. I’m not the best, most supportive friend I’ve ever met and sometimes, I can be lazy in love. I could run more and be more dedicated to a work out routine to give me abs like Jennifer Aniston. I complain when I’m tired and get cranky when I’m hungry. I can be impatient, demanding, and self-serving. I’m not well-traveled because I’ve never had the means to do so, and though I would love a dog named Henry, I know I’m not in any place financially to provide for one how it deserves.

I’m aware of my shortcomings, both physically and otherwise. I don’t claim to be the best or the greatest, the smartest or the most beautiful. I don’t consider myself average and while others may discredit my intelligence because I choose to write about my personal life for the web to see, I am well-read and educated. My interests are more than love, dating, and sex-related. But more important than how I look, where I came from, or the career path I happen to follow wherever it may lead, there is one quality I have that sets me aside.

And that’s ambition. Often times, blind ambition, actually.

I may not always know the right way to go or have the means to get to where I want to be, but I believe in myself. I may find myself unlucky in love at times and not be the most ideal partner or friend, but I listen. I take note of things people like and don’t, I read to better myself and when it doesn’t feel like I can push any further, I push harder. I’m not one to give up, even on things that I should – like a failing relationship with Mr. Idea that lasted way longer than it should have. I don’t walk away from things even when they’re pulling at my heartstrings or tearing me apart inside because I somehow feel like I can be the one who is different, the one whose faith will see them through.

I don’t feel the fear and face it anyway, I just ignore the doubt. I turn my attention away from the ways I fall short and I highlight the ways I measure up higher than the rest. I cold email and cold call, hoping that someone, someplace, somewhere will take a chance on me and all the little things that make me some kind of wonderful, some kind of brilliant. I’m not a hopeless romantic or a hopeless cause, I’m just hopeful of the life I hope to have.

As I grow and weed through more life experiences, I think my ambition will shape itself. It’ll stop being so blind and indecisive, and I’ll become more focused and wise of the ways I want to go. I’ll stop believing with my whole heart and start giving just a sliver, I won’t let my hopes rise, I’ll just say a prayer for the best situation to present itself. I won’t dream up the possibilities before a possibility is certain, and when it comes to love, maybe I won’t give myself away so easily. I won’t have to think if I’m doing the right thing or going the right way, that structured adult in me will just revel in clarity and a calm understanding of self.

Or maybe I won’t. Maybe this blind ambition, this ruthless spirit that I can never seem to tame will be what makes me, me. Maybe it’s the part of me that won’t wither with age and perhaps it’ll stand the time more than my kindness, my patience or my heart.

After all – blind ambition may blindly lead you into the unknown, but I’d rather take the chance in the dark than to only stay in the light out of fear.

Daily Gratitude: Today, I’m thankful for early-morning wake up calls and breakfast at Tom’s Restaurant. 

by - 4 Comments

In Terms of a Blog

Do I think in terms of blogs or are my blogs the products of my thoughts?

After hundreds of days (over 300 now!) of writing, I’m not so sure anymore. This space, this blog, these words have become such a part of my life, so engraved into my everyday functions that it’s strange (and sad and refreshing and…) to think of my life without it. It’s so much a part of me now that my friends always make sure I’ve written for the day before we go out: “Linds, did you write today? I don’t want a midnight curfew, we don’t turn into pumpkins because of your blog!” And it’s a topic of discussion between Mr. Possibility and I after we have an intimate chat or we go on a trip or have an adventure he’d rather keep between us: “Hey, Tigar, don’t write about this in tomorrow’s post, okay? Please?”

And so I write earlier, I schedule a few out, I leave out some details here and there, and I do the best I can to keep my commitment to the blog, to myself, to this journey without sacrificing friendships. But always being on deadline (even if it’s one I created for myself) has a way of keeping constant pressure on you. These days, my battle with self-worth isn’t nearly as difficult – minus a few insecurities, I’m pretty happy. I’ve learned how to maintain a healthy relationship without losing myself in the process, and though it is far from perfect, it’s the most honest I’ve been with myself and with another person I’m involved with. I’m not exactly where I’m meant to be, but I’m somewhere and for now, that’s good enough for me.

Most of the time, now, as compared to six months ago, I don’t have something to work through or a task at hand that requires deep thought and consideration. I’m stable and secure, figuring out the ups and downs as they come, and mostly, not needing to write it out to work it out. But because I decided long before I reached this period of self-fulfillment, I vowed to be a daily blogger for a year as a way to keep myself focused on the progression of my 12-step program, I just can’t quit when life is pretty easy. Or when I’m happy.

However – I also can’t live my life in terms of a blog.

I can’t look at every experience I share – with M, with K, with R, with E, with J or N as potential blog material. I can’t chronicle my developing relationship with Mr. Possibility through a dot com, some things, most things are meant to be private.  I can’t end a fun night at 10 p.m. so I have enough time to get home and write before the clock strikes 12 and I miss a day. This blog was started because I wasn’t living my life how I wanted to be, and now that I am, the blog has to develop, not cease.

But how do you stop thinking as a blogger? How do you just enjoy a moment without wondering how it will translate into words or how you’ll describe this feeling, this experience, as beautifully as it is? How do you stop scribbling down ideas when your career is all about ideas?

How does a blogger – a writer – live without working on a make-believe deadline?

Daily Gratitude: I’m thankful for Central Park and all of its beauty and clarity.