Tag Archives: Hope

by - 0 comments

This is My Home

I consistently purge my belongings. When my bookcase is too full, I’ll sell a handful to Strand, only to bring more than a handful. When my closet gets too crowded, I make a donation or attempt to organize a swap-party with my friends. When a heel is beyond repair, my heart breaks just a little as I toss it and take out the trash before I have the urge to fish it out again. I throw out expired beauty products near-weekly and honestly, if I just get tired of looking at something, it goes.

But there are certain things I never, ever throw away. Like my dream journal – a book I’ve kept for over a decade that chronicles my firsts, my lasts, and any huge life changes. Or the boarding pass that brought me to New York and the sticky-note I wrote to myself on the plane to remind me I was doing the right thing, no matter how afraid I was. Then there’s the first piece of mail that had my NYC address on it (a bill, of course), dozens of cards from friends and families encouraging my dreams, ticket stubs to operas, movies, and Broadway shows. A copy of my first paycheck, my job offer letters, my first freelancing contract, magazines with my byline in them, fan mail, hate mail, and pictures of homes and apartments I cut out. Pictures of what I want and pictures of what I had.

These things aren’t necessary to my survival, I could do without them. I’d have far more room in my closet if I didn’t have a huge chest filled with papers and photographs, heavy magazines and ribbons from things I have to really think about where they came from. But I can’t imagine throwing any of them away. Trust me, I’ve tried.

Like last night, for instance.

Feeling the need to get rid of clutter, I cleaned my room from top to bottom, gathered a bunch of items I was done with and stumbled across my chest of memories. Having not looked through it in a long time, I pulled it out and sat it on my newly washed-and-made bed, and went through everything. And though I haven’t dropped to such a level in a while, I cried my eyes out.

Just looking at pictures from college, from when I interned, from when I first moved, from when I was a child, and an unattractive adolescent. I reread letters I wrote when I was still full of hope, when everything seemed in reach, from when I was unstoppable. I found fortune cookies with dates on the back and names of people I shared a meal with, but now don’t talk to. I cried when I found penny after penny, each carrying a special memory, if only I could remember every time one cent has changed my perspective. I laughed at silly promises I use to hold, journals about breaking up with guys I can’t picture in my head anymore, and I carefully held a mini-stuffed animal my mom gave me when I went away to summer camp for the first time, so I wouldn’t be afraid.

This isn’t Camp Greenville though – this is my new life. This is my home, as Mr. Possibility carefully reminds me from time-to-time when I’m really frustrated with the thought of the future and I whine that I just want to go home. “Baby,” he says. “This is your home now.”

And it is.

That box of memories is special to me but that’s all it is. It’s papers and frozen smiles and silly faces inside years that I’ll never return to, places I’ll never live again, and moments I can’t relive even if I close my eyes and click my heels three times. I have a new life, a new adventure that I can’t run away from, no matter what challenges I face or what obstacles I have to overcome to get to where I’ve always wanted to be. Even if the greatest obstacle to get through is the challenge of facing myself as I am, especially when that person isn’t someone I thought I’d be, and maybe a person who wants different things than she originally planned.

My old home, the old me, the old day-to-day I use to enjoy and experience is locked away in that box in my closet, underneath a Kate Spade bag and surrounded by shoes. I may never forget those people, the smell of the house I grew up in, or the path that led to me to where I am now, but it’s now, in this moment that will ultimately be a fleeting memory, that I have to live. I have to make this place a home, this life my own, and let myself out of the box of the past I’ve been afraid to let go of.

Because memories are wonderful to cherish, but I’d rather continue to make more than to dwell on the ones I’ve already created.

Daily gratitude: I’m thankful for today. That’s all. 

by - 1 Comment

Things Like This Happen

When you lose a piece of yourself because you gave it away too easily. When you lose a job your heart wasn’t in and then maybe one you put your heart into too much. When you lose that loving feeling with someone you really loved. When you spend more money than you have, place more faith in something that’s not worth your trust. When you get what’s coming to you, but it’s not what you hoped it would be. When you waited too long for a transformation that was never in the cards to begin with.

When something doesn’t go according to a plan you made, even though you know better than to make plans when plans always, always change.  When there are no words to say to someone to comfort them when all of these things happen, the easiest phrase to pull out of your bag of cliches is: “Things like this happen.”

This saying isn’t inaccurate. It’s completely true – things like this do happen. People do fall in and out of love. People fight. People breakdown. People breakup and makeup. People lose their jobs. People have their spirits crushed. People make new friends and forget old ones. People get caught up in today and don’t think ahead. People are people, and things like this happen, but hearing that never makes anyone feel better.

Because everyone wants to be the exception.

We want to be the lucky one who gets away without a scrape, a scar, or a tear. We don’t just want the piece of cake that we can eat, we want the whole bakery and maybe the rest of the block too. We want to be the one who enjoys all the finer things in life without paying for the finer price tag. We want to test our limits but never push them too far and we want to love without boundaries, without reservations, no matter how much relationship residue we build up. We want to find a job that’s perfect with a paycheck that’s too high for it, work a few days a week, and vacation for months in Europe, just because we can. We want everyone we love to love us back, and those we aren’t that into to quietly go about their business without being taxed with the task of breaking someone’s heart needlessly. We want the silver lining – but not the rain.

But things happen. And if they didn’t, we would wish they did. Because perfection seems nice when it’s unreachable, but if we really could have everything we ever wanted, we would still always wonder when the bottom would fall from beneath us. We would still always wish for something more, even if we had the world. We would still see our life as we see it now, even if it looks a little brighter than what it feels like now.

Because the best of us, the ones who are damned-and-determined to reach those dreams, to find that love, to pave that path, to see that big, beautiful, attainable world out there – we’ll never be satisfied. We’ll keep pushing ourselves and those closest to us to demand more, to push for better, and to believe in tomorrow.

And as long as we’re living, things like this happen, so do things like that. Things happen, people change, relationships ends, jobs come to a close, chapters start over, apartments get messy along with hearts – but I’d rather see it all fall apart than to stay put or to settle for even one day of my life.

Let things happen so I can happen, too.

Daily Gratitude: I’m thankful to see the beauty in change and to embrace it with all that I have. Oh and for two very wonderful friends who talk me down from a ledge for an hour or so on Gchat and right next to me.

by - 1 Comment

In Search of Me

I have a strategy for making strangers become instant, hold-nothing-back, bear-all best friends: have unlimited drinks of any kind outside in beautiful weather. Such strategy yielded great results in the form of fabulous conversations with a group of volunteers and staff at New York Cares’ happy hour.

As it inevitably does, my blog became a topic of discussion. And with all of us buzzing on Wednesday evening, watching the sun set over the Hudson, everyone was forthcoming and open. Someone – my memory doesn’t serve me well enough to decide who exactly – brought up the mantra that advises “Love will find you when you’re not looking.”

One woman, drink in hand, sunglasses on her forehead, and a sweet smile argued: “But when are we not looking? Do we ever not look? I mean, seriously. I can say I’m not looking all I want, but I’m always looking. I see a guy and I wonder, ‘is that him?’ or I do certain jobs, like checking people in, just in case it’ll be a chance to meet someone.”

If she would have asked me a year ago if it was possible to actually not look for a relationship, I would have firmly said “Absolutely not!” At that point, I felt just as she did – constantly on the watch for anyone who could become a someone, anything that could turn into something. Each guy that glanced my way, sat near me on the train, bought me a drink, bumped into me on the street had the potential to be a possibility, to become Mr. Possibility.

But when I made the commitment to myself to write this blog, to overcome the title of “love addiction” I gave myself, something inside me changed. Honestly, it changed from blog post #1, many, many days ago. I had reached a point where I wasn’t so much fed up with men, but I was fed up with myself. And I was exhausted of the person I became when I didn’t get what I wanted with a dude or how I felt about myself if I was single or if one of those somethings or someones suddenly wasn’t interested.

I knew I had to stop looking for love and I had to start looking for myself.

Somewhere in my endless pursuit of Mr. Right, in all of my dating dilemmas, sexual encounters, breakups, makeups, and hookups – I lost who I was. I was so damned-and-determined to have someone be in love with me, to fulfill those parts of me that were insecure and seemingly empty, that I damned myself into a needy, emotional version of who I really am. I wanted the ball back in my court and more than anything, I wanted to love the person I am, be proud of what I offer, and sincerely let everything else fall into place.

And so I really, truly, sincerely, stopped looking for love. I lowered my love antenna, I shut down any online dating profile I had, I removed guys from Gchat and from Facebook, I deleted phone numbers, and I stopped reaching out to males. If they contacted me, sure. If they wanted to ask me out, okay. If they felt the need to pursue anything more, I obliged. But instead of focusing on the Great Male Search, I searched for the pieces of myself I had been neglecting. I called off the search team for The One, and went in search of me.

I hate to type this because it confirms all those people who told me that love would come into my life when I didn’t want it or expect it – but it did. Soon after I started the blog, I met Mr. Possibility, and while there’s no telling if he’s the last possibility I’ll entertain, he’s pretty entertaining for now. And when I met him – I didn’t want to date him. I was so focused on this journey, on becoming the best me that I could be, that developing a relationship with him wasn’t a priority. It took time and lots of patience on both of our parts to grow into what we are now. So I didn’t look for him and I found him.

But more importantly, I found me. I found a strength inside of myself that takes a chance on falling in love, but knows that if it all shatters, I’ll be fine. I found peace knowing that one of the most beautiful things about love is that it can happen at any moment, anywhere, at any stage, without notice – and it can happen over and over again, no matter how impossible that may seem. I found the bravery to believe in myself above all things, above all men, above all romantic ideals that filled my head with insecurities and nonsense.

I found that with or without someone, I can still be me. And that me is worthy of the many wondrous things that make a beautiful life ripe with possibility.

Daily Gratitude: I’m thankful for my wonderful new friends and for M, who run through fountains with me in the middle of the night. 

by - 2 Comments

A Time to Rub Feet

When your only wardrobe options are ugly panties and cocktail dresses, you know it’s time for laundry.

Deciding I couldn’t actually go to work in a little black dress tomorrow, no matter how sexy and curve-defining it is on me, I finally gave in and paid the extra $10 to have someone else do my laundry for me today. I became one of those city-folk who simply didn’t have the time: today is my only day without an “extra-curricular” activity after work, and if I needed to clock three miles before the gym closed, buy groceries, and write a few freelance posts – I couldn’t waste time at the mat.

I’ll give credit to my friend K who only had great things to say about sending her wash away, amazed I hadn’t given in yet – and welcomed me to New York when I agreed. It was a great investment of my hard-earned cash, especially since it’ll be ready tomorrow morning before work, folded, and waiting at the door for me. It’s because of this decision that I’m sitting, writing, in running clothes (only thing I have left), eating a delectable dinner consisting of humus, pretzel crisps, and orange juice, after a killer run and deciding if I’ll go to bed early or watch last season’s Project Runway.

After dropping off my 30-pound bag of separated whites and blacks, I called my dear friend L, whose voice always make me feel at home. Our bond, like the very best of friendships is one that knows no distance and has no boundaries. We pick up right where we left off and when I have an irrational fear or pestering doubt, her name is quick to appear in my phone. We get each other in a way that only best friends can get one another, and if I was to put it into words, it wouldn’t even hold a candle to the reality of feeling it.

As we try to each week (and usually fail miserably at with our respective busy lives) we caught each other on the ins and the outs of our day-to-day’s, with emotional, irrational outbursts sprinkled here and there, too. A newlywed, she talked about her new apartment, new town, new job, and the endless laundry that took four loads and five hours on Saturday. I talked about freelancing gigs, Mr. Possibility, my messy apartment and busy upcoming week, and the fun of the last weekend.

In response to my giddiness, she said: “You’re just a big ol’ black hole of happiness! I don’t even know if I can talk to you!” We giggled for a second and I reminded her there is bad in my life but that I’m trying to focus on what I’m blessed to have. Then, as I’m forever intrigued by the life of a married 20-something because it’s so far from what I want right now in my life, I ask her to leave the room so she can dish on the hubby. She instantly agrees and heads out, but less than a second later, she is distracted, exchanging some words with Mr. L and then says, “Well, we’ll have to talk about that another time.” Annoyed, I snapped back: “You don’t have to listen to him, he isn’t the boss of you!” She replied, “I was just rubbing his feet before you called. He had a rough day.” I probably said a few unkind words toward Mr. L and she asked if Mr. Possibility did sweet things like rub my feet instead of asking for the favor for himself, and then we eventually hopped off the phone.

While I was running, I couldn’t get the sour taste or visual image of Mr. L asking my friend to rub his feet while she was on the phone with me. It didn’t make sense why he couldn’t wait twenty minutes or why she obeyed him in the first place. I ran faster to distract myself, but by the end of my run, I still felt the need to call her and beg her to mouth off to him.

And then Mr. Possibility texted me from a meeting he had to attend for work: “What are you doing? I’m bored to tears.” Or translated into his language, “Entertain me! Humor me! Keep me awake at this stupid thing I have to go to!”

And so, while finishing up my to-do list, walking back to my apartment, making phone calls, and writing this post, I chatted with him. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to or that I minded, but it wasn’t my top priority. But I did it because he needed me to and because I care about him.

I wasn’t rubbing his feet – but I was comforting him. And while one is rather gross and requires me to wear gloves (ew, I do not like feet!), both tasks remind us to be unselfish. They also means knowing when to put aside yourself and do something for someone you love. I may not rub feet, but I’ll stroke ego and I’ll build pride, especially for someone who would do the same for me. Like for everything there is a season, there is a time to rub feet and receive text messages, and when to be of service to your partner or your friends.

So instead of igniting a fight between L and her Mr., I decided to bite my tongue. After all – it would be a little hypocritical of me. While I think he could have waited for her to end our conversation, I also interrupted their night with a ring, and while I came first in her life, he’s the one who sees her every single day. And who has promised to support her until her last breath – so I’ll hope if she asked for a nice rub down, he’d return the favor. Regardless if his friend fromNew York was on the phone or not.

Gratitude for today: I’m thankful for the clarity I find from the conversations I have with those who mean the most to me.

by - 1 Comment

Let Laughter Live

When downtown Manhattan is wishing you well on your day trip to Governor’s Island, tousling the flaps of your faux-flapper dress in the wind on a sunny Sunday afternoon – it’s hard to have any worries. Especially when your addiction to Group-buying sites landed you a $35 deal including a three-course lunch, unlimited drinks, and the guarantee of a good time when you’re in the company of M, R, and K.

I write this post later than I anticipated -just under a hour and some change left to go until tomorrow – because today wasn’t about blogging. It wasn’t about love, dating, sex, relationships, men, or any of that jazz. Rather, it was about actual jazz at Governor Island’s biannual Jazz Fest Lawn Party where three of my friends and I dressed up in era-like costumes while mastering the unforgotten art of waiting in extremely long lines for the cause of getting boozy.

Blame the champagne cocktails, sangria, or chocolate ice cream cones – but we were all a little giggly. Our conversations evolved from historical discussions and debates to inappropriate candor on the train uptown at the end of the afternoon, with dirty glances from older women only making our laughter more contagious. When M and I rested at my apartment, asking the gods of the “Ask Me” cards (silly deck that gives you unassuming answers) and watching reruns of Sex & the City on low volume so we could add our own commentary – I thought about writing my blog, but then decided against it. M reminded me: “You’ve got until midnight! Won’t take you long!” And so, after cleaning my apartment and making the 100th poor food choice of the weekend with a giant cherry vanilla milkshake from Tom’s Restaurant and a handful of M’s cheesefries with blue cheese dressing (Yes, we’re very healthy these days) – I sat down to post something for June 26, 2011.

I had considered a few topics of interest that were suggested to me: “Write about how some think we’ll date a few more guys before getting married or how a few of us think the next one is it,” or “Write one completely about me and how wonderful I am since your last post made me seem like a bitch!!” or “Write about the changes with Mr. Possibility,” or “Write about how adorable men look in those suspenders and when they actually do The Charleston with their girlfriends – where do we find them?? Why are they taken or gay??”

All of those ideas are relevant and probably posts I could write and a couple I may actually flush out one day – but as I sat down to my computer, going through emails and preparing for the week ahead of me while putting Monday out of my mind for a few more hours – I couldn’t stop smiling.

I’m just so happy, damnit.

Things aren’t perfect but things are pretty great. I’m blessed to have a supporting, hilarious, free-spirited, adventure-trying, beautiful group of girlfriends (especially R who contrary to other blogs isn’t as crazy as she may seem), a job that makes me want to go to work in the morning, a byline that people remember and an impact to make, a boyfriend who often catches me off guard with his sincerity and kindness, and of course, a city that I will always be madly in love with.

Maybe blogging is easier or you get more traffic when you write about all the things that are wrong in your life. Maybe the best copy is bore out of grief, sorrow, longing, or disappointment. Maybe the writers who go down in history or have their books reprinted for lifetimes that exceed their own, are the ones who experienced the worse of the world and forced themselves to describe it. Maybe there will always be a hell of a lot of bad.

But, if you take a moment to take it easy, and let laughter live in your life, then you’ll discover the good is always there, too. With every opportunity we’re given that we don’t win, each love we leap to find and we end up falling, each friend we leave behind that we lose touch with, each passing day that we regret wasting – there is a second chance, an adventurous lover, a new best friend, and a new sunrise just a few moments away.

And so in my new quest to let laughter live more fully in my life as I continue this journey – I’ll end each post with something I’m thankful for. If I can find the reasons to laugh and cherish my life, maybe when the bad starts to shadow the sun, I’ll have the strength to brighten my own skies…with gratitude.

Today, I’m thankful for the friendships I’ve found in unexpected places and for the women who remind me each day to…laugh at life, at love, and most importantly, at myself. The me who wears 3-inch heels to a lawn party because it went with my outfit better than flats.