Tag Archives: Life

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A Broken Give-a-Damn

The day before my college graduation, standing in streets covered with a slippery thin sheet of ice, Mr. Idea and I screamed at each other hunched under an awning a block from my apartment.

It wasn’t either of our finest moments.

It ultimately led to me throwing a high-heeled shoe in his general direction out of frustration, unchartered emotion and a little bit of booze. It didn’t hit him but he was astonished at my actions so much that he screamed (much to the dismay of my roommate): “You threw a shoe at my face! Lindsay! What’s wrong with you?” Equally as loud but through a thick stream of tears and unflattering nose-runnage, I replied: “I just want you to make me feel like you care and you don’t!!! Why can’t you just make me feel better?”

I’d like to say I’ve grown out of that immature statement but the truth is, I’m not sure we ever do. Maybe those totally-Zen, consistently healthy and one-with-the-world people are clear and peaceful in their relationships, but I don’t happen to be part of that demographic.

I’m emotional. I’m impatient. I can overreact. I have a tendency to overanalyze. I think people should give me just as much as I give them, though I don’t take all that much. When I’m mad, I cry. When I’m sad, I cry. When I’m furious, I need to take a walk (and apparently throw things). And when I’m upset in a relationship, as I was with Mr. Idea and probably as I’ll be with any man I date, I tend to think they should make me feel a certain way.

They should be understanding and kind. They should sometimes prioritize me above other things. They should have my best interest at heart and work hard at bettering my life, just as I hope to make their day-to-day brighter. Promises should be made and kept, not haphazardly planned and forgotten. I consider myself a great catch and you, whoever it is that I’m dating, should treat me as such. You should know what you have when you have me, and gosh-darnit – you should make me feel like the most amazing creature on Earth.

Right?

Well, maybe that worked once upon a time in never-never land, but in real life, in real relationship that are messy, complicated and flat-out irritating at times – things aren’t so cut and dry. While your partner should make you happy and positively affect your existence, they are not and should not be responsible for making you feel any way. And if you find yourself yelling at the top of your lungs, Jimmy in hand, begging them to make you feel differently – maybe you should check yourself. Check your emotions. And above all – check on the relationship.

There will be ups and downs and there will be fights. Hell, arguing can even be healthy occasionally and shows you how someone handles themselves in the heat of the moment or when tensions brew. But if there are more bad times than good, if you’re not getting what you want, if you’re not feeling what you want to feel, if you’re not finding that loving feeling as often as you’re battling the urge to run away – then what are you doing?

You’re waiting for someone to make you feel a way you can’t with them and maybe asking them to feel something they don’t. And if you can’t and they don’t, then the answer to your questionable exit strategy is…go. Breathe. Revel in yourself and in the possibility to meet someone who doesn’t frustrate you. Who doesn’t stand outside in the cold threatening to break up with you on the eve of your college graduation.

Because really, the only person who can make you feel the way you want to feel is you. The you who one day finds a love that doesn’t make you doubt or wonder constantly. And if you’re with the wrong one, you can never meet the right one. If you’re too busy fighting, you don’t have any energy to love. And if there is no love left, then girl, go out and find it.

And before you find it, find yourself. Decide your give-a-damn is broken and make yourself feel so in love with you that nothing else can compare.

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A Distracting Click

I call it the “click.”

Others refer to it as chemistry, shared interests, similar backgrounds, or an unparalleled connection. It’s that feeling – or maybe it’s a moment – when you’re just starting to date someone and you recognize the “click.” It’s that little voice or that nudge in your tummy that says, “Oh! This could be something. I like him!”

I think the click is different for everyone and specific to each relationship. The click with Mr. Idea was on our first date, while the click with Mr. Possibility took a few months to develop. Anything can ignite the click, a sentence, a discovery, a trip, an intense sex session, and the list goes on and on. Regardless, the click is important. It’s the beginning of the lifeline of a relationship-that-could-be and it’s when any eligible bachelor steps up from courter to, well, possibility.

My friend K has an exciting dating life, and I’ve often told her she should be writing this blog instead of me since I’m no longer making the Manhattan rounds. She’s an equal-opportunity dater: tall, short, older, younger, religious, unaffiliated, foreign, All-American, this or that. Her stories are wildly entertaining and her optimism is refreshing, no matter what she holds her head high and goes onto the next one if this one doesn’t fit. She’s quite level-headed when it comes to dudes – a trait I only developed through this blog – so when she Gchatted me first thing this morning to ask for advice in a somewhat frantic manner, I was a tad surprised.

She had the click with someone.

And this time, instead of just being another guy on the roster, he’s stepped ahead in the rankings and now a bazillion questions are running through her mind (and being asked via chat): how do I not get jealous over his ex? When is a good time to express that I’d be fine with not dating anyone else? How do I not peek over his shoulder when something piques my interest on his BlackBerry? Why does sex suddenly mean something because my emotions are tied to him?

Attempting to put things into check for her while still being a good friend – I felt like a hypocrite. I’m advising her to take it slow, to calm down, to keep her options open since it’s only been a handful of dates, to not worry, to be herself, to let him fall for her, and all of these cookie-cutter trite words of wisdom. But the truth is – once you click, it’s hard to compromise.

Because that feeling is intoxicating. It takes over all of your rational thought and turns you into an obsessive, crazy gal who wants what she wants right when she wants it. It makes fun sex have strings attached. It makes us want to stalk the ex-girlfriend by any means available. It makes us want to pull him so incredibly close that he can’t seemingly get away. It makes us want to lock him in as boyfriend, pray insistently that he isn’t tempted by the fruit of another, and more than anything, it makes us deathly afraid. We know the click doesn’t come along often and when it does, shouldn’t we capitalize on it? And not compromise what we’re feeling because we love it so damn much?

But we kind of have to. We have to slow down. We have to tell our heart to have some patience. We have to not get too attached too soon. We have to not let our hope rise too high because we know what it feels like when it falls too low. We have to put up some protection because we’ve been burned before. The click is the first indication but it isn’t a signal of longevity or a promise that love is in the making.

The click is just what it is: a brief feeling that sparks something. And that something, if we can swallow our fear and stomach the process of dating until (or if) casual turns into concrete, the maybe, that click will click into an actual something. Something that’s more defined and dependable.

We have to tuck away that obsessive nature and focus on something more important than the click, even when it seems like it’s the most valuable thing in the whole world.

You know, distract ourselves. Because if the click is going to distract us from everything else, the only compromise that makes sense is to distract it right back.

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A Real Relationship

I’m a pretty relaxed traveler. I don’t over pack but I pack enough. I’m not afraid of missing my flight but I’m perpetually way too early. I don’t set my plans in stone but I always have a general idea of what I’d like to do. Most of the traveling and exploring I’ve done, I’ve done alone, so globe or stateside trotting with someone else is just about the only thing that makes me a little nervous.

Mr. Possibility and I have been through a lot together and I’ve known him almost the entire time I’ve been writing this blog, making the process of learning to love myself, with or without a guy that much more complicated. I was specific when I started this journey that I wasn’t going to make any rules and I wasn’t going to stop dating if someone happened to fall into my life that I was interested in. Most literally, I just about fell into Mr. Possibility’s lap on that sunny afternoon nearly nine months ago.

And here we are today, preparing for our first trip together, attempting to put the past behind us and set out into the adventure that is a relationship. I haven’t been in one for a while and the last one (Mr. Idea) wasn’t exactly sunshine-and-roses, but with Mr. possibility, it was nearly impossible (pun intended) to not give it a go. There’s something about connecting with someone on such a personal basis that even if there wasn’t chemistry or passion or sex or all of the above, you’d still like who they were as a person, all other things aside. That’s Mr. Possibility for you – a good guy. A guy who gets me, who makes me laugh, who doesn’t try to hold me back, who encourages my dreams and is pretty dependable.

He is many wonderful things or he wouldn’t be with me – but one thing that he’s not is organized. I’m not the cleanest person in the world, trust me. Neither is he and that not-so-winning combination has caused some sticky situations in the past. But when it comes to preparing to go away or getting my affairs in order before leaving home for a week, I start to think ahead…well, ahead. Mr. Possibility doesn’t quite think in the same way, or rather if he does, he’s far more relaxed about it then I am.

I’ve had my suitcase packed for two days, an idea of what time we have to get up to be there in enough time, and our itinerary, including our rental car information and flight schedule printed. I’ve packed magazines I’ve been dying to read (and one for him), formulated a few blog posts so I wouldn’t have to stress on vacation (but I’m bringing my laptop, can’t help myself), and came up with a list of things I want to do. Mr. Possibility, on the other hand, didn’t start packing until right now, is stopping by a friend’s birthday party when we have a 6 a.m. flight tomorrow, and I’m finishing up laundry so he’ll have everything he needs.

Needless to say, perhaps, there’s been a little tension.

A big part of a relationship is compromise and accepting someone’s idiosyncrasies. I know I have ridiculous traits and I also know he has his, but if we can both learn to relax, to take a step back, and remember why we care – instead of what annoys the hell out of us – then we have a chance at a great trip and at a great partnership. I probably packed too many shoes and will be a little flustered if I don’t get to see some of the things I want to see, and Mr. Possibility could run away screaming from me if I ask him one more time if he has everything he needs – but I take him for him. He takes me for me. It’s not perfect and it’s not supposed to be, but it is life and this is a real relationship. We can’t escape reality, even if we are going on vacation.

I’m still coming to terms with giving up the single status but I’m excited about taking a trip with a man. Even if he happens to be the sort of man who is standing in front of me, asking which tie goes the best with the suit he wants to bring and neither of his options match at all. Did I mention we’re leaving ten hours? And his suitcase is empty?

Sigh.

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Patience is a Virgin

I really feel sorry for my Facebook friends. Truly. I spam the hell out of my page – with posts from WordPress, Tumblr, and my own random thoughts/updates of the day. I disconnected Twitter because I didn’t want the people I actually know and I’m actually friends with to get completely irritated with me. Now, when I add a new friend that I actually talk to, I warn them of my overly active spewing.

Though it may be a little spam-rific at times, there are posts I have that cultivate conversation. When this happens, I find myself engaged in cyber conversations with people I normally don’t talk to often, but maybe I should. Such a thing happened today when I posted a status that read, “If patience is a virtue, then I’m not very virtuous.” Obviously, I was illustrating my frustration with finding peace in today and in tomorrow. Mr. Possibility and I are leaving for vacation on Monday morning for a week, and though I’m swamped at work, the hours between 9 and 6 can’t pass any slower.

In response to my update, a friend from NC said, ” My friend’s daughter, 8 years old, recently reminded us: ‘Patience is a virgin.’ Upon further reflection, and after several minutes of laughing, we realized that she had, in fact, made a good point, albeit unintentional.” After reading his message, I giggled and instantly liked, thinking about the meaning behind the words, the cryptic message an innocent kid sent without knowing.

A lack of patience only comes after you’ve experienced the many games of waiting. Like waiting to hear back about a job or waiting for a guy to text back after an incredible first date. Or waiting for a promotion or waiting to be approved for a loan, a house, an adoption. Or waiting to meet the man you’ll marry, the baby you’ll have, and the apartment you dream of owning, but don’t. Waiting for the perfect title or for the time when you can pack your bags up and head North.

Once we get to the age where waiting becomes commonplace and ordinary, we stop focusing on patience and instead, try to distract ourselves into some meaningless task until the waiting period is over. But we don’t really grow good at it, we don’t really learn to be peaceful and patient, we just find something to get us through.

Was the little gal right? Is patience only for the virgins? For those of us who have never wanted, never yearned, never hoped for something or someone so deeply that it hurt to wait? And what about when we are broken in, when patience is popped the first time we are put to the test? The first experience where we hold out for something, we cross our fingers, our toes, our legs and even our eyes wishing for something and then at the end, it’s one of those wishes that wasn’t meant to come true? Or a love we tell ourselves wasn’t meant to be?

Once we’ve lost our patience virginity, once we’ve become adults who want and need, instead of having everything provided, how do we learn to practice peace? Master the art of doing without but cherishing what we do have? Instead of being ancy and dissatisfied, twiddling our thumbs in anticipation, forgetting about giving people a break and giving life a chance to take over without controlling every aspect of our existence?

Can we re-virginize ourselves? I mean, I hear it’s a happenin’ trend now.

I don’t think so – but I do think we learn ways to cope. We learn to practice self-help, self-motivation, self-soothing methods that bring us some sort of calm in the in-between times of uncertainty. Because we’ve been there before, because we’ve felt these same things in these same way, we know how to handle it. We become better equipped to balance ourselves and we learn tactics for dealing with our fears and our frustrations. We survive and if we’re among the ones who strive, we eventually thrive. But we’ll never get back to that virgin-like state, that purity, that honestly, that only comes from being blissfully naïve, young and unaffected by the perils of patience.

That’s the thing about any type of virginity you lose, regardless if it’s having sex, living away from home, having a big girl job, having real world bills and rent, being someone’s wife, being accountable for your own actions, and being responsible for someone’s broken heart – once you let go and burst the bubble of oblivion…there’s nowhere to return to. No outlet to restore.

Instead, you just pack up what you have, who you are, what you’ve learned and you go out to face another day, another opportunity to lose another virginity, getting yourself one step closer to being one of those cool, independent, sophisticated adults we always wanted to be.

You know, before we lost our adult virginity and found ourselves laying in bed, feeling like a stranger naked in the company of ourselves, wondering: “Really, this is it? This is what everyone talked about? It’s really not all it’s cracked up to be.”

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The Girl Who Came Before

A few months ago at a wine bar in Chelsea, I nervously fiddled with my phone, texting some friends who thought I was crazy, and rightfully so. I mean, I was meeting the ex-girlfriend of a guy I had dated, a woman who I had heard time-and-time again “I was just like.” I had read her blog, followed her Twitter and knew her name – but I didn’t know her. I only knew second-hand information, the words of someone who had been hurt and disappointed, but yet was a someone I cared deeply for.

So why was I here, sipping wine with a lovely, tall brunette who was chatting away and reminding me more and more of myself by the minute? Well, maybe Mr. Something-or-Another was right. Could it be true that there was another me out there and we both happened to deliberately move to New York to be editors? To live in tiny apartments, happily (well, most of the time) meet and date Manhattan men, go sailing on the weekends, chase pigeons, and share a certain dislike for pickles? (Though I can eat them fried – but I’m Southern, so I’m allowed.)

The similarities were startling at first, but as time passed and a friendship developed, it stopped being so strange. Emails turned into Gchat, texting into being Facebook friends, drinks into events and figuring out the things we have in common that the Mr. never discovered.

Before meeting her –we’ll call her K – I had an idea in my head of what she would be like. I, too, had her up on a pedestal of this unattainable, heart-breaking dreamgirl. But what I have learned from her was the exact lesson she hoped I would when she reached out to me the first time: that she wasn’t that maneater at all. She was like me – another lady in New York who dated a guy and it didn’t work out. There are two sides of every dating story and then there’s the truth, but there’s also truth in the fact that if people really have a type, there’s a good chance you may like the girls a guy used to be with. Hell – you may even be similar to them, so why build them up to be something more than what they are?

Now, K is a magazine mentor, but more importantly, a friend. I like to think of her as my dose of reality and a voice of reason when I worry about my career, about boys or really, about anything. She has a strong grasp on the city, often serving as my go-to for recommendations when I’m planning a night out. In a lot of ways – she’s where I see myself in a few years and chatting with her, as the Mr. always predicted I would, gives me some hope for the New York life I’ve yet to live.

Today, as we were talking, we stumbled across the topic of my blog and she said something that stuck with me: “It’s funny, reading your blog. I think you’ll be interested, reading it again in a few years. You’re going to have all the same realizations over and over again in different situations.”

A little over two years older than me, K has experienced everything and more that I’ve written about on these pages. And some topics I haven’t posted, but we’ve discussed (I may get to chatting about more risqué topics eventually). And while going through a 12-step program to cure a love addiction I diagnosed myself with seemed like a great idea nine months ago, K and some other friends and characters have taught me that maybe, I misdiagnosed myself.

Could it be that I’m just normal? That K, too at my age in the situations I faced, perhaps acted the same way? Felt with the same intensity? Or any of my other friends who happen to be 20-something women who want to find love as much as they run away from it? Anyone who has ever been disappointed by a man or has fallen in love with the wrong one, as K said, “over and over again”?

It isn’t love addiction – it’s being a woman who experiences normal feelings, thinks thoughts similar to the gal next to her and has characteristics like the girl who came before her.

We may not all have a twin – physically anyway – but if you look, or if you happen to meet a reader who figured out your blog’s riddle – you may realize a comforting notion that if you’re going through it right now…you’re not the first. You probably won’t be the last, either. Addicted to love or just growing up learning lessons you’ll learn again – rest assured there’s someone close by who’s right there with you. And someone who has done it before and someone who will do it again.