Tag Archives: Life

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A Dive Into the Unknown

As a huge adrenalin junkie who absolutely adores all things fast, dangerous, and super-high (heels included) – when I was given the opportunity to go bungee jumping last year, I gladly accepted the challenge.

The experience wasn’t in some exotic land off of a waterfall or a bridge into tropical waters – but rather, just part of the attractions at a North Carolina stupidly-small town that catered to the country-bumpkin in all of us. At the time, I was dating Mr. Idea and it was the only “weekend getaway” he could afford. Nevertheless, I was excited to be with someone who was willing to take the plunge into a large blow-up pillow from the top of a 65-foot tower.

We climbed a winding staircase chatting and mentally preparing ourselves for the moment when we turned the corner, caught a glimpse of the cascading mountains in the distance…and all of the people who looked super tiny below us. We took our place in line, and because it was one of the items on my ever-flowing bucket list, I wanted to go first. Mr. Idea stood behind me, tickling my waist, and pulling me into him – and I noticed a girl, probably around 13, royally freaking out in front of me. After a few minutes of observing her, I gathered that not only was she alone, but she really, truly did not want to nose-dive off of this platform like I did.

I pulled away from Mr. Idea, patted her shoulder, and asked if she was alright. She instantly burst into tears, said her dad was waiting below, and she thought she wanted to bungee jump, but now is terrified. My southern comfort came out as I wrapped my arms around her, reassured her that if she didn’t want to jump, she certainly didn’t have to, and that I was sure her dad would understand what she called “wasting his money” (Had he minded, I would have gladly given him the $25 fee that I paid). She tucked herself away in my chest and asked if I would walk her back down the stairs. Mr. Idea rubbed my back and asked me if I wanted him to wait, and I told him to just go on without me. Now, I was invested in this scared teen.

The closer we got to the ground, the more she started the breathe, and the less she cried and held on to me. By the time we reached the first level, her father had walked up to meet her, and hen she laid eyes on him, she spurted out apologies between sniffles. He just picked up all 95-pounds of her, consoled her, and ran his fingers through her hair. He then thanked me and she waved good-bye as they walked away, seeing me as this stranger who came to her rescue. I watched them leave for a minute before making my way back up the tower, my legs and my heart heavy from the exhaustion. And once I finally made it to the edge and the instructor was checking all my straps and buckles and giving me pointers and direction- I finally realized what I was doing.

I looked down at the ground with crowds watching, including Mr. Idea who successfully completed his jump and was now shouting up words of encouragement. I looked over at the instructor-dude, who did not look very charming or college-educated, or even like he cared too awful much, and wondered if I was comfortable placing my trust in him. I looked down at the many clips and cords wrapped around me and the wires attaching me to the tower and questioned if one of the never-fail contraptions, had ever, well…failed.

Clearly noticing I was spacing out, the instructor asked, “Ms., are you ready to jump?”

Now, nearly two years later, I open my eyes and see myself on a slightly different platform that’s not as elevated, but the stakes seem even higher. My palms are just as sweaty, I find myself searching for intriguing excuses to turn around, and the support that promises to protect me from plummeting – seems a little shaky.

In every dating situation where imagining a future doesn’t seem so far fetched – there comes a point where you feel yourself on the edge of an emotional cliff and you have two decisions: to jump or to leave.

Once you’ve experienced this pivotal call of heads or tails, love or fail – you know what it feels like to be falling for someone. You can feel your lips curling at the thought of them, your mind wondering into their direction, your heart anticipating the next time you’ll see them or hear from them. You can feel it when you’re enveloped in their arms, reading an e-mail written just for you, or when you meet their eyes.  More than likely- your friends and family notice a difference too, and if they are anything like mine, they are inquisitive into the glow behind your beaming cheeks.

And with this realization that you are falling and you know you must decide if the jump is worth the possible destruction – you become scared shitless. (Pardon my language, but it is really the best way to describe it).

Evaluating the risk becomes a personal strategy and mental coping mechansim where you make deals with yourself: “Okay, if I do act like I really do like him, if I do tell him how I feel, and he rejects me – I’ll still be okay. I will still be able to get up, go to work, and make that happy hour on Thursday. I’ll be cool. And who knows, he may even feel the same way! He could be falling too! ” But then, your emotional side takes over and pleads: “But it will hurt!! OMG, Lindsay, don’t you remember what it felt like? You’ll want to go home, crawl into bed, and those 10 pounds are gonna come back with all the cake you’ll be downing. It isn’t worth it.”

But does love or the chance of it, always have to be so black and white? Does it always have to be to fall or to protect? To take a deep breath and move forward or tuck your tail, throw up your flag to surrender? To walk forward or to walk away? To be the girl who needs to be escorted down 65-feet or the girl who takes a step off the platform, no matter how scary it is?

Is it impossible to fall into shades of gray?

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t falling for Mr. Possibility and I’d also be telling a white lie if I didn’t admit it makes me a little uneasy and fearful for my heart that has experienced a fair share of breaks. But, as I’m realizing with this journey – not everything can fit into one of two categories. Not everything needs a big red bow on it of approval or a scary red “x” of rejection. And in terms of love – where guarntees are never made – falling into the unknown is just part of the game. Plus – regardless if it is in the form of cords and cables, or friends, margaritas, or strangers on tall platforms – we will always have some type of support to back us up if we need it.

So while hesitation is rightfully-justified when we’re about to take a plunge (the instructor had to count to three twice for me) – there is no better feeling, no better thrill, no better rush than the moment where you decide that regardless of the outcome or the final destination, diving into the unknown is less risky than turning around and always wondering…if you should have just held your breath, said a prayer, and jumped in.

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My Mother, The Moon

As one of the most important components of the solar system – the moon controls many parts of the universe. It has different planets pass in front of it, it guides in sailors when they are lost at sea, it brings in the tide and releases it, and it takes on different forms as the days of the month pass by.

Sometimes, when I’m walking through dark city streets with flickering lamp posts, and I feel the ache of longing for my sweet Carolina roots – I look up to the moon and somehow, in some magical, mystical way, I feel connected to the one person who can always turn anything around.

My mother.

Yesterday, my mom turned 50 years old, and we’ve been celebrating her half-century anniversary since I returned from New York. On Sunday, her friends from all over, from all different points in her life – traveled to our humble home in North Carolina to honor the woman who has meant so much to them. The drinks and the laughter were plenty and my mother, with her encouraging sincerity and loving aura – glowed from each corner of the room. And of course, because she doesn’t like to be the one on display or in the spotlight (unlike her daughter), her cheeks and her chest were red when the attention or the toasts turned to her.

Through it all, it only confirmed what I feel towards my mother: she’s not only a woman I admire, deeply respect, and enjoy the company of – but she’s my very best friend. While my dad was sick, when I was going through the ups and the downs with each Mr. – she was always there telling me all is well, and that I can never, under any circumstance, screw up what’s meant to be. She also has always encouraged me to make my own choices, be my own support system (yet know when to ask for help), and trust in the power I have within myself to make my dreams a reality. Not to mention, she’s the queen of the astrological universe and lets me know when Mars is in retrograde, and which signs to stray away from. God bless her, and though sometimes I hate to admit it, the planets can be quite accurate in their predictions.

The older I get, the more experiences I go through, the more lessons I learn, the more grown-up decisions I make, and the more men I weed through – I realize how much I depend on my mom. She is there to field my phone calls, give me all sorts of advice – from finances and futures to sex and sewing – she always knows just what to say and how to respond. We’ve always had such an honest, open, non-judgmental, and empowering relationship and I’ve never felt unsure or unsteady sharing just about everything (and sometimes more than she’d like me to) with her.

Yesterday, after we spend an afternoon shopping – an frequent tradition we withheld before I packed my bags for Manhattan – we were driving back home to prepare for our evening out for her actual birthday, and she said something that struck me in a profound way. We were talking about the different elements of my life in the city, how her priorities and mindset has morphed since I’ve moved, and how we’re both adjusting, and she said, “You know, Linds, I was just like you in my twenties, it is just now, my body is older. You don’t ever really lose that fire – if you’re lucky, that is.”

I laughed along and glanced over at my mom and saw all of her 50-year-old beauty: highlighted hair to hide the gray, anti-aging creme that’s eliminated some of her mini-wrinkles, the mineral makeup she swears makes her look younger, and the necklace that I was so excited to buy for her. And in her face, in her mannerisms, and in her charm – I saw myself…25 years down the road.

Not too long ago, my mom was in my same position – climbing up the ladder in her career, painting the town red with her girlfriends, and wondering where her life would go. She was scoping out the dating scene, demanding her own independence, and making (and effectively breaking) rules in romance and in reasoning. She was wearing the same sorts of clothes I sport and anyone who knew her when she was my age always remarks: “Wow, it is like seeing you years ago! She looks just like you!” When she so willingly shares these words of wisdom and reassures me in my freak outs and crying fits that everything will work out – she’s not just being a consoling mother and encouraging BFF – but she’s speaking from experience.

No matter how old we get, where we live, who we marry, how many children we have, how our hips spread, our boobs sag, our addresses spread further away from one another, or how our girl’s nights out dishing about dating turn into discussing the actual dishes – in our hearts, we’re those 20-somethings searching for ourselves. And underneath the Oil of Olay, the makeup under our eyes, and the blond disguising our gray strands – we’re those same young women remembering the brilliance of our youth, the endless spirits we had that diligently believed nothing was impossible.

With her grace and her integrity, she  helps to guide me in from the storms, with her light that she shines down as my biggest fan in all that I do, and with the support she has to stand behind in constant guidance allowing me to steal the spotlight – is more than just the woman who gave me life. She’s more than a Northern star to direct my path and she is warmer than the sunshine who steals the thunder from the blue skies.

She is my moon – my pillar of brilliance and energy. She is who I resemble now and who I will see in myself as I look through the mirrors in my own home decades to come. But no matter what changes or when she decides to dance among the stars she follows so intently – her ageless beauty and fruitful wisdom, will stay with me wherever I go, as long as I raise my head to meet the midnight sky.


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When You Just Know

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was dumbfounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The Freak in Me

She dresses well, speaks eloquently, goes above-and-beyond her responsibilities, and believes in the power of ambition. She walks like she owns the city and she’s never doubted her abilities to be successful and brilliant in her career.

She flirts with the charming stranger who strides past her on the block, and she’d make you wonder if she was born in heels with her alluring grace. She recalls every name she’s introduced to, and she’s got a face you won’t forget.

And underneath all of these qualities, abilities, and beauty – she sincerely, fully, and ridiculously freaks out. Because even the most confident, most independent, most self-sufficient women in the world have a little bit of a freak in them.

Or maybe, even a whole lot.

God bless my ex-boyfriend, Mr. Idea. Between him and the last serious relationship was a long list of dudes who were anything but dependable and loving (Mr. Rebound, Mr. Buddy, Mr. Fire, Mr. Fling, Mr. Disappear…). So when he walked into my life promising (and sometimes delivering) the world on a shiny platter – I did everything but turn the plate upside down and throw it in his face.

I questioned every intention. I cried at the silliest of things he said that somehow, in my mind, meant something different than what he actually said. When he would go hours without texting (oh, because he was at work) – I was convinced I wouldn’t hear from him again…ever. I don’t even want to get into the metrics behind the “I love you” conversation.

Through it all, though – he stuck around. Our reasons for breaking up were not related to my “freak outs”, as he so lovingly called them. He took them with stride, remained calm, cool, and collected – and talked to me rationally and reassuringly. Thus, the freak-in-me got smaller and made less appearances as our relationship continued.

Yet, every time I would have an “episode” I would apologize profusely for “freaking out.” I would blame it on my period, on school stressing me out, on an impending deadline, on an imaginary disagreement with a friend, or on anything that I deemed worthy of cause.

But in all actuality – the freaky-me was coming out because I was worried. Because I was scared. Because I was insecure in myself and in the relationship. Because I was unsure and confused or frustrated.

And really that isn’t all that freaky – but just natural human emotions. Being a freak sometimes just means being me. So why did I beat myself up for bursting into tears, asking a million questions (and not believing the answers), or feel that fear in the pit of my stomach that I’ll “scare him away” after he promised not to leave?

Because I expressed these feelings, these emotions, these insecurities to the person I thought they were coming from. I thought it was something he was doing – he wasn’t giving enough or saying the right things or really proving that he cared. I was sure he had opportunities he wasn’t telling me about, that someone more wonderful than me would come around and steal him away, or that he wasn’t really as sincere and honest as he came across.

I thought my freak outs were due to him (and to the many other men who have experienced my insanity) – but really, it was always me.

While it is natural to have times of insecurity and times where you question and read between the lines – more often than not, those are choices and actions you decide to do on your own. If you play into fears, they will continue to grow. And the only defender against them is trust – which, by all means, takes a lot of faith and maturity to sustain.

Sometimes there are times in a relationship, in dating, or in “talking” (whatever that means, exactly) – where a discussion needs to happen because one partner is genuinely upset about something. Other times, like when we give too much energy to trying to make meaning out of simplicity – don’t require including the other person. Those freak outs aren’t caused by the men themselves (sorry, can’t always blame ‘em) – but by our own junk-in the-trunk from the past or from anxieties of our futures.

When these emotions bubble up and threaten to overflow into madness – that’s when we seek our internal counsel of personal-grounding or our external network of loving girlfriends who’ve experienced there own share of freak outs. Addressing the groans and pains that make us jittery and nervous is important because thinking they mean absolutely nothing would be dishonest to ourselves and not allow us to gain strength as individuals. Ignoring the freak out would be unfair and only cause the intensity to magnify – but keep in mind, that Mr. Boyfriend doesn’t always need to know every single timidity.

Nor do we need to label ourselves as freaks because even if someone thinks we truly are too much to handle or if they get scared away – they don’t deserve (and probably couldn’t take it) when we are freaky in other departments.

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The History of Vulnerability

Collectively and statistically, the number one fear is public speaking. Regardless if it is a crowd of strangers or a group of those who know us our very best, putting ourselves on display gives us the heebie-jeeibes.

While I personally don’t have that anxiety – I do have one I would like to argue is even more difficult to overcome, and that is the fear of vulnerability.

Mr. Google defines “vulnerable” as “exposed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally.” So while it isn’t exactly being on a stage giving a motivational speech or a wedding toast, allowing yourself to be vulnerable exposes something so precious we have to deeply inhale just to admit it: our hearts.

I thought incredibly long and hard before publishing yesterday’s post about Mr. Possibility. He has been a part of my life for a while now, but by keeping the intimacy we share away from this space – I was protecting myself. Somehow, if I didn’t type it out or read it with my own two eyes – I wasn’t actually allowing myself to fall for someone or be open to the hope of love.  But then, there it was, in black-and-white (and pink), before not only the World Wide Web, my collection of friends and family members, Mr. Possibility himself – but also, it was glaring back at me.

I read and re-read the post over and over again like the true obsessive person I tend to be (hence the blog). I questioned the words I used, wondered if I gave too much or too little, if I said the right things or if I was being clear enough – but still romantically vague. I lingered on my own sentences, analyzed my own feelings, and even though I was reassured from friends, fellow editors, the man the blog was about, and readers – something in me still felt uneasy. And it was a feeling that rooted so deeply, I could feel my stomach in knots and my heart on fire nearly the entire day.

I took me until close to 6 p.m., after I glanced over the post for about the 20th time to realize that it wasn’t actually the article that bothered me. It wasn’t what I was saying or how I said it. It wasn’t about the fact that I introduced Mr. Possibility to my journey. It wasn’t that something changed between him and I, in the tone and purpose of the path I’m taking, or in the goals I’ve made for myself.

The only part of my life that did a 360 was that instead of being Ms. Single (which I still am, for the record) – in my eyes, I became Ms. Vulnerable. Instead of keeping my feelings and my current romantic endeavor under wraps and non-serious, I revealed that it does have merit. It is something with meaning. I am feeling these feelings, I am accepting the risks that come with kisses, hugs, and making love – not to mention allowing someone to know me for who I am, no questions asked or excuses made.

And let’s be real honest- I’m terrified.

Anytime someone is a possibility or you feel those inevitable butterflies bounce around crazily in your stomach – you know that the time will come when you have to put all your cards on the table. That to be able to fall in love or to start a relationship or as I prefer currently, just keep experiencing this amazing companionship – I have to be vulnerable. I have to open up my heart – even if it is just a little bit. Because no true sincerity or passion or honest-to-goodness love (in any form) – is without liability.

When we walk down a road, holding a new person’s hand, admiring a new smile, and feeling new feelings – there is something faimiliar about it. Not because we’re on round two in a relationship, but because most of us, especially as 20-somethings, have been in love before. We’ve felt those things. We’ve crawled out on that limb, risking our bodies, our hearts, our sanity – to take a chance and give a piece of ourselves to another person.

And then, we’ve been burned. Disappointed. Hurt. Shattered, even. Completely led on. Misread signals, given mixed signals. Fallen in and out of love. Been amazed by the idea of someone, but not who they actually were. We’ve had someone pick another girl over us.

So, even though the man is new, the feelings are distinct – we know what’s ahead of us because we’ve been there already. And each time we become a little vulnerable, only to feel that sting of pain a tad bit deeper and harsher – we’re more hesitant to agree to try it again. If the Master of Time makes us go through another heartbreak, another disappointment, another man who doesn’t live up to what we pray he will – then we know the exact actions that’ll follow the demise. We know even the messiest parts of ourselves, the ones that not even our best girlfriends or family know about. We know the girl who is going through a heartbreak: she’s crying, sobbing, snotting, screaming into pillows, eating pasta that’s swimming in pure butter and salt, watching a ridiculous romantic comedy that’ll give her an excuse for the detriment she’s entertaining. We know that girl, we’ve been that girl.

So that’s why, when a tingle in our soul begs us to be a little vulnerable, we have to catch our breath. Because as we gaze up at this person, who maybe has shown no signs of departure or deceit – we are silently screaming in our heads: “Okay! I like you! I think this could be something, but please, my darling, don’t go break my heart. Don’t let it happen again.”

But maybe, it is okay if history does decide to repeat itself?

As I was sitting at my desk, realizing it was vulnerability that was getting to me, I thought about my past and the hurt I’ve endured. I saw images and flashbacks to those moments where I thought I would never feel the way I did about that guy. I thought I would never meet anyone more perfect for me. I thought that I was going to be in a constant state of lonely, of depressed, and pathetic – for any forseeable future. I thought I would never get up off that floor, wash my terribly sad puffy face, and move forward.

But guess what? I did.

So, if history does decide to turn the tides against me with Mr. Possibility – won’t I just endure again? Won’t I just pick up the pieces, wherever and no matter how hard they shatter, put on my super high heels, and push towards tomorrow? Like I always have?  By being vulnerable, I’ve allowed myself to feel with my whole heart. To look past the fear, look past the anxiety that comes with any new adventure – be it love or just moving to a new city. And wouldn’t I much rather feel everything – the bliss, the temptation, the passion, and even the frustration – then to not feel anything at all?

My history with vulnerability has given me a couple of scars and a ton of tears – but it has also allowed me to feel those feelings that we all crave to feel and to know that if those two arms wrapped around me, pull away – I know I can stand without their support.

So with that realization, with my vulnerability naked and open before the whole world (including me) to see – I made a decision to just go. To feel. To be. To hope. To dream. To just go with it – wherever it may end up. And though I’ll lock my door each and every night, sometimes, I may possibly give the key away to those who I think deserve an entrance. To those who may have the power to take the lock off completely.

But just so we’re clear – I always have a spare.